PEACE
211
Servant.
He has a self-important look; is he some diviner?
Trygæus.
No, i’ faith! ’tis Hierocles.
Servant.
Ah! that oracle-monger from Oreus.[1] What is he going to tell us?
Trygæus.
Evidently he is coming to oppose the peace.
Servant.
No, ’tis the odour of the fat that attracts him.
Trygæus.
Let us appear not to see him.
Servant.
Very well.
Hierocles.
What sacrifice is this? to what god are you offering it?
Trygæus (to the servant).
Silence!—(Aloud.) Look after the roasting and keep your hands off the meat.
Hierocles.
To whom are you sacrificing? Answer me. Ah! the tail[2] is showing favourable omens.
Servant.
Aye, very favourable, oh, loved and mighty Peace!