TRYGAEUS. Oh! oh! what a crowd for the nuptial feast! Here! dust the tables with this crest, which is good for nothing else now. Halloa! produce the cakes, the thrushes, plenty of good jugged hare and the little loaves. A SICKLE-MAKER. Trygaeus, where is Trygaeus? TRYGAEUS. I am cooking the thrushes. SICKLE-MAKER. Trygaeus, my best of friends, what a fine stroke of business you have done for me by bringing back Peace! Formerly my sickles would not have sold at an obolus apiece, to-day I am being paid fifty drachmas for every one. And here is a neighbour who is selling his casks for the country at three drachmae each. So come, Trygaeus, take as many sickles and casks as you will for nothing. Accept them for nothing; 'tis because of our handsome profits on our sales that we offer you these wedding presents. TRYGAEUS. Thanks. Put them all down inside there, and come along quick to the banquet. Ah! do you see that armourer yonder coming with a wry face? A CREST-MAKER. Alas! alas! Trygaeus, you have ruined me utterly. TRYGAEUS. What! won't the crests go any more, friend? CREST-MAKER. You have killed my business, my livelihood, and that of this poor lance-maker too. TRYGAEUS. Come, come, what are you asking for these two crests? CREST-MAKER. What do you bid for them? 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? TRYGAEUS. Aye, so that I may not be accused of robbing the State, by blocking up an oar-hole in the galley.[381] BREASTPLATE-MAKER. So you would pay ten minae[382] for a night-stool? TRYGAEUS. Undoubtedly, you rascal. Do you think I would sell my rump for a thousand drachmae?[383] BREASTPLATE-MAKER. Come, have the money paid over to me. TRYGAEUS. No, friend; I find it hurts me to sit on. Take it away, I won't buy. A TRUMPET-MAKER. What is to be done with this trumpet, for which I gave sixty drachmae the other day? TRYGAEUS. Pour lead into the hollow and fit a good, long stick to the top; and you will have a balanced cottabos.[384]