Here Seleucus took up the tale. "I don't bathe every day," he confided,
"a bath uses you up like a fuller: water's got teeth and your strength
wastes away a little every day; but when I've downed a pot of mead, I
tell the cold to suck my cock! I couldn't bathe today anyway, because I
was at a funeral; dandy fellow, he was too, good old Chrysanthus slipped
his wind! Why, only the other day he said good morning' to me, and I
almost think I'm talking to him now! Gawd's truth, we're only blown-up
bladders strutting around, we're less than flies, for they have some good
in them, but we're only bubbles. And supposing he had not kept to such a
low diet! Why, not a drop of water or a crumb of bread so much as passed
his lips for five days; and yet he joined the majority! Too many doctors
did away with him, or rather, his time had come, for a doctor's not good
for anything except for a consolation to your mind! He was well carried
out, anyhow, in the very bed he slept in during his lifetime. And he was
covered with a splendid pall: the mourning was tastefully managed; he had
freed some slaves; even though his wife was sparing with her tears: and
what if he hadn't treated her so well! But when you come to women, women
all belong to the kite species: no one ought to waste a good turn upon
one of them; it's just like throwing it down a well! An old love's like
a cancer!"