Leader of the Chorus
Oh! Circe with the potent philtres,
[310]
who besmear your companions so filthily, what pleasure I shall have in imitating the son of Laertes! I will hang you up by your balls, I will rub your nose with dung like a goat, and like Aristyllus you shall say through your half-opened lips,
[315]
“Follow your mother, my little pigs.”