Varro: “I tilled this ground, with unrelenting toil. My preparation for the harvest was irreproachable. Yet the bitter hail has flattened my corn! All is wasted, all is for nothing!”

Satyr: “Come, farmer, dance in the field with us! The ground is ready!”

Varro: “I did not grow this grain for your revels. Satyr, go somewhere you’re wanted!”

Satyr: “I always go where I am not wanted, because that’s precisely where I’m needed. If they already had me, why would they want me?”

Varro: “What do you propose?”

Satyr: “Dance with me, you old grouch! Dance until the grain grows back.”

Varro: “And who will grow the grain, while I am dancing?”

Satyr: “I appreciate all your hard work, I really do. BUT THE GRAIN GROWS JUST FINE BY ITSELF.”


Varro: “That was some party! Wow, all play and no work. So when will the new grain be ready?”

Satyr: “Who knows? Not my problem. Hey, there’s another field nearby, looks like the harvest is coming in. Let’s go there!”

Varro: “WAIT. When you said, ‘the grain grows by itself’, you meant some poor sucker is growing it for you!”

Satyr: “Way to kill the buzz.”

Varro: “You’re a parasite! People like me break their backs treading the grapes, and you come in at the end and drink the wine! How is that fair?”

Satyr: “Without me, you would not know to drink the wine.”


Varro: “I take your point. Making a thing and enjoying that thing are two different skills. Tell me this, couldn’t I develop my own faculty for enjoyment? Then I would be able to enjoy what I produce without your, um, valuable contribution.”

Satyr: “Who’s the farmer after all?”

Written on May 24, 2020