Clo. The same. He will survive you for rather more than forty years; in the full enjoyment of your harem, your wardrobe, and your treasure.
Me. It is too bad of you, Clotho, to hand over my property to my worst enemy.
Clo. My dear sir, it was Cydimachus’s property first, surely? You only succeeded to it by murdering him, and butchering his children before his eyes.
Me. Yes, but it was mine after that.
Clo. Well, and now your term of possession expires.
Me. A word in your ear, madam; no one else must hear this.—Sirs, withdraw for a space.—Clotho, if you will let me escape, I pledge myself to give you a quarter of a million sterling this very day.
Clo. Ha, ha! So your millions are still running in your head?
Me. Shall I throw in the two mixing-bowls that I got by the murder of Cleocritus? They weigh a couple of tons apiece; refined gold!
Clo. Drag him up. We shall never get him to come on board by himself.
Me. I call you all to witness! My city-wall, my docks, remain unfinished. I only wanted five days more to complete them.