before he appears.

INFORMER. That's just it.

PISTHETAERUS. And while he is on his way here by sea, you will be flying
to the islands to despoil him of his property.

INFORMER. You've hit it, precisely; I must whirl hither and thither like
a perfect humming-top.

PISTHETAERUS. I catch the idea. Wait, i' faith, I've got some fine
Corcyraean wings.[341] How do you like them?

INFORMER. Oh! woe is me! Why, 'tis a whip!

PISTHETAERUS. No, no; these are the wings, I tell you, that set the top
a-spinning.

INFORMER. Oh! oh! oh!

PISTHETAERUS. Take your flight, clear off, you miserable cur, or you will
soon see what comes of quibbling and lying. Come, let us gather up our
wings and withdraw.

CHORUS. In my ethereal nights I have seen many things new and strange and
wondrous beyond belief. There is a tree called Cleonymus belonging to an
unknown species; it has no heart, is good for nothing and is as tall as
it is cowardly. In springtime it shoots forth calumnies instead of buds
and in autumn it strews the ground with bucklers in place of leaves.[342]