Subdue thy nature to necessity,
Be supple, smooth, importunate, and bend
Thy temper to the level of thy fortune.—
Yet grant me another boon, Euripides;
A little tiny basket let it be, ⁠560
One that has held a lamp, all burnt and battered.

Eur. Why should you need it?

Dic. ⁠'Tis no need, perhaps,
But strong desire, a longing, eager wish.

Eur. You're troublesome. Depart.

Dic. ⁠Alas, alas!
Yet may you prosper like your noble mother.^[1]

Eur. Depart, I say.

Dic. ⁠Don't say so! Give me first,
First give me a pipkin broken at the brim.

Eur. You're troublesome in the mansion. Take it, go!

Dic. Alas, you know not what I feel, Euripides.
Yet grant me a pitcher, good Euripides; ⁠570
A pitcher with a sponge plugged in its mouth.

Eur. Fellow, you'll plunder me a whole tragedy.
Take it, and go.

Dic. ⁠Yes; aye forsooth, I'm going.
But how shall I contrive? There's something more
That makes or mars my fortune utterly;
Yet give them, and bid me go, my dear Euripides;
A little bundle of leaves to line my basket.

Eur. For mercy's sake! . . . But take them. There they go!
My tragedies and all! ruined and robbed!

Dic. No more; I mean to trouble you no more. ⁠580
Yes, I retire; in truth I feel myself
Importunate, intruding on the presence
Of chiefs and princes, odious and unwelcome.
But out, alas, that I should so forget
The very point on which my fortune turns;
I wish I may be hanged, my dear Euripides,
If ever I trouble you for anything,
Except one little, little, little boon,
A single lettuce from your mother's stall.

Eur. This stranger taunts us. Close the palace gate. ⁠590