TRYGAEUS. What do I bid? Oh! I am ashamed to say. Still, as the clasp is of good workmanship, I would give two, even three measures of dried figs; I could use 'em for dusting the table.
CREST-MAKER. All right, tell them to bring me the dried figs; 'tis always better than nothing.
TRYGAEUS. Take them away, be off with your crests and get you gone; they are moulting, they are losing all their hair; I would not give a single fig for them.
A BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Good gods, what am I going to do with this fine ten-minae breast-plate, which is so splendidly made?
TRYGAEUS. Oh, you will lose nothing over it.
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. I will sell it you at cost price.
TRYGAEUS. 'Twould be very useful as a night-stool....
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Cease your insults, both to me and my wares.
TRYGAEUS. ... if propped on three stones. Look, 'tis admirable.
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. But how can you wipe, idiot?
TRYGAEUS. I can pass one hand through here, and the other there, and so....
BREASTPLATE-MAKER. What! do you wipe with both hands?
Studies
