CHREMYLUS: I’ll tell you why, straight out. Of all my slaves I know you are the best, most constant—thief. Well—I have been a good, religious man, But always poor—no luck. SLAVE: And so you have. CHREMYLUS: While a church robber, and those thieves who live On politics, get rich. SLAVE: And so they do. CHREMYLUS: So then I went to ask—not for myself, I’ve pretty well shot all my arrows now— But for my son, my only son. I prayed That he might change his ways and turn into A scoundrel, wicked, rotten through and through, And so live happily forever after. The god replied, the first man I fell in
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