Many mouths were opened upon him all at once. “The sorcerer!” cried one; “tear him to shreds; we’ll teach him to brew his spells against the city.” “Give us back our grapes and corn,” said a second. “Have a guard,” said a third; “he can turn you into swine or asses while there is breath in him,” “Then be the quicker with him,” said a fourth, who was lifting up a crowbar to discharge upon his head. “Hold!” said a tall swarthy youth, who had already warded off several blows from him, “hold, will you? don’t you see, if you kill him he can’t undo the spell. Make him first reverse it all; make him take the curse off us. Bring him along; take him to Astarte, Hercules, or old Saturn. We’ll broil him on a gridiron till he turns all these canes into vines, and makes olive berries of the pebbles, and turns the dust of the earth into fine flour for our eating. When he has done all this he shall dance a jig with a wild cow, and sit down to supper with an hyena.”

A loud scream of exultation broke forth from the drunken and frantic multitude. “Along with him!” continued the same speaker in a jeering tone. “Here, put him on the ass and tie his hands behind his back. He shall go back in triumph to the city which he loves. Mind, and don’t touch him before the time. If you kill him, you’ll never get the curse off. Come here, you priests of Cybele,” he added, “and be his body-guard.” And he continued to keep a vigilant eye and hand over the old man, in spite of them.