Surely he can't have devoured it yet!
Indeed he has; he snatched it, rolled it between his feet and
bolted it. Come, hurry up, knead up a lot and knead them stiffly.
Oh, scavengers, help me in the name of the gods, if you do not
wish to see me fall down choked.
Come, come, another made from the stool of a fairy's favourite.
That will be to the beetle's taste; he likes it well ground.
There! I am free at least from suspicion; none will accuse me of