But what is this to me?—Why, this it is:
Here we behold you every day at work,
Living forsooth! not as your neighbours live,
But richly, royally, ye gods!—Why, man,
We cannot get a fish for love or money,
You swallow the whole produce of the sea:
You've driven our citizens to browze on cabbage:
A sprig of parsley sets them all a-fighting,
As at the Isthmian games: if hare or partridge,
Or but a simple thrush comes to the market,