You don't really mean that.
Damn the man who invented perfumes!
MYRRHINE (coming back with another flask)
Here, take this bottle.
I have a better one allready for you, darling. Come, you provoking
creature, to bed with you, and don't bring another thing.
Coming, coming; I'm just slipping off my shoes. Dear boy, will you
vote for peace?
I'll think about it. (MYRRHINE runs away.) I'm a dead man, she
is killing me! She has gone, and left me in torment! (in tragic
style) I must have someone to lay, I must! Ah me! the loveliest of
women has choused and cheated me. Poor little lad, how am I to give
you what you want so badly? Where is Cynalopex? quick, man, get him
a nurse, do!
LEADER OF CHORUS OF OLD MEN
Poor, miserable wretch, baulked in your amorousness! what tortures