_Phi._ I am not sure of their names, as I have never come into contact with them. To judge from their grasping propensities, however, you can hardly go wrong with Cteso, Ctesippus, Ctesicles, Euctemon, Polyctetus[8]. _Her._ To be sure. But who are these men? They seem to be looking for something too. Why, they are coming up to speak to us. _Innkeeper and Masters._ Excuse us, madam, and gentlemen, but have you come across a company of three rascals conducting a woman--a very masculine-looking female, with hair cut short in the Spartan fashion? _Phi._ Ha! the very people we are looking for! _Masters._ Indeed, madam? But these are three runaway slaves. The woman was kidnapped by them, and we want to get her back. _Her._ _Our_ business with them I will tell you afterwards. For the present, let us make a joint proclamation. Disappeared. A Paphlagonian slave, formerly of Sinope. Any person giving information as to his whereabouts will be rewarded; the amount of the reward to be fixed by the informant. Description. Name: begins with CTE. Complexion: sallow. Hair: close-cropped, with long beard. Dress: a coarse cloak with wallet. Temper: bad. Education: none. Voice: harsh. Manner: offensive. _First Master._ Why, what is all this about? His name used to be Cantharus when he was with me. He had long hair, and no beard, and was apprenticed to my trade; I am a fuller, and he was in my shop, dressing cloth. _Phi._ Yes, it is the same; but he has dressed to some purpose this time, and has become a philosopher. _First Master._ Cantharus a philosopher! I like that. And where do I come in? _Second and Third Masters._ Oh well, we shall get them all now. This lady knows all about them, it seems. _Phi._ Heracles, who is this comely person with a lyre? _Hera._ It is Orpheus. I was on the Argo with him. He was the best of boatswains; it was quite a pleasure to row to his singing. Welcome, my musical friend: you have not forgotten Heracles, I hope? _Or._ And welcome to all of you, Philosophy, Heracles, Hermes. I should like my reward, please: I can lay my finger on your man. _Her._ Then show us the way. It is useless, of course, to offer gold to the gifted son of Calliope? _Or._ Oh, quite.--I will show you the house, but not the man. His tongue might avenge him; scurrility is his strong point. _Her._ Lead on. _Or._ It is this house close by. And now I shall leave you; I have no wish to set eyes on him. _Her._ Hush! Was that a woman's voice, reciting Homer? _Phi._ It was. Let us listen. _Innkeeper's Wife._ More than the gates of Hell I hate that man Who, loving gold, cloaketh his love with lies. _Her._ At that rate, madam, you will have to quarrel with Cantharus: He with his kindly host hath dealt amiss. _Innkeeper._ That's me. I took him in, and he ran away with my wife.