Racine: Phaedra

THE KNIGHTS 183
Sausage-Seller.— But here's a box of
ointment
A salve prescribed for heels when kibed, given with my
humble duty.
Cleon.—I'll pick your white hairs out of sight, and make you
quite a beauty.
Sausage-Seller.—But here's a prize, for your dear eyes!—
rabbit-scut ! See there now
Cleon.—Wipe 'em, and then, wipe it again, dear Demus, on my
hair now.
Sausage-Seller.—On mine, I say ! On
mine, do, pray
[Demus bestows, in a careless manner, his dirty preference
upon the Sausage-Seller. He pays no attention to the
altercation which follows, hut remains in the attitude of
a solid old juryman, sitting upon a difficult cause, con-
cocting the decision which he at last pronounces.^
Cleon.—I shall fit you with a ship,
To provide for and equip.
One that has been long forgotten,
Leaky, worm-eaten, and rotten,
On it you shall waste and spend
Time and money without end.
Furthermore, if I prevail,
It shall have a rotten sail.
Chorus.—There he's foaming, boiling over:
See the froth above the cover.
This combustion to allay.
We must take some sticks away,
Cleon.—I shall bring you down to ruin,
With my summoning and suing
For arrear of taxes due,
And charges and assessments new.
In the census you shall pass
Rated in the richest class.
Sausage-Seller.—I reply with nothing worse
Than this just and righteous curse.
May you stand beside the stove,"
With the fishes that you love,
Fizzling in the tempting pan,
**It is to be presunied that Cleon is indulging himself in the Prjrtaneuni.
Classics. Vol. 36—1