Che. Shall I tell her you lied to make her think you a fine fellow?
Le. Oh, plague upon it!
Che. It's the only way. Choose—a mighty champion, and loathed, or a confessed liar, and—Hymnis?
Le. Bad is the best; but I say Hymnis. Go to her, then, Chenidas, and say I lied—in parts.
H.
XIV
Dorion. Myrtale
Do. So, Myrtale! You ruin me first, and then close your doors on me! It was another tale when I brought you all those presents: I was your love, then; your lord, your life. But you have squeezed me dry now, and have got hold of that Bithynian merchant; so I am left to whimper on the wrong side of the door, while he, the favoured lover, enjoys your embraces, and is to become a father soon, so you tell him.
Myr. Come, Dorion, that is too much! Ruined you, indeed! A lot you ever gave me! Let us go through the list of your presents, from the very beginning.
Do. Very well; let us. First, a pair of shoes from Sicyon, two drachmae. Remember two drachmae.