To hear you prais’d. I sing your praises to him,
And make you out a little God.
Ctes. Me!
Syrus. You.
And then the old man blubbers like a child,
For very joy.—But have a care! (Looking out.)
Ctes. What now?
Syrus. The wolf i’ th’ fable!
Ctes. What, my father?
Syrus. He.