Book 1
4
You’d better not talk about that, Galatea. We heard his singing the other day, when he came serenading you. Gracious Aphrodite! Anyone would have taken it for the braying of an ass. And as for the lyre itself! What a thing it was! The fleshless skull of a stag! Its horns served as the arms of the lyre and he’d joined them with a yoke, and fitted on his strings, without bothering to twist them round a peg, so that his performance was scarcely tuneful or harmonious, with him roaring away himself in one key, and his lyre accompanying him in another. So we just couldn’t help laughing at such attempts at a love song. For even Echo, who’s such a chatterbox, wouldn’t so much as answer his bellowing, but was ashamed to be caught imitating such a rough, ridiculous song.
5
And your Prince Charming was carrying in his arms as his little plaything a bear-cub just as hairy as himself. Who wouldn’t envy you such a lover, Galatea?
5
Well, Doris, let us see your own lover. Obviously he’s handsomer, more musical and a better player of the harp.
5
I’ve not got one. I don’t pride myself on being a charmer. But as for a fellow like your Cyclops, that smells as rank as any he-goat, and, by all accounts, eats his meat raw, and makes a meal of visiting strangers—may you keep him for yourself, and ever return his affection.
