Zeo. Oh, Zoram, you are jesting—why you wrote
The air I sung!
Zor.I wrote the air? Not I,
I paid a poor musician for his work,
And palmed it off upon you as my own.
A common trick with melodists who stand
Far higher in the world’s esteem than I!
Altem. Well, Aristæus there has still to speak.
What says that rollicking philosopher?
Come, growl it out!