Gal. But how came I to be?
Pyg. Well, let me see
Oh! you were quarried in Pentelicus;
I modelled you in clay; my artisans
Then roughed you out in marble; I, in turn,
Brought my artistic skill to bear on you,
And made you what you are, in all but life.
The gods completed what I had begun,
And gave the only gift I could not give.
Gal. Then this is life?