Cébès: I give you my prayer and my salutation.
Simon: O pride! you embrace me then!
Cébès: Ah!
What is this that drips on my head!
Simon: It is my blood; thus man, though he has no breasts, knows how to pour forth his milk!
And now, O Cébès,
You are like a servant who before he departs
Clasps to his breast the cross,
But that crucified thing with its lips of granite draws towards heaven a band of briars,
And a robin is singing on its ruined shoulder.