(turning to go) And so good-bye to you, most just of
      judges here at home and doughtiest of fighters in the field.
                                [EXEUNT Prologue AND Captives.

ACTVS I

    ACT I

    ENTER Ergasilus LOOKING HUNGRY AND FORLORN.

Erg.

Iuventus nomen indidit Scorto mihi, eo quia invocatus soleo esse in convivio. 70 scio absurde dictum hoc derisores dicere, at ego aio recte. nam scortum in convivio sibi amator, talos quom iacit, scortum invocat.

The young fellows have dubbed me Missy, on the ground that whenever they’re at their banquets I feel called upon to be with ’em.  To be sure, the professional wags say it is an absurd nickname, but I protest it’s a good one.  For at banquets when the young sparks are playing dice they call upon their missies, yes, their missies, to be with ’em as they make a throw.

estne invocatum an non est? est planissume; verum hercle vero nos parasiti planius, quos numquam quisquam neque vocat neque invocat. quasi mures semper edimus alienum cibum; ubi res prolatae sunt, quom rus homines eunt, simul prolatae res sunt nostris dentibus.

Does missy feel called upon to be with ’em, or not?  Most unmistakably.  But by heaven, I tell you we parasites feel the call more unmistakably still, for no one else ever feels for us or calls us, either.  Like mice, we’re forever nibbling at some one else’s food.  When the holidays come, and men hie ’em to their country estates, our grinders take a holiday, too.

quasi, cum caletur, cocleae in occulto latent, 80 suo sibi suco vivont, ros si non cadit, item parasiti rebus prolatis latent in occulto miseri victitant suco suo, dum ruri rurant homines quos ligurriant.

It’s the same as snails hiding in their holes during the dog days and living on their own juices when there’s no dew falling:  that’s the way with parasites during the holidays—­ hide in their holes, poor devils, and subsist on their own juices while the people they could get pickings from are in the rural regions ruralizing.

prolatis rebus parasiti venatici sumus, quando res redierunt, molossici odiosicique et multum incommodestici. et hic quidem hercle, nisi qui colaphos perpeti potest parasitus frangique aulas in caput, [3]ire extra portam Trigeminam ad saccum licet. 90 quod mihi ne eveniat, non nullum periculum est.

So long as the holidays last we parasites are greyhounds:  when they’re over we are wolf-hounds and dear-hounds and bore- hounds, very much so.  And, by gad, in this town, at least, if a parasite objects to being banged about and having crockery smashed on his cranium, he can betake himself to the far side of Three Arch Gate and a porter’s bag. (ruefully)