_Herm_. Not so, Aphrodite, if I can trust my eyes; I am
purblind, or you are white marble; you were quarried, I take it,
from Pentelicus, turned by Praxiteles's fancy into Aphrodite, and
handed over to the Cnidians.

_Aph_. Wait; my witness is unexceptionable--Homer. 'The Golden
Aphrodite' he calls me, up and down his poems.

_Herm_. Oh, yes, no doubt; _he_ called Apollo rich, 'rolling in
gold'; but now where will you find Apollo? Somewhere in the
third-class seats; his crown has been taken off and his harp pegs
stolen by the pirates, you see. So _you_ may think yourself lucky
with a place above the fourth.

_Col_. Well, who will dare dispute _my_ claim? Am I not
the Sun? and look at my height. If the Rhodians had not decided on
such grandiose dimensions for me, the same outlay would have
furnished forth a round dozen of your golden Gods; I ought to be
valued proportionally. And then, besides the size, there is the
workmanship and careful finish.

_Herm_. What shall I do, Zeus? Here is a difficulty again--too
much for me. Going by material, he is bronze; but, reckoning the
talents his bronze cost, he would be above the first class.

_Zeus_. What business has he here dwarfing the rest and
blocking up all the bench?--Why, my excellent Rhodian, you may be
as superior to the golden ones as you will; but how can you
possibly go in the front row? Every one would have to get up, to