THE DEAD (one) Alas, my wealth! (anoTuer) Alas, my farms! (aNoTHER) Alackaday, what a house I left behind me! (anotuer) To think of all the thousands my heir will come into and squander! (aNoruer) Ah, my new-born babes! (anorner) Who will get the vintage of the vines I set out last year? HERMES Micyllus, you are not lamenting at all, are you? Nobody may cross without a tear. MICYLLUS Get out with you! I have no reason to lament while the wind is fair. HERMES Do cry, however, even if only a little, for custom’s sake, MICYLLUS Well, I'll lament, then, since you wish it, Hermes. —Alas, my scraps of leather! Alas, my old shoes! Alackaday, my rotten sandals! Unlucky man that I am, never again will I go hungry from morning to night or wander about in winter barefooted and halfnaked, with my teeth chattering for cold! Who is to get my knife and my awl? HERMES Enough weeping; we are almost in now.