Amycus. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy shrivelled lips.
Polydeuces. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, prithee, may we gain thy leave?
Amycus. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man to man.
Polydeuces. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we meet eye to eye?
Amycus. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill!
Polydeuces. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands and gloves?
Amycus. Thou see’st him close enough, the boxer will not prove a maiden!
Polydeuces. And is the prize ready, for which we two must fight?
Amycus. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), or thou mine, if I be victor.
Polydeuces. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of the game.