with joy and follow your mother, my little pigs.
Oh! Circe with the potent philtress, who besmear your companions
so filthily, what pleasure I shall have in imitating the son of
Laertes! I will hang you up by your balls, I will rub your nose with
dung like a goat, and like Aristyllus you shall say through your
half-opened lips, "Follow your mother, my little pigs."
Enough of tomfoolery, assume a grave demeanour; unknown to my
master I am going to take bread and meat; and when I have fed well,