Wherefore (to Nicias) befits it that we think what course To take, or where to look for help. _Mitchell_, p. 161–4. The remedy however baffles their ingenuity, till Demosthenes, through the inspiration of the wine–flask, sends his comrade to steal from Cleon, who is asleep within, a certain book of oracles which he hoards with especial care. They are happily secured and handed over to Demosthenes, whose activity is all along contrasted with the indecision of Nicias. After repeated application for more wine to clear his understanding, he at last condescends to enlighten his companion’s impatience. _Dem._ (_reading._) So, so, thou varlet of a Paphlagonian! ‘Twas this bred such distrust in thee, and taught To hoard these prophecies. _Nic._ Say you? _Dem._ I say Here is a prophecy, which tells the time And manner of this fellow’s death. _Nic._ Out with it. _Dem._ (_reading._) The words are clear enough, says my oracle, There shall arise within our state a lint–seller,[93] And to his hands the state shall be committed. _Nic._ One seller note we:—good, proceed, what follows? _Dem._ (_reading._) Him shall a sheep–seller succeed.[94] _Nic._ A brace Of sellers, good.—What shall befall this worthy? _Dem._ (_reading._) ‘Tis fixed that he bear sway till one arise More wicked than himself—that moment seals him. Then comes the Paphlagonian—the hide–seller— The man of claws, whose voice outroars Cycloborus.[95] _Nic._ The man of sheep then falls beneath the lord Of hides! _Dem._ Even so; thus runs the oracle. _Nic._ Another and another still succeeds, And all are sellers! sure the race must be Extinct! _Dem._ One yet is left whose craft may stir Your wonder. _Nic._ What his name? _Dem._ Wou’dst learn? _Nic._ Aye marry. _Dem._ I give it to thee then: the man that ruins The Paphlagonian is—a sausage–seller. _Mitchell_, p. 170–2.