|“I am leaving, leaving. Do not hold me back.
I’m a martyr to ennui and to revulsion.”
“But stay a while for Menander’s sake.
What a pity if you miss it.” “You insult me.
Menander’s are they, then, these weak données,
these unpolished verses, this childish speech?
Let me leave this theater straightaway
that I may go home—with no little relief.
The Roman air has ruined you utterly
Instead of condemning, you timidly
acclaim, applaud this uncouth—what’s his name?
Gavrence, Terence?—whose only talent
is for composing those Latin attelans;
yet nonetheless he hungers for Menander’s fame.”