Gal. But how came I to be?
Pyg.Well—let me see.
Oh—you were quarried in Pentelicus;
I modeled you in clay—my artisans
Then roughed you out in marble—I, in turn,
Brought my artistic skill to bear on you,
And made you what you are—in all but life—
The gods completed what I had begun,
And gave the only gift I could not give!
Gal. Then this is life?