Now for the key o' the plate-chest. Bring it, quick!
GORGO.
My dear, that full pelisse becomes you well.
What did it stand you in, straight off the loom?
PRAXINOAe.
Don't ask me, Gorgo: two good pounds and more.
Then I gave all my mind to trimming it.
GORGO.
Well, 'tis a great success.
PRAXINOAe.
I think it is.
My mantle, Eunoae, and my parasol!
Arrange me nicely. Babe, you'll bide at home!
Horses would bite you--Boo!--Yes, cry your fill,
But we won't have you maimed. Now let's be off.
You, Phrygia, take and nurse the tiny thing:
Call the dog in: make fast the outer door!
[_Exeunt_.
Gods! what a crowd! How, when shall we get past
This nuisance, these unending ant-like swarms?
Yet, Ptolemy, we owe thee thanks for much
Since heaven received thy sire! No miscreant now
Creeps Thug-like up, to maul the passer-by.
What games men played erewhile--men shaped in crime,
Birds of a feather, rascals every one!
--We're done for, Gorgo darling--here they are,
The Royal horse! Sweet sir, don't trample me!
That bay--the savage!--reared up straight on end!
Fly, Eunoae, can't you? Doggedly she stands.
He'll be his rider's death!--How glad I am
My babe's at home.
GORGO.
Praxinoae, never mind!
See, we're before them now, and they're in line.
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