He has his reasons pat; it grows forsooth
To form, when shorn, an offering to some god!
But that’s a feint, ’tis but to hide the scars
Left by the branding iron upon his forehead.
But, passing that, you ask perchance the price
Of a sea-wolf—“Ten oboli”—very good.
You count the money. “Oh not those,” he cries,
“Æginetan I meant.” Still you comply.
But if you trust him with a larger piece,
And there be change to give; mark how the knave