TUMULT
What do you want?

WAR
Out upon you! Standing there with folded arms! Take this cuff o' the head
for your pains.

TUMULT
Oh! how it stings! Master, have you got garlic in your fist, I wonder?

WAR
Run and fetch me a pestle.

TUMULT
But we haven't got one; 'twas only yesterday we moved.

WAR
Go and fetch me one from Athens, and hurry, hurry!

TUMULT
Aye, I hasten there; if I return without one, I shall have no cause
for laughing. (EXIT.)

TRYGAEUS
Ah! what is to become of us, wretched mortals that we are? See the
danger that threatens if he returns with the pestle, for War will
quietly amuse himself with pounding all the towns of Hellas to pieces.
Ah! Bacchus! cause this herald of evil to perish on his road!