Me. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men’s liberty, and forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of teeth: for all is lost!
Cr. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps—
Mid. My gold—
Sar. My little comforts—
Me. That’s right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I’ll chime in with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.
F.
III
Menippus. Amphilochus. Trophonius
Me. Now I wonder how it is that you two dead men have been honoured with temples and taken for prophets; those silly mortals imagine you are Gods.
Amp. How can we help it, if they are fools enough to have such fancies about the dead?