_Her_. That beauty must come off,—lips, kisses, and all; the flowing locks, the blushing cheeks, the skin entire. That's right. Now we're in better trim;—you may pass on.—And who is the stunning gentleman in the purple and the diadem? _Lam_. I am Lampichus, tyrant of Gela. _Her_. And what is all this splendour doing here, Lampichus? _Lam_. How! would you have a tyrant come hither stripped? _Her_. A tyrant! That would be too much to expect. But with a shade we must insist. Off with these things. _Lam_. There, then: away goes my wealth. _Her_. Pomp must go too, and pride; we shall be overfreighted else. _Lam_. At least let me keep my diadem and robes. _Her_. No, no; off they come! _Lam_. Well? That is all, as you see for yourself. _Her_. There is something more yet: cruelty, folly, insolence, hatred. _Lam_. There then: I am bare. _Her_. Pass on.—And who may you be, my bulky friend? _Dam_. Damasias the athlete. _Her_. To be sure; many is the time I have seen you in the gymnasium. _Dam_. You have. Well, I have peeled; let me pass. _Her_. Peeled! my dear sir, what, with all this fleshy encumbrance? Come, off with it; we should go to the bottom if you put one foot aboard. And those crowns, those victories, remove them. _Dam_. There; no mistake about it this time; I am as light as any shade among them. _Her_. That's more the kind of thing. On with you.—Crato, you can take off that wealth and luxury and effeminacy; and we can't have that funeral pomp here, nor those ancestral glories either; down with your rank and reputation, and any votes of thanks or inscriptions you have about you; and you need not tell us what size your tomb was; remarks of that kind come heavy. _Cra_. Well, if I must, I must; there's no help for it. _Her_. Hullo! in full armour? What does this mean? and why this trophy? _A General_. I am a great conqueror; a valiant warrior; my country's pride. _Her_. The trophy may stop behind; we are at peace; there is no demand for arms.—Whom have we here? whose is this knitted brow, this flowing beard? 'Tis some reverend sage, if outside goes for anything; he mutters; he is wrapped in meditation. _Men_. That's a philosopher, Hermes; and an impudent quack not the bargain. Have him out of that cloak; you will find something to amuse you underneath it. _Her_. Off with your clothes first; and then we will see to the rest. My goodness, what a bundle: quackery, ignorance, quarrelsomeness, vainglory; idle questionings, prickly arguments, intricate conceptions; humbug and gammon and wishy-washy hair-splittings without end; and hullo! why here's avarice, and self-indulgence, and impudence! luxury, effeminacy and peevishness!—Yes, I see them all; you need not try to hide them. Away with falsehood and swagger and superciliousness; why, the three-decker is not built that would hold you with all this luggage. _A Philosopher_. I resign them all, since such is your bidding.