Who could believe my words? 'Tis shame to confess that the sickleYon thief-folk have availed e'en from my fingers to thieve.Nor doth its loss so much affect my mind or dishonourAs the just, natural dread other my weapons to lose,Which lost shall I stand mulcted of country, and he that was erewhileSon of the city to thee, Lampsacus! Gaul shall become.

Thou too dost mock me, Thief! and the infamousFinger dost point when menacèd by me!