Men. Oh that the Gods would grant it!
Chrem. They will do so. Now, if it is convenient to you—the festival of Bacchus[30] is being kept here to-day—I wish you to give me your company.
Men. I can not.
Chrem. Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little while. Your absent son would wish you do so.
Men. It is not right that I, who have driven him hence to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.
Chrem. Is such your determination?
Men. It is.
Chrem. Then kindly fare you well.
Men. And you the same.
Goes into his house.