_Philos_. What do you mean? bring them back after that stampede? _Par_. Oh yes, if the priestess will lend me the line I see there and the Piraean fisherman's votive hook; I will not keep them long. _Priestess_. You can have them; and the rod to complete the equipment. _Par_. Thanks; now quickly, please, a few dried figs and a handful of gold. _Priestess_. There. _Philos_. What _is_ all this about? _Priestess_. He has baited his hook with the figs and gold, and is sitting on the parapet dangling it over the city. _Philos_. What _are_ you doing, Parrhesiades? do you think you are going to fish up stones from the Pelasgicum? _Par_. Hush! I wait till I get a bite. Posidon, the fisherman's friend, and you, dear Amphitrite, send me good fishing! Ah, a fine bass; no, it is not; it is a gilthead. _Expo_. A shark, you mean; there, see, he is getting near the hook, open-mouthed too. He scents the gold; now he is close—touching—he has it; up with him! _Par_. Give me a hand with the line, Exposure; here he is. Now, my best of fishes, what do we make of you? _Salmo Cynicus_, that is what _you_ are. Good gracious, what teeth! Aha, my brave fish, caught snapping up trifles in the rocks, where you thought you could lurk unobserved? But now you shall hang by the gills for every one to look at you. Pull out hook and bait. Why, the hook is bare; he has not been long assimilating the figs, eh? and the gold has gone down too. _Diog_. Make him disgorge; we want the bait for some more. _Par_. There, then. Now, Diogenes, do you know who it is? has the fellow anything to do with you? _Diog_. Nothing whatever. _Par_. Well, what do you put him at? threepence was the price fixed the other day. _Diog_. Too much. His flavour and his looks are intolerable—a coarse worthless brute. Drop him head first over the rock, and catch another. But take care your rod does not bend to breaking point. _Par_. No fear; they are quite light—about the weight of a gudgeon. _Diog_. About the weight and about the wit. However, up with them. _Par_. Look; what is this one? a sole? flat as a plate, thin as one of his own fillets; he gapes for the hook; down it goes; we have him; up he comes. _Diog_. What is he? _Expo_. His plateship would be a Platonist. _Pl_. You too after the gold, villain? _Par_. Well, Plato? what shall we do with him? _Pl_. Off with him from the same rock. _Diog_. Try again. _Par_. Ah, here is a lovely one coming, as far as one can judge in deep water, all the colours of the rainbow, with gold bars across the back. Do you see, Exposure? this is the sham Aristotle. There he is; no, he has shied. He is having a good look round; here he comes again; his jaws open; caught! haul up. _Ar_. You need not apply to me; I do not know him. _Par_. Very well, Aristotle; over he goes.