the last drops in her cup, when Eumolpus, who was himself almost drunk,
was seized with the notion of satirizing bald pates and branded rascals,
but when he had exhausted his chilly wit, he returned at last to his
poetry and recited this little elegy upon hair:

"Gone are those locks that to thy beauty lent such lustrous charm
And blighted are the locks of Spring by bitter Winter's sway;
Thy naked temples now in baldness mourn their vanished form,
And glistens now that poor bare crown, its hair all worn away
Oh! Faithless inconsistency! The gods must first resume
The charms that first they granted youth, that it might lovelier
bloom!
Poor wretch, but late thy locks did brighter glister
Than those of great Apollo or his sister!
Now, smoother is thy crown than polished grasses
Or rounded mushrooms when a shower passes!
In fear thou fliest the laughter-loving lasses.
That thou may'st know that Death is on his way,
Know that thy head is partly dead this day!"

CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TENTH.

It is my opinion that he intended favoring us with more of the same kind
of stuff, sillier than the last, but Tryphaena's maid led Giton away
below and fitted the lad out in her mistress' false curls; then producing
some eyebrows from a vanity box, she skillfully traced out the lines of
the lost features and restored him to his proper comeliness. Recognizing
the real Giton, Tryphaena was moved to tears, and then for the first time
she gave the boy a real love-kiss. I was overjoyed, now that the lad was
restored to his own handsome self, but I hid my own face all the more
assiduously, realizing that I was disfigured by no ordinary hideousness
since not even Lycas would bestow a word upon me. The maid rescued me
from this misfortune finally, however, and calling me aside, she decked
me out with a head of hair which was none the less becoming; my face
shone more radiantly still, as a matter of fact, for my curls were
golden! But in a little while, Eumolpus, mouthpiece of the distressed
and author of the present good understanding, fearing that the general
good humor might flag for lack of amusement, began to indulge in sneers
at the fickleness of women: how easily they fell in love; how readily
they forgot even their own sons! No woman could be so chaste but that
she could be roused to madness by a chance pass