Klu. Why, to the prosperous, even suits a beating!

Aga. What? thou this beating us in war dost prize too?

Klu. Persuade thee! power, for once, grant me—and willing!

Aga. But if this seem so to thee—shoes, let some one

Loose under, quick—foot's serviceable carriage!

And me, on these sea-products walking, may no

Grudge from a distance, from the god's eye, strike at!

For great shame were my strewment-spoiling—riches!

Spoiling with feet, and silver-purchased textures!

Of these things, thus then. But this female-stranger