RICHES 
Why, by Zeus, because he treated me contumeliously, bundled me out, made ducks and drakes of
me, although I was his father’s friend, and all
but thrust me out of the house with a pitchfork,
throwing me away as people throw hot coals out of
their hands. Am I to go back, then, and be betrayed into the hands of parasites and toadies and
prostitutes ?. Send me to men who will be pleased
with the gift, Zeus, who will be attentive to me, who
hold me in honour and yearn for me, and let these

 

noddies abide with Poverty, whom they prefer to
me; let them get a coat of skin and a pick from her
and be content, poor wretches, with a wage of four
obols, they who heedlessly fling away ten-talent
gifts.