He with his kindly host hath dealt amiss.
Innkeeper. That's me. I took him in, and he ran away with my wife.
Innk. Wife. Wine-witted knave, deer-hearted and dog-eyed,
Thersites, babbler loose, that nought availest
In council, nought in arms; most valiant daw,
That with thine aimless chatter chidest kings,—
First Master. My rascal to a T.
Innk. Wife. The dog in thee—for thou art dog and goat
And lion—doth a blasting fury breathe.
Innkeeper. Wife, wife! the dogs have been too many for you; ay, and for your virtue, so men say.
Her. Hope for the best; some little Cerberus or Geryon shall call you father, and Heracles have employment again.—Ah, no need to knock: here they come.
First Master. Ha, Cantharus, have I got you? What, nothing to say for yourself? Let us see what you have in that wallet; beans, no doubt, or a crust of bread.
Her. Bread, indeed! Gold, a purseful of it!
Hera. That need not surprise you. In Greece, you see, he was a Cynic, but here he is all for golden Chrysippus. Next you will see him dangling, Cleanthes-like[9], by his beard, and serve the dirty fellow right.