Book XI, 324

A. Accept, Phoebus, the supper I bring thee. B. I will accept it if someone lets me. A. Then, Son of Leto, is there something that thou too dost fear? B. No one else but only Arrius, for he, that ministrant of an altar that smells not of fat, has a more powerful claw than a robber-hawk, and once he has celebrated the procession he walks back carrying oft everything. There is great virtue in Jove’s ambrosia, for I should be one of you if a god, too, could feel hunger.