Do you then admit yourself worsted by crying" Enough?"

Yes, Timokles, for you, like a hardpressed fugitive, have taken sanctuary on your altars, and so, by the blessed anchor, I long to swear a truce with you on these very altars, so that we may no longer wrangle about them.

You are chaffing me, you grave-robber, you blackguard, you disgusting beast, you knavish slave, you refuse! Don't I know who your father was and your mother, too, and how you strangled your brother, and are an evil-liver and corrupter of lads, you filthy, shameless wretch? Don't run away now, for you are going to get blows from me, too, before you get off. I am going to cut your throat directly with this potsherd, miscreant that you are!