Does missy feel called upon to be with ’em, or not? Most unmistakably. But by heaven, I tell you we parasites feel the call more unmistakably still, for no one else ever feels for us or calls us, either. Like mice, we’re forever nibbling at some one else’s food. When the holidays come, and men hie ’em to their country estates, our grinders take a holiday, too. quasi, cum caletur, cocleae in occulto latent, 80 suo sibi suco vivont, ros si non cadit, item parasiti rebus prolatis latent in occulto miseri victitant suco suo, dum ruri rurant homines quos ligurriant. It’s the same as snails hiding in their holes during the dog days and living on their own juices when there’s no dew falling: that’s the way with parasites during the holidays-- hide in their holes, poor devils, and subsist on their own juices while the people they could get pickings from are in the rural regions ruralizing. prolatis rebus parasiti venatici sumus, quando res redierunt, molossici odiosicique et multum incommodestici. et hic quidem hercle, nisi qui colaphos perpeti potest parasitus frangique aulas in caput, [3]ire extra portam Trigeminam ad saccum licet. 90 quod mihi ne eveniat, non nullum periculum est. So long as the holidays last we parasites are greyhounds: when they’re over we are wolf-hounds and dear-hounds and bore- hounds, very much so. And, by gad, in this town, at least, if a parasite objects to being banged about and having crockery smashed on his cranium, he can betake himself to the far side of Three Arch Gate and a porter’s bag. (_ruefully_) Which is precious likely to be my own fate. nam postquam meus rex est potitus hostium-- ita nunc belligerant Aetoli cum Aleis; nam Aetolia haec est, illic est captus in Alide, Philopolemus, huius Hegionis filius senis, qui hie habitat, quae aedes lamentariae mihi sunt, quas quotienscumque conspicio fleo; For after my patron fell in with the enemy--the Aetolians, you see, are at war now with the Eleans; this is Aetolia, you understand, and it’s there in Elis that Philopolemus is a captive, Philopolemus being the son of Hegio here, the old gentleman that lives in (_pointing_) that house (and a lamentatious house it is! every time I look at it, it makes me weep!) nunc hic occepit quaestum hunc fili gratia inhonestum et maxime alienum ingenio suo: homines captives commercatur, si queat 100 aliquem invenire, suom qui mutet filium. quod quidem ego nimis quam cupio[4] ut impetret: nam ni illum recipit, nihil est quo me recipiam.