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.