Artotrogus. Yet I have none of them written down; still, I remember it was so.
Pyrgopolinices. By my troth, you have a right good memory.
Artotrogus (aside). ’Tis the flesh-pots give it a fillip.
Pyrgopolinices. So long as you shall do as you have done hitherto, you shall always have something to eat; I will always make you a partaker at my table.
Artotrogus. Besides, in Cappadocia you would have killed five hundred men altogether at one blow, had not your saber been blunt.
Pyrgopolinices. I let them live, because I was quite sick of fighting.
Artotrogus. Why should I tell you what all mortals know, that you, Pyrgopolinices, live upon the earth with your valor, beauty, and achievements unsurpassed? All the women are in love with you, and that not without reason, since you are so handsome. Witness those girls that pulled me by my mantle yesterday.
Pyrgopolinices. What was it they said to you?
Artotrogus. They questioned me about you. “Is Achilles here?” says one to me. “No,” says I, “his brother is.” Then says the other to me, “By my troth, but he is a handsome and a noble man. See how his long hair becomes him! Certainly the women are lucky who share his favors.”
Pyrgopolinices. And pray, did they really say so?