A Courtier.
[Observing Julian.] Fie, fie, Heraclius,—shame on you!
[Julian signs to the courtier to be silent.
Heraclius.
[Continuing.] Well, enough of her. But is Ceres in the same case? Does she not display a most melancholy—I had almost said an imperial—parsimony? Yes, believe me, if we had a little more intercourse with high Olympus nowadays, we should hear much to the same tune. I dare swear that nectar and ambrosia are measured out as sparingly as possible. Oh Zeus, how gaunt must thou have grown! Oh roguish Dionysus, how much is there left of the fulness of thy loins? Oh wanton, quick-flushing Venus,—oh Mars, inauspicious to married men——
Julian.
[In great wrath.] Oh most shameless Heraclius! Oh scurvy, gall-spitting, venom-mouth——
Heraclius.
Ah, my gracious Emperor!
Julian.