The Festival of Adonis.

GORGO.  PRAXINOAe.

GORGO. 
Praxinoae in?

PRAXINOAe. 
Yes, Gorgo dear!  At last! 
That you’re here now’s a marvel!  See to a chair,
A cushion, Eunoae!

GORGO. 
I lack naught.

PRAXINOAe. 
Sit down.

GORGO. 
Oh, what a thing is spirit!  Here I am,
Praxinoae, safe at last from all that crowd
And all those chariots—­every street a mass
Of boots and uniforms!  And the road, my dear,
Seemed endless—­you live now so far away!

    PRAXINOAe. 
    This land’s-end den—­I cannot call it house—­
    My madcap hired to keep us twain apart
    And stir up strife.  ’Twas like him, odious pest!

    GORGO. 
    Nay call not, dear, your lord, your Deinon, names
    To the babe’s face.  Look how it stares at you! 
    There, baby dear, she never meant Papa! 
    It understands, by’r lady!  Dear Papa!

    PRAXINOAe. 
    Well, yesterday (that means what day you like)
    ‘Papa’ had rouge and hair-powder to buy;
    He brought back salt! this oaf of six-foot-one!

    GORGO. 
    Just such another is that pickpocket
    My Diocleides.  He bought t’other day
    Six fleeces at seven drachms, his last exploit. 
    What were they? scraps of worn-out pedlar’s-bags,
    Sheer trash.—­But put your cloak and mantle on;
    And we’ll to Ptolemy’s, the sumptuous king,
    To see the Adonis.  As I hear, the queen
    Provides us something gorgeous.

PRAXINOAe. 
Ay, the grand
Can do things grandly.

GORGO. 
When you’ve seen yourself,
What tales you’ll have to tell to those who’ve not. 
’Twere time we started!

PRAXINOAe. 
All time’s holiday
With idlers!  Eunoae, pampered minx, the jug! 
Set it down here—­you cats would sleep all day
On cushions—­Stir yourself, fetch water, quick! 
Water’s our first want.  How she holds the jug! 
Now, pour—­not, cormorant, in that wasteful way—­
You’ve drenched my dress, bad luck t’you!  There, enough: 
I have made such toilet as my fates allowed. 
Now for the key o’ the plate-chest.  Bring it, quick!

    GORGO. 
    My dear, that full pelisse becomes you well. 
    What did it stand you in, straight off the loom?

    PRAXINOAe. 
    Don’t ask me, Gorgo:  two good pounds and more. 
    Then I gave all my mind to trimming it.

    GORGO. 
    Well, ’tis a great success.

    PRAXINOAe. 
                              I think it is. 
    My mantle, Eunoae, and my parasol! 
    Arrange me nicely.  Babe, you’ll bide at home! 
    Horses would bite you—­Boo!—­Yes, cry your fill,
    But we won’t have you maimed.  Now let’s be off. 
    You, Phrygia, take and nurse the tiny thing: 
    Call the dog in:  make fast the outer door!