TROCHILUS. 'Tis no doubt because he was a man. At times he wants to eat a dish of loach from Phalerum; I seize my dish and fly to fetch him some. Again he wants some pea-soup; I seize a ladle and a pot and run to get it.
EUELPIDES. This is, then, truly a running-bird.[185] Come, Trochilus, do us the kindness to call your master.
TROCHILUS. Why, he has just fallen asleep after a feed of myrtle-berries and a few grubs.
EUELPIDES. Never mind; wake him up.
TROCHILUS. I am certain he will be angry. However, I will wake him to please you.
PISTHETAERUS. You cursed brute! why, I am almost dead with terror!
EUELPIDES. Oh! my god! 'twas sheer fear that made me lose my jay.
PISTHETAERUS. Ah! you great coward! were you so frightened that you let go your jay?
EUELPIDES. And did you not lose your crow, when you fell sprawling on the ground? Pray tell me that.
PISTHETAERUS. No, no.
[185] The Greek word for a wren, [Greek: trochilos], is derived from the same root as [Greek: trechein], to run.
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