Klu. Troia the Achaioi hold: do I speak plainly?
Cho. Joy overcreeps me, calling forth the tear-drop.
Klu. Right! for, that glad thou art, thine eye convicts thee.
Cho. For—what to thee, of all this, trusty token?
Klu. What 's here! how else? unless the god have cheated.
Cho. Haply thou flattering shows of dreams respectest?
Klu. No fancy would I take of soul sleep-burdened.
Cho. But has there puffed thee up some un-winged omen?
Klu. As a young maid's my mind thou mockest grossly.
Cho. Well, at what time was—even sacked, the city?