HIPPOMACHUS. The largest elephant that I ever saw was in the grounds of Teribazus, near Susa. I wish that I had measured him. ALCIBIADES. I wish that he had trod upon you. Come, come, Chariclea, we shall soon return, and then-- CHARICLEA. Yes; then indeed. ALCIBIADES. Yes, then-- Then for revels; then for dances, Tender whispers, melting glances. Peasants, pluck your richest fruits: Minstrels, sound your sweetest flutes: Come in laughing crowds to greet us, Dark-eyed daughters of Miletus; Bring the myrtles, bring the dice, Floods of Chian, hills of spice. SPEUSIPPUS. Whose lines are those, Alcibiades? ALCIBIADES. My own. Think you, because I do not shut myself up to meditate, and drink water, and eat herbs, that I cannot write verses? By Apollo, if I did not spend my days in politics, and my nights in revelry, I should have made Sophocles tremble. But now I never go beyond a little song like this, and never invoke any Muse but Chariclea. But come, Speusippus, sing. You are a professed poet. Let us have some of your verses. SPEUSIPPUS. My verses! How can you talk so? I a professed poet! ALCIBIADES. Oh, content you, sweet Speusippus. We all know your designs upon the tragic honours. Come, sing. A chorus of your new play. SPEUSIPPUS. Nay, nay-- HIPPOMACHUS. When a guest who is asked to sing at a Persian banquet refuses-- SPEUSIPPUS. In the name of Bacchus-- ALCIBIADES. I am absolute. Sing. SPEUSIPPUS. Well, then, I will sing you a chorus, which, I think, is a tolerable imitation of Euripides. CHARICLEA. Of Euripides?--Not a word. ALCIBIADES. Why so, sweet Chariclea? CHARICLEA. Would you have me betray my sex? Would you have me forget his Phaedras and Sthenoboeas? No if I ever suffer any lines of that woman-hater, or his imitators, to be sung in my presence, may I sell herbs (The mother of Euripides was a herb-woman. This was a favourite topic of Aristophanes.) like his mother, and wear rags like his Telephus. (The hero of one of the lost plays of Euripides, who appears to have been brought upon the stage in the garb of a beggar. See Aristophanes; Acharn. 430; and in other places.) ALCIBIADES. Then, sweet Chariclea, since you have silenced Speusippus, you shall sing yourself. CHARICLEA. What shall I sing? ALCIBIADES. Nay, choose for yourself. CHARICLEA. Then I will sing an old Ionian hymn, which is chanted every spring at the feast of Venus, near Miletus. I used to sing it in my own country when I was a child; and--ah, Alcibiades! ALCIBIADES. Dear Chariclea, you shall sing something else. This distresses you.