If the gods are suffering from this social revolution in the world below, still more lamentable are its effects upon the staff of officials maintained in their temples. The priest of Jupiter the Protector--one of the most important ecclesiastical functionaries in Athens--enters in great distress. _Priest._ Be good enough to tell me, where is Chremylus? _Chr._ (_coming out_). What is it, my good sir? _Priest._ What is it?--ruin! Why, since this Plutus has begun to see, I’m dying of starvation. Positively, I haven’t a crust to eat! I, my dear sir, The Priest of the Protector! think of that! _Chr._ Dear me! and what’s the reason, may I ask? _Priest._ Why, because everybody now is rich: Before, if times _were_ bad, there still would come Some merchant-captain home from time to time, And bring us thank-offerings for escape from wreck; Some lucky rogue, perhaps, who had got a verdict; Or some good man held a family sacrifice, And asked the priest, of course. But now no soul Pays either vows or sacrifice, or comes To the temple--save to shoot their rubbish there. _Car._ (_half aside_). You take your tithe of that, I warrant me. Chremylus, whose good fortune in entertaining such a desirable guest has put him into good-humour with all the world, comforts the despairing official. The true Father Protector--the deity whom all men acknowledge--is here, he tells him, in the house. They mean to set him up permanently at Athens, in his proper place--the Public Treasury. And he shall be the minister of the new worship, if he likes to quit the service of Jupiter. The priest gladly consents, and an extempore procession is at once formed upon the stage, into which the old lady who has lost her lover is pressed, and persuaded to carry a slop-pail upon her head, to represent the maidens who, on such occasions, bore the lustral waters for the inauguration. Cario and the Chorus bring up the rear in an antic dance, and they proceed to establish at Athens, with all due formalities, the worship of Wealth alone.