Strength hid in the weakling!
What bowl-shape hast there,
Thus laughingly proffered? A gift to our shrine?
Thanks—worsted in argument! Not so? Declare
Its purpose!
Apol. I proffer earth's product, not mine.
Taste, try, and approve Man's invention of—Wine!
The Fates. We feeding suck honeycombs.
Apol. Sustenance meagre!