me.

Phid. Suffer me, good sir, to sleep a little.

Strep. Then, do you sleep on; but know that all these
debts will turn on your head.

[Phidippides falls asleep again.]

Alas! Would that the match-maker had perished miserably,
who induced me to marry your mother. For a country life
used to be most agreeable to me, dirty, untrimmed,
reclining at random, abounding in bees, and sheep, and
oil-cake. Then I, a rustic, married a niece of Megacles,
the son of Megacles, from the city, haughty, luxurious,
and Coesyrafied. When I married her, I lay with her
redolent of new wine, of the cheese-crate, and abundance
of wool; but she, on the contrary, of ointment, saffron,
wanton-kisses, extravagance, gluttony, and of Colias and
Genetyllis. I will not indeed say that she was idle;
but she wove. And I used to show her this cloak by way
of a pretext and say "Wife, you weave at a great
rate."

Servant re-enters.

Servant. We have no oil in the lamp.

Strep. Ah me! Why did you light the thirsty lamp? Come
hither that you may weep!