You wish to pile up wealth by slaughtering a bull and you summon mercury with the liver. “Pray that the household gods make me rich; grant me cattle and fertile flocks.” How is this so, you fool, when the fat of so many cattle are melts in the flame? However he is determined to get what he wants by sacrificing internal organs and rich cake-offerings. He says “now my field is growing, now the sheepfold is growing, now it is being given, now, now!” until, disillusioned and in despair, his last coin vainly sighs at the very bottom of his purse.
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