Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;
so each might have taken a piece home with him.
Lu. Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants.
Soc. Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer:
’Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.’
Lu. Why, it is in Homer’s name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps pay reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him:
Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take
Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.
Pl. Why, two can play at that game; exempli gratia,
Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse
Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.
Lu. Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to Euripides; it may be he will protect me: