And do thy slaves run round in silks and golden anklets, and do they serve to thy unfortunate guest, a skyphos of aged wine and dried figs from Rhodes that he may the while forget thee? A drachma! Good father Zeus, dost hear?
A drachma? Bah! Why, Wrinkles, the naiads would forsake the woods for that, and Lais would turn over in her tomb! I guess thou playest upon the innocent, but, though Im still a youth, full many curious things Ive done and known. And yet thou askest for a drachma!
Away, and trim the bristling hair around thy lips, and clean thy nails, and wash thine arms in milk! A drachma! Whats that thou sayest? Three obols? Ah, well, Ill go with thee for that, my dear, Ill go with thee for that!