The Cock (13-14)

Now, you know my neighbor and fellow-craftsman, Simon, who dined with me not long ago; that time in the holidays when I made a bean soup with two slices of sausage in it.

I know the little snub-nosed creature. He picked up the earthen cup, the only one we had, and carried it off under his arm. I saw him, Mikyllos.

Then was he that stole it, and afterwards called so many gods to witness his innocence! But why did you not cry out and tell of him then, Cock, when you saw us being robbed?

I crowed, which was all I could do then. But what has Simon done? I thought you had something to say about him.

He had a cousin named Drimylos, who was enormously rich. While he was living he never gave Simon a cent. Why should he, who never touched his money himself? But he died the other day, and all his property has come by law to Simon, and now he of the dirty rags, he who used to lick his soup-plate, drives at his ease, wearing purple and scarlet, owning slaves and carriages and golden goblets and ivory tables, with the crowd bowing before him, and not so much as a glance for me any longer. At least, I saw him passing close by me and said, "How do you do, Simon?" But he flew into a rage and said, "Tell this beggar not to shorten my name. I am not called Simon, but Simonides." And what is more important, the women are in love with him already, but he is coy with them and fastidious. Some he approves and treats graciously, but others threaten to hang themselves because of his neglect. You see what good things gold can do, if it even transforms the ugly and makes them charming, as that cestus did in the poem. You know, too, what the poets say: