Book IX, 570

Xantho, modelled of wax, with scented skin, with a face like a Muse’s, sweet-voiced, fair darling of the twin-winged Loves, play to me with thy scent-bedewed hands. “I must lie and sleep for long, dying not, on a single bed cut out of stone.” Sing it to me again, Xantho dear; yea! yea! sing me that sweet song. [Dost thou not hear it, man who amassest interest of moneys? On a single bed cut out of stone thou shalt live for ever, unhappy wretch.]