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χλανίσι δὲ δὴ φαναῖσι περιπεπεµµένοι καὶ µαστίχην τρώγοντες, ὄζοντες µύρου. τὸ δ’ ὅλον οὐκ ἐπίσταµαι ἐγὼ ψιθυρίζειν, οὐδὲ κατακεκλασµένος πλάγιον ποιήσας τὸν τράχηλον περιπατεῖν, ὥσπερ ἑτέρους ὁρῶ κιναίδους ἐνθάδε πολλοὺς ἐν ἄστει καὶ πεπιττοκοπηµένους → Dressed up in bright clean fine cloaks and nibbling pine-thistle, smelling of myrrh. But I do not at all know how to whisper, nor how to be enervated, and make my neck go back and forth, just as I see many others, kinaidoi, here in the city, do, and waxed with pitch-plasters.