Acharnians

DICAEOPOLIS How my own heart has been bitten and bitten! My pleasures have been few — very few indeed: four. But my pains? Heaps of them, a hundred thousand grains of sand. Come now, let me see — what pleasure have I had that was worth my joy? I know what I was glad to see, what cheered my heart: those five talents that Cleon had to vomit up. How I beamed at that — and I love the Knights for that deed; for it was worthy of Hellas. But then I had another pain, a tragic one, the day I sat gaping in expectation of Aeschylus, and the crier called out, "Bring on your chorus, Theognis!" Imagine how that shook my heart! Yet another pleasure: that time, after Moschus, Dexitheus came on to sing his Boeotian air. But this very year I nearly died, my neck wrenched round, the day Chaeris popped up to play the high-pitched march. Yet never, since the first time I washed myself, have my eyebrows smarted so from the soap as now, when there is a sovereign Assembly due at dawn, and the Pnyx here stands deserted, while they gossip in the marketplace, up and down, dodging the vermilion-painted rope. Even the Prytaneis have not come; they arrive late, and then they jostle — you can't imagine how — crowding in against each other for the front bench, streaming down in a flood. But of peace, how it might come to be, they care not at all. O city, my city! But I am always the very first to come to the Assembly, and I sit down. And then, when I am all alone, I groan, I yawn, I stretch, I break wind, I fidget, I scribble, I pluck my hairs, I do my sums, gazing off toward my farm, in love with peace, loathing the town and longing for my own deme, which never said, "Buy coals!" nor "vinegar," nor "oil," and never knew the word "buy," but produced everything itself, and the buying-man was gone. So now I have come, prepared in earnest to shout, to interrupt, to abuse the speakers, if any of them speaks of anything but peace. But here come the Prytaneis — at midday! Didn't I say so? It's just as I told you: every man elbows his way to the front seats.

HERALD Move forward, all of you, move forward, so that you are within the purified ground.

AMPHITHEUS Has anyone spoken yet?

HERALD Who wishes to address the Assembly?

AMPHITHEUS I do.

HERALD Who are you?

AMPHITHEUS Amphitheus.

HERALD Not a mortal?

AMPHITHEUS No, but immortal. For Amphitheus was the son of Demeter and Triptolemus; and his son was Celeus; and Celeus married Phaenarete, my grandmother, and from her Lycinus was born; and from him I, and so I am immortal. And to me the gods have entrusted the making of a treaty with the Lacedaemonians — to me alone. But, immortal though I am, gentlemen, I have no travel-money; for the Prytaneis won't give me any.

HERALD Officers! The archers!

AMPHITHEUS O Triptolemus, O Celeus, will you stand by and watch?

DICAEOPOLIS Gentlemen of the Prytaneis, you wrong the Assembly in hauling this man away, who only wanted to make a treaty for us and hang up our shields.

HERALD Sit down. Be quiet.

DICAEOPOLIS By Apollo, I will not, unless you put the question of peace before me.

HERALD The ambassadors from the King!

DICAEOPOLIS What King? I am sick of ambassadors, and of peacocks, and of all their swagger.

HERALD Be quiet!

DICAEOPOLIS Whew! Ecbatana, what a getup!

AMBASSADOR You sent us to the Great King, drawing a salary of two drachmas a day, in the archonship of Euthymenes.

DICAEOPOLIS Ah me, the drachmas!

AMBASSADOR And indeed we wore ourselves out, journeying across the Cayster plains, sheltering under awnings, lolling at our ease on cushioned carriages, dying of it.

DICAEOPOLIS And I, of course, was kept very safe, bedded down in the rubbish along the rampart.

AMBASSADOR And as their guests we were forced to drink from cups of crystal and of gold unmixed sweet wine.

DICAEOPOLIS O city of Cranaus, do you see how these ambassadors mock you?

AMBASSADOR For the barbarians count as real men only those who can devour and drink the most.

DICAEOPOLIS And we count cock-suckers and butt-boys.

AMBASSADOR In the fourth year we came to the palace; but the King had gone off to the privy with an army, and sat there relieving himself for eight months on the Golden Hills.

DICAEOPOLIS And how long did it take him to close up his backside again?

AMBASSADOR By the full moon; and then he came home. After that he entertained us, and set before us whole oxen out of the oven.

DICAEOPOLIS And who ever saw oven-baked oxen? What humbug!

AMBASSADOR And, by Zeus, a bird three times the size of Cleonymus he served us; its name was Cheat.

DICAEOPOLIS So that's how you were cheating us, drawing two drachmas a day.

AMBASSADOR And now we have come bringing Pseudartabas, the King's Eye.

DICAEOPOLIS May a crow strike and peck it out, that Eye of his, and yours too, ambassador.

HERALD The King's Eye!

DICAEOPOLIS Lord Heracles! By the gods, man, you've got a face like a warship! Are you rounding a headland, scanning for a dry-dock? You've got a leather oar-port there, down around your eye.

AMBASSADOR Come now, tell the Athenians what the King sent you to say, Pseudartabas.

PSEUDARTABAS Iartaman exarxan apissona satra.

AMBASSADOR Did you understand what he says?

DICAEOPOLIS By Apollo, not I.

AMBASSADOR He says the King will send you gold. Speak up louder and more clearly about the gold.

PSEUDARTABAS No getti gold, you gape-arse Ionian.

DICAEOPOLIS Oh, curse it — now that's clear enough.

AMBASSADOR What's he saying now?

DICAEOPOLIS What? He says the Ionians are gape-arses if they expect any gold from the barbarians.

AMBASSADOR No, no — he's speaking of measures of gold, whole bushels.

DICAEOPOLIS What bushels? You're a great humbug. Off with you! I'll cross-examine him myself, alone. Come now, tell me plainly, in front of this man here — or I'll dye you a fast Sardian scarlet: will the Great King send us gold? (Pseudartabas shakes his head.) Then are we being hoodwinked by our own ambassadors? (Pseudartabas nods.) These men nodded in the Greek fashion, just now, and there's no way they aren't from right here at home. And of these two eunuchs, this one here — I know who he is: Cleisthenes, son of Sibyrtius. You, with your hot-blooded, shaven rump — with a beard like that, you ape, did you come to us tricked out as a eunuch? And this other one — who on earth is he? Surely not Straton?

HERALD Quiet! Sit down. The Council invites the King's Eye to the Prytaneum.

DICAEOPOLIS Isn't this a thing to hang oneself over? Here am I, kept hanging about, while for them the door of hospitality is never shut. Well, I'll do something terrible and great. But where on earth is my Amphitheus?

AMPHITHEUS Here I am.

DICAEOPOLIS Take these eight drachmas for me, and make a treaty with the Lacedaemonians, for me alone, and for my little ones and my good wife. As for you others — go on with your embassies and your gaping.

HERALD Let Theorus come forward, from Sitalces.

THEORUS Here.

DICAEOPOLIS Another humbug being announced.

THEORUS We should not have spent so long in Thrace —

DICAEOPOLIS By Zeus, no, not if you hadn't been drawing such a fat salary.

THEORUS — had it not snowed over all of Thrace and frozen the rivers, at the very time that Theognis was competing here. All that while I was drinking with Sitalces. And indeed he was a prodigious lover of Athens, and so truly in love with you that he even wrote upon the walls, "The Athenians are beautiful." And his son, whom we had made an Athenian, yearned to eat sausages at the Apaturia, and begged his father to come to the aid of his new fatherland; and the father swore, pouring libation, to help us with so great an army that the Athenians would say, "What a swarm of locusts is coming on!"

DICAEOPOLIS May I die a wretched death if I believe a word of what you've said here, except the part about the locusts.

THEORUS And now the most warlike tribe of the Thracians he has sent to you.

DICAEOPOLIS That much at least is now clear.

HERALD Come here, you Thracians whom Theorus brought.

DICAEOPOLIS What in the world is this monstrosity?

THEORUS An army of Odomanti.

DICAEOPOLIS Odomanti — what? Tell me, what is this? Who has stripped the foreskins off these Odomanti?

THEORUS If a man gives these fellows two drachmas a day in pay, they'll overrun all Boeotia with their light shields.

DICAEOPOLIS Two drachmas to these circumcised wretches? The lower bench of rowers would groan at that, the saviors of the city. Oh, wretched me, I'm ruined — the Odomanti are plundering my garlic! Won't you put down that garlic?

THEORUS You scoundrel, don't go near them now that they're garlic-charged for battle.

DICAEOPOLIS Did you Prytaneis stand by and watch this done to me in my own homeland, and by barbarians at that? But I forbid you to hold any Assembly about wages for the Thracians. I tell you that there's an omen from Zeus — a raindrop has struck me.

HERALD The Thracians are to withdraw, and to come back the day after tomorrow. For the Prytaneis dissolve the Assembly.

DICAEOPOLIS Oh, wretched me, what a garlic-relish I've lost! But here comes Amphitheus, back from Lacedaemon. Greetings, Amphitheus!

AMPHITHEUS Not yet — not until I stop running. For I must flee and outrun the Acharnians.

DICAEOPOLIS What's the matter?

AMPHITHEUS I was hurrying here to you, bringing your treaty; but some old men got wind of it, men of Acharnae, tough old veterans, hard as holm-oak, unyielding, men of Marathon, hard as maple. Then they all shouted out, "You utter scoundrel, you bring a treaty when our vines have been cut down?" And they began gathering stones into their cloaks; so I ran, and they pursued me, shouting.

DICAEOPOLIS Let them shout. But have you got the treaty?

AMPHITHEUS I do indeed — here, three samples to taste. This one is the five-year vintage. Take it and taste.

DICAEOPOLIS Ugh!

AMPHITHEUS What's wrong?

DICAEOPOLIS I don't like it — it smells of pitch and the fitting-out of ships.

AMPHITHEUS Then take this ten-year one and taste it.

DICAEOPOLIS This one too smells of embassies to the cities, sharp as the dawdling of our allies.

AMPHITHEUS But this one is a thirty-year treaty, by land and by sea.

DICAEOPOLIS O Dionysia! This one smells of ambrosia and nectar, and of no more watching out for "three days' rations," and on the lips it says, "Go wherever you please." This one I accept; this one I pour in libation and drink down, and I bid the Acharnians a long farewell. And I, set free of war and its evils, will go in and keep the Rural Dionysia.

AMPHITHEUS And I will run for it, away from the Acharnians.

CHORUS This way, everyone! Follow, chase, and ask after the man from every traveler on the road. For it is worth the city's while to seize this fellow. Inform me, someone, if anyone knows which way on earth the bringer of the treaty has turned.

CHORUS-LEADER He's escaped, he's gone, he's vanished! Alas, poor me, and alas for my years! In my younger days it never would have happened — when I, carrying my load of coals, ran keeping pace with Phayllus, this treaty-bearer would never have so easily got away from me as he pursued him then, nor would he have skipped off so lightly.

CHORUS But now, since my shin is stiff already, and old Lacratides feels the heaviness in his leg, he has escaped. Still, we must pursue him; let him never gloat at having got clean away from us Acharnians, old men though we are.

CHORUS Whoever it is, O Father Zeus and gods, who has made a treaty with our enemies, against whom my hateful war keeps growing on account of my ravaged lands — I will not let up until I am driven into them like a sharp reed, a painful one . . . tipped with an oar-blade, so that never again may they trample my vines.

CHORUS-LEADER But we must seek the man and look toward Ballene, and chase him from land to land, until at last he's found; for I could never have my fill of pelting him with stones.

DICAEOPOLIS (within) Keep holy silence! Keep holy silence!

CHORUS Quiet, everyone! Did you hear, men, the call for silence? This is the very man we're looking for. This way, everyone, out of the road! For the fellow is coming out, it seems, to sacrifice.

DICAEOPOLIS Phales, comrade of Bacchus, fellow-reveler, night-wanderer, adulterer, lover of boys, after five years I greet you, come gladly home to my deme, having made myself a treaty, delivered from troubles and battles and from Lamachuses. For it is far sweeter, O Phales, Phales, to catch some pretty Thracian girl, Strymodorus's slave, the wood-gatherer, thieving from Phelleus, and grab her by the middle, lift her up, throw her down, and crush her grape, O Phales, Phales! If you drink with us, then, out of your hangover at dawn you'll gulp down a bowl of peace, and the shield will hang on the rafter in the soot.

CHORUS There he is, that's him! Pelt him, pelt him, pelt him, pelt him, strike, strike the scoundrel! Won't you pelt him? Won't you pelt him?

DICAEOPOLIS Heracles! What is this? You'll smash my pot!

CHORUS No — it's you we'll stone to death, you vile head!

DICAEOPOLIS On what charge, you most venerable Acharnians?

CHORUS You ask that? You are shameless and disgusting, you traitor to your fatherland — you, alone of us, who made a treaty, and then can look me in the face!

DICAEOPOLIS But you don't know why I made the treaty. Hear me out!

CHORUS Hear you out? You shall die! We'll bury you under the stones.

DICAEOPOLIS Not before you've heard me! Bear with me, good men.

CHORUS I will not bear with you. Don't say a word to me. For I hate you even more than Cleon — Cleon, whom I will one day cut up into shoe-soles for the Knights.

CHORUS I will not listen to your long-winded speeches, you who made a treaty with the Laconians; I'll have my revenge.

DICAEOPOLIS Good men, leave the Laconians out of it, and listen to my treaty — whether I did right to make it.

CHORUS How could you ever speak of doing right, if once you've made a treaty with men for whom no altar, no faith, no oath holds firm?

DICAEOPOLIS I know that the Laconians, on whom we lay all the blame, are not the cause of all our troubles.

CHORUS Not of all of them, you villain? You dare to say that openly now, to our faces? And shall I then spare you?

DICAEOPOLIS Not of all of them, not of all of them. I tell you, if I speak, I could show on many points that they too have been wronged.

CHORUS This word is now a dreadful thing, a heart-troubling thing, if you will dare to speak on behalf of our enemies.

DICAEOPOLIS And if I do not speak justly, and the people do not agree, I am willing to speak with my head laid on the chopping-block.

CHORUS Tell me, fellow-demesmen, why do we spare our stones, why not card this man into a scarlet rag?

DICAEOPOLIS What a black coal of rage has boiled up in you again! Won't you listen? Won't you listen, men of Acharnae, truly?

CHORUS We will not listen, no.

DICAEOPOLIS Then I'll suffer dreadful things.

CHORUS May I perish if I listen!

DICAEOPOLIS No, no, men of Acharnae!

CHORUS Know that you're a dead man now.

DICAEOPOLIS Then I'll bite you back! For in return I'll kill the dearest of your dear ones; since I hold hostages of yours, whom I'll seize and slaughter.

CHORUS Tell me, fellow-demesmen, what does this threat mean, spoken against us Acharnians? Has he some child of ours shut up inside? Or what makes him so bold?

DICAEOPOLIS Pelt me, if you like — for I'll destroy this one here. I'll soon find out which of you cares anything for coals.

CHORUS We're done for! This coal-basket is my own demesman! But don't do what you mean to — no, no, by no means!

DICAEOPOLIS I'll kill it — keep shouting. For I won't listen.

CHORUS Then you'll be the death of this coal-loving fellow of my own age?

DICAEOPOLIS You wouldn't listen to me just now when I spoke.

CHORUS Well, then, speak now, if you like — both about the Lacedaemonian and how, in whatever way, he is your friend; for I will never betray this dear little coal-basket.

DICAEOPOLIS First, then, shake the stones out onto the ground.

CHORUS There they are, on the ground for you; and you, put your sword away again.

DICAEOPOLIS But mind there aren't any stones still lurking in your cloaks.

CHORUS They've been shaken out onto the ground. Don't you see it shaking? Come, no more excuses — put away your weapon. See, the cloak is shaken with each turn of the dance.

CHORUS Why then don't you speak? Bring out the chopping-block to the door, and tell us, you wretch, what this great thing is you've got. For a powerful longing holds me to know your mind. But, just as you laid down the terms of the contest yourself, set the block out here and begin to speak.

DICAEOPOLIS Look then, behold: here is the chopping-block, and here's the little fellow who is going to speak — this tiny thing. Never fear, by Zeus, I won't shield myself behind a buckler; I'll say what I think on behalf of the Lacedaemonians. And yet I'm very much afraid. For I know the temper of the country folk, how mightily they delight when some braggart praises them and their city, whether justly or unjustly; and there they are, sold out without ever noticing it. And the old men, too — I know their souls, how they look for nothing but to sting with a jury-vote. And I myself know what I suffered at Cleon's hands on account of last year's comedy. For he dragged me into the Council-chamber, slandered me, and tongue-lashed me with lies, and roared like the Cycloborus, and drenched me, so that I very nearly perished, fouled in his dirty business. So now, before I speak, first let me dress myself up to look as wretched as can be.

CHORUS Why all this twisting and scheming and contriving of delays? Take, for all I care, from Hieronymus some shaggy, thick-haired, dark cap of Hades; unfold the cunning devices of Sisyphus — for this contest will admit no excuse.

DICAEOPOLIS It is high time now to take a stout heart, and I must go to Euripides. Boy! Boy!

CEPHISOPHON Who's there?

DICAEOPOLIS Is Euripides at home?

CEPHISOPHON He's not at home, and yet at home — if you understand me.

DICAEOPOLIS How "at home" and yet "not at home"?

CEPHISOPHON Rightly put, old man. His mind is outside, gathering up little verses, and so not at home; but he himself is at home, aloft, composing a tragedy.

DICAEOPOLIS O thrice-blessed Euripides, when even your slave answers so cleverly! Call him out.

CEPHISOPHON But it's impossible.

DICAEOPOLIS But all the same — for I won't go away; I'll knock on the door. Euripides! Little Euripides! Hear me, if ever you heard any man. It is Dicaeopolis who calls you, of Cholleidae — I.

EURIPIDES But I have no time.

DICAEOPOLIS Then have yourself wheeled out.

EURIPIDES But it's impossible.

DICAEOPOLIS But all the same —

EURIPIDES Well, I'll be wheeled out; but I've no time to come down.

DICAEOPOLIS Euripides!

EURIPIDES Why are you bawling?

DICAEOPOLIS You compose aloft, when you might do it on the ground? No wonder you make your characters lame. But why have you got those rags from your tragedy, that pitiable clothing? No wonder you make your characters beggars. But I beseech you by your knees, Euripides, give me some rag from your old drama. For I must speak a long speech to the chorus, and it brings death if I speak it badly.

EURIPIDES What tatters? Is it those in which Oeneus here, the ill-starred old man, played his part?

DICAEOPOLIS Not Oeneus's; someone still more wretched.

EURIPIDES The blind Phoenix's?

DICAEOPOLIS Not Phoenix, no; there was another, more wretched than Phoenix.

EURIPIDES What shreds of robes is the man asking for? Surely you mean the beggar Philoctetes's?

DICAEOPOLIS No, but someone far, far more beggarly than him.

EURIPIDES Is it the squalid garments you want, those that Bellerophon wore, the lame one here?

DICAEOPOLIS Not Bellerophon; and yet that one too was lame, a beggar, a glib fellow, a terror at speaking.

EURIPIDES I know — Telephus the Mysian.

DICAEOPOLIS Yes, Telephus! Give me, I beg you, his swaddling-rags.

EURIPIDES Boy, give him Telephus's tatters. They lie up above the rags of Thyestes, between those of Ino.

CEPHISOPHON There — take these.

DICAEOPOLIS O Zeus, who look down and look through everything, let me dress up to look as wretched as can be. Euripides, since you've been so generous with these, give me the things that go along with the rags: the little Mysian cap for around my head. For I must seem to be a beggar today — to be the man I am, but not to appear so; so that the audience may know who I am, but the chorus-men stand by like idiots, that I may flout them with my little phrases.

EURIPIDES I'll give it; for you contrive subtle things with your shrewd mind.

DICAEOPOLIS Bless you — and to Telephus my thoughts! Good — how I'm filling up already with little phrases! But I do need a beggar's staff.

EURIPIDES Take this and be off from these stone halls.

DICAEOPOLIS O my soul — you see how I'm being thrust from his house, still needing many props. Now, then, become clinging, importunate, persistent. Euripides, give me a little basket charred through with a lamp.

EURIPIDES Why, you poor wretch, what need have you of this wicker-work?

DICAEOPOLIS No need at all; but I want it all the same.

EURIPIDES You're a nuisance — be off from my house.

DICAEOPOLIS Ah! Bless you — as your mother once was blessed.

EURIPIDES Now go away from me.

DICAEOPOLIS No — give me just one thing more, a little cup with its lip knocked off.

EURIPIDES Go to ruin and take it; know you're a pest to my house.

DICAEOPOLIS By Zeus, not yet! You don't know what mischief you cause yourself. But, O sweetest Euripides, just this one thing more — give me a little pot stuffed up with a sponge.

EURIPIDES Man, you'll rob me of my whole tragedy! Take this and be off.

DICAEOPOLIS I'm going. And yet — what shall I do? For there's one thing more I need, and without it I'm done for. Listen, sweetest Euripides: let me take this and be off, and I'll come back no more. Into the little basket give me some withered leaves.

EURIPIDES You'll be the death of me! There — my dramas are gone.

DICAEOPOLIS No more, then; I'm going. For I am indeed too much of a nuisance, not knowing that princes hate me. Oh, wretched me, I'm done for! I've forgotten the one thing on which all my fortunes hang. O dearest little Euripides, sweetest, may I die most wretchedly if I ask you for anything more, except this one thing only, this one thing only: give me some chervil, an heirloom from your mother.

EURIPIDES The man is insolent! Bolt the doors of the house.

DICAEOPOLIS O my soul, we must go on our way without chervil. Do you know how great a contest you're about to fight, when you mean to speak on behalf of the Lacedaemonians? Forward now, my soul; here is the starting-line. Are you standing still? Won't you go, now that you've swallowed Euripides? Well done. Come now, poor heart, go yonder, and there lay down your head and speak whatever seems good to you. Take courage! Go! March on! I admire my heart.

CHORUS What will you do? What will you say? Know well now, you are a shameless, iron-nerved man, who, offering your neck to the city, mean, alone, to speak against them all. The man does not tremble at the thing. Come then, since you've chosen it yourself — speak.

DICAEOPOLIS Bear me no grudge, spectators, if, beggar though I am, I yet mean to speak before the Athenians about the city, while making comedy. For even comedy knows what is just. And I shall say things harsh, but just. For now, at least, Cleon won't slander me on the ground that I speak ill of the city in the presence of strangers. For we are by ourselves; it is the contest at the Lenaea, and no foreigners are here yet; for neither the tribute has come, nor the allies from the cities. No, we're by ourselves now, threshed clean of chaff — for the resident aliens I call the bran of the citizens. Now I myself hate the Lacedaemonians intensely, and may Poseidon, the god of Taenarus, shake their houses down upon them all; for I too have had my vines cut down. But, since those present in this discourse are friends, why do we lay all this to the charge of the Laconians? For it was men of ours — and I do not mean the city, remember this, that I do not mean the city, but worthless little men, counterfeit coin, dishonored and base-stamped and foreign-stamped, who kept denouncing the Megarians' cloaks; and if anywhere they spied a cucumber or a leveret or a piglet or garlic or lumps of salt, these were "Megarian goods," and were confiscated on the spot. Now these were small things, and homely. But some young men, drunk with the cottabus-game, went off to Megara and stole the whore Simaetha; and then the Megarians, garlic-stung with grief, stole in turn two whores of Aspasia's. And from this the beginning of the war broke out upon all the Greeks — out of three sluts. Then, in his wrath, Pericles the Olympian lightened and thundered and threw all Hellas into turmoil, and made laws written like drinking-songs, that the Megarians must not abide on land, nor in the market, nor on the sea, nor in the sky. After that the Megarians, since they were starving step by step, begged the Lacedaemonians to get the decree about the three sluts reversed; but we refused, though they begged us often. And from that the clashing of shields began. Someone will say, "They shouldn't have." But what should they have done? Tell me. Come — suppose some Lacedaemonian had sailed out in a skiff and denounced and confiscated a Seriphian's puppy, would you have sat quietly at home? Far from it. No, indeed — you'd at once have launched three hundred ships, and the city would have been full of the din of soldiers, of shouting about a trierarch, of pay being handed out, of figureheads being gilded, of the colonnade groaning, of rations being measured out, of wineskins, of oar-thongs, of men buying jars, of garlic, of olives, of onions in nets, of garlands, of sprats, of flute-girls, of black eyes; and the dockyard, again, full of oar-spars being shaped, of pegs being hammered, of oar-loops being fitted, of pipes, of boatswains, of trills, of whistling. This, I know, is what you would have done. And Telephus — do we suppose he would not? Then we've no sense in us.

FIRST SEMICHORUS Is that so, you reprobate, you utter scoundrel? You, a beggar, dare to say such things to us, and reproach us, if there ever was an informer among us?

SECOND SEMICHORUS By Poseidon, what he says, he says all justly, and in none of it does he lie.

FIRST SEMICHORUS Even if it's just, ought he to say it? But he'll not get away with daring to speak so.

SECOND SEMICHORUS You there — where are you running? Won't you stay? For if you strike this man, you'll soon be hoisted up yourself.

FIRST SEMICHORUS Ho, Lamachus, you of the lightning glare! Help, appear, you of the dreadful crest! Ho, Lamachus, my friend, my fellow-tribesman! If there is any captain, or general, or wall-storming man, let him help, and quickly. For I am caught around the middle.

LAMACHUS From where did I hear a cry of war? Where must I bring aid? Where hurl the battle-din? Who has roused the Gorgon from her case?

DICAEOPOLIS O hero Lamachus, of the crests and the cohorts!

FIRST SEMICHORUS Lamachus, hasn't this man for a long time now been reviling our whole city?

LAMACHUS You there — you dare, a beggar, to say such things?

DICAEOPOLIS O hero Lamachus, forgive me if, a beggar, I said something and prattled a bit.

LAMACHUS What did you say about us? Won't you tell?

DICAEOPOLIS I don't know yet; for, in my terror of your weapons, I'm dizzy. But I beseech you — take that bogey away from me.

LAMACHUS There.

DICAEOPOLIS Now lay it face-up beside me.

LAMACHUS It's down.

DICAEOPOLIS Now give me the feather from your helmet.

LAMACHUS Here's a plume for you.

DICAEOPOLIS Now hold my head, that I may vomit; for I'm sickened by the crests.

LAMACHUS You there, what are you doing? Do you mean to be sick with my plume? Why, it's a plume —

DICAEOPOLIS Tell me, what bird does it come from? Is it perhaps the boast-and-brag bird?

LAMACHUS Ah, you're a dead man.

DICAEOPOLIS By no means, Lamachus; for this isn't a matter of strength. And if you're strong, why didn't you circumcise me? You're well-armed enough.

LAMACHUS You say such things to the general, a beggar like you?

DICAEOPOLIS Am I a beggar, then?

LAMACHUS Why, what are you?

DICAEOPOLIS Who am I? A good citizen, no office-hunter, but, ever since the war began, a soldier-on-duty; while you, ever since the war began, have been a pay-grabber.

LAMACHUS They elected me, you know —

DICAEOPOLIS Three cuckoos did. That is the thing I loathed, and so I made my treaty, seeing gray-haired men in the ranks, while young men like yourself had slipped away, some of them off to Thrace drawing three drachmas' pay — your Tisamenophaenippuses, your Panourgippharchideses, others off with Chares, others among the Chaonians, your Geretotheodoruses, your Diomeialazoneses, others at Camarina, and Gela, and Catagela.

LAMACHUS Why, they were elected!

DICAEOPOLIS And what is the reason that you fellows always draw pay, somehow or other, while none of these men do? Tell me, Marilades — have you, gray-haired as you are, ever gone on an embassy, even one? He shakes his head; and yet he's sober and a worker. And what about Dracyllus, or Euphorides, or Prinides? Has any of you seen Ecbatana, or the Chaonians? They say no. But Coesyra's son and Lamachus have — men who, the other day, owing on a loan-fund and in debt, just like people emptying out their dirty wash-water of an evening, were told by all their friends, "Stand clear!"

LAMACHUS O democracy! Is this to be endured?

DICAEOPOLIS No indeed — not unless Lamachus draws his pay.

LAMACHUS Well, for my part, against all the Peloponnesians I will wage war forever, and throw them into confusion everywhere, with ships and with foot-soldiers, with all my might.

DICAEOPOLIS And I, for my part, proclaim to all the Peloponnesians, and to the Megarians and the Boeotians, that they may sell and buy with me — but not with Lamachus.

CHORUS-LEADER The man wins with his arguments, and converts the people about the treaty. But come, let us strip for the anapaests.

CHORUS Ever since our producer first took charge of comic choruses, he has never come forward to the audience to declare how clever he is; but, being slandered by his enemies among the quick-judging Athenians, that he mocks our city and insults the people, he must now answer to the changeable Athenians. The poet says he deserves much good of you, having stopped you from being too much deceived by foreigners' words, from delighting in flattery, and from being citizens of empty pride. Before, the ambassadors from the cities, deceiving you, first called you "violet-crowned"; and whenever anyone said this, straightway, on account of your "crowns," you perched on the very tips of your buttocks. And if anyone, fawning on you, called Athens "shining," he got anything he liked for that "shining" — fastening to you the value of sprats. By doing this he has become the cause of much good to you, and by showing how the peoples in the cities are governed democratically. And so now, bringing the tribute from the cities, they will come, longing to see the noblest poet, the one who took the risk of speaking what is just before the Athenians. So far abroad has the fame of his daring already reached, that even the King, when he examined the Spartan embassy, first asked them which side was the stronger in ships, and next, of this poet, which side he abuses much; for those men, he said, had become far better, and would far surpass in the war, having him as counselor. This is why the Lacedaemonians are offering you peace, and ask back Aegina; and for that island they do not care, but only to take this poet from you. But never let him go; for he will make comedy of what is just. He says he will teach you many good things, so that you may be happy, not flattering, nor offering pay, nor playing tricks, nor playing the rogue, nor drenching you, but teaching the best.

CHORUS In answer to this, let Cleon scheme and contrive everything against me. For the good is on my side, and the just shall be my ally, and never shall I be caught being, toward the city, as he is, a coward and a wide-arsed lecher.

CHORUS Come hither, Muse, fiery, with the force of fire, intense, of Acharnae! Like a spark leaping up from holm-oak coals, stirred by a favoring fan, when the little fishes lie laid out for grilling, and some men stir the glistening Thasian sauce, and others knead the dough — so come, sweeping and intense and rustic, a song, taking hold of me, your demesman.

CHORUS We old men, the men of old, find fault with the city; for not as our deeds at sea deserved are we cared for in our old age by you, but we suffer dreadfully, in that you let old men be cast into lawsuits and mocked by young orators, men who are nothing, deaf and worn-out, whose staff is Poseidon-the-Steadfast. Muttering with age, we stand by the witness-stone, seeing nothing but the dimness of our case. But the young man, eager to plead for himself, strikes swiftly, joining battle with rounded phrases; and then he drags one up and questions him, setting verbal traps, mangling and confounding and confusing a man old as Tithonus. And the old man mumbles for age, and then goes off convicted; then he sobs and weeps and says to his friends, "With what I should have bought my coffin, that I go off owing as a fine."

CHORUS How is this fitting — to ruin a gray old man at the water-clock, one who has toiled much beside you and wiped away his manly sweat, and much of it, a good man at Marathon, for the city? Then at Marathon, when we were there, we did the pursuing; but now we are pursued, hard, by base men, and then convicted besides. To this, what answer will Marpsias make?

CHORUS For how is it fitting that a man bowed with age, of Thucydides's stamp, should perish, entangled with the Scythian wilderness, with this Cephisodemus, that babbling advocate? So I pitied him and wiped away my tears, seeing an old man hounded by a bowman-archer, who — by Demeter — in the days when he was Thucydides, would not easily have endured even Achaea herself, but would first have thrown ten Euathluses in the wrestling, and shouted down three thousand archers with his bawling, and outshot the very kinsmen of that man's father. But since you won't let the old men get any sleep, vote that the lawsuits be kept apart, so that for the old man the advocate may be old and toothless, and for the young, wide-arsed and a chatterbox and Cleinias's son. And henceforth one must banish, and if a man escapes, fine him — the old man matched with the old, the young man with the young.

GIRL (the Megarian's daughter) For sale, for sale!

MEGARIAN That's what I say myself. Who's such a fool that he'd buy you — a sheer dead loss? But I've got a Megarian trick, you see: I'll dress you up as piglets and say that's what I'm bringing. Put on these little trotters of pigs, and mind you look as if you're born of a good sow; for, by Hermes, if you go back home unsold, you'll have a bad taste of starvation. Come, put these snouts on too, and then step into this sack here. And see that you grunt and squeal and make the noise of mystery-piglets. And I'll call out for Dicaeopolis. — Where is he? Dicaeopolis! Care to buy some piglets?

DICAEOPOLIS What? A Megarian fellow?

MEGARIAN We've come to market.

DICAEOPOLIS How are you doing?

MEGARIAN We sit starving by the fire, all the time.

DICAEOPOLIS But that's quite pleasant, by Zeus, if there's a flute-player about. What else are you Megarians up to now?

MEGARIAN Oh, the usual. When I was setting out from there to come and trade, the high officials were managing things for the city so that we'd perish as fast and as foully as possible.

DICAEOPOLIS Then you'll soon be quit of your troubles.

MEGARIAN You're right there.

DICAEOPOLIS What else, in Megara? How's the price of grain?

MEGARIAN With us it's as precious as the gods themselves.

DICAEOPOLIS Have you brought salt, then?

MEGARIAN Aren't you the ones who hold the salt-works?

DICAEOPOLIS Garlic, then?

MEGARIAN Garlic, indeed! Every time you invade, like field-mice, you grub out every clove with a stake.

DICAEOPOLIS Well, what do you bring?

MEGARIAN Piglets — for the Mysteries.

DICAEOPOLIS Good. Show me.

MEGARIAN Why, they're fine ones. Feel the weight, if you like — how plump and fine.

DICAEOPOLIS What in the world is this thing?

MEGARIAN A piglet, by Zeus.

DICAEOPOLIS What are you saying? What kind of piglet is this?

MEGARIAN Megarian. Or isn't this a piglet?

DICAEOPOLIS It doesn't look like one to me.

MEGARIAN Isn't it shocking? Look at the man's disbelief! He says this is no piglet! Well, then, if you like, lay me a wager of thyme-flavored salt that this isn't a "piglet" in the Greek sense.

DICAEOPOLIS But it's a human girl's.

MEGARIAN By Diocles, it's mine, all right. Whose did you think it was? Care to hear it speak?

DICAEOPOLIS By the gods, yes, I would.

MEGARIAN Speak up quickly now, piglet! Won't you? Are you silent, you most cursed thing? By Hermes, I'll carry you home again.

GIRL Wee, wee.

MEGARIAN Is this a piglet?

DICAEOPOLIS It looks like a piglet now; but when it's grown it'll be a cunt.

MEGARIAN In five years, mark you, it'll be the image of its mother.

DICAEOPOLIS But this one's not fit for sacrifice.

MEGARIAN Says you? Why isn't it fit for sacrifice?

DICAEOPOLIS It has no tail.

MEGARIAN It's young, that's all. But when it's a full porker it'll have a big, fat, red one. But if you want to rear it, here's a fine piglet for you.

DICAEOPOLIS How like the other one its cunt is!

MEGARIAN Same mother, you see, and same father. And if it fattens up and grows downy with hair, it'll be the finest piglet to sacrifice to Aphrodite.

DICAEOPOLIS But a piglet isn't sacrificed to Aphrodite.

MEGARIAN No piglet to Aphrodite? To her alone of the gods! And the flesh of these piglets is sweetest of all when spitted on the skewer.

DICAEOPOLIS Could they eat now without their mother?

MEGARIAN By Poseidon, yes — and without their father too.

DICAEOPOLIS And what do they like to eat most?

MEGARIAN Whatever you give them. Ask yourself.

DICAEOPOLIS Piggy, piggy!

GIRL Wee, wee.

DICAEOPOLIS Would you nibble some chick-peas?

GIRL Wee, wee, wee.

DICAEOPOLIS What about Phibalean dried figs?

GIRL Wee, wee.

DICAEOPOLIS And you? Would you nibble too?

GIRL Wee, wee, wee.

DICAEOPOLIS How sharply you squeal for the figs! Let someone bring out some dried figs from inside for the little piglets. Will they nibble them? Goodness, how they gobble them up — O honored Heracles! Where are the piglets from? They look like Tragasaean ones.

MEGARIAN But they didn't gobble down all the figs; for I picked up this one of them myself.

DICAEOPOLIS By Zeus, they're a charming pair of creatures. How much shall I pay you for the piglets? Tell me.

MEGARIAN One of them for a string of garlic, and the other, if you like, for just a quart of salt.

DICAEOPOLIS I'll buy them from you. Wait here.

MEGARIAN Done. O Hermes of bargains, grant that I may sell off my own wife like this — yes, and my mother too!

INFORMER You there — where are you from?

MEGARIAN A Megarian pig-seller.

INFORMER Then I'll denounce these piglets here as enemy goods, and you too.

MEGARIAN There it is again! Back it comes, the very source from which our troubles first sprang.

INFORMER You'll rue your Megarian tricks. Won't you let go of that sack?

MEGARIAN Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis! I'm being informed against!

DICAEOPOLIS By whom? Who's denouncing you? Market-clerks! Won't you bar the informers from the place? What's got into you, informing without a lamp-wick to show for it?

INFORMER Shall I not denounce the enemy?

DICAEOPOLIS You'll be sorry, unless you run off and do your informing somewhere else.

MEGARIAN What a plague this thing is in Athens!

DICAEOPOLIS Take heart, Megarian. Here — for the price at which you sold the piglets, take this garlic and the salt, and a very good day to you.

MEGARIAN But that's not our custom.

DICAEOPOLIS Then may the meddling fall on my own head.

MEGARIAN Little piglets, try, even without your father, to eat your barley-cake with salt, if anyone gives you any.

FIRST SEMICHORUS The man is happy. Didn't you hear how far the affair of his scheme is advancing? For the fellow will reap his harvest sitting in the market; and if any Ctesias comes in, or any other informer, he'll sit down and lament.

SECOND SEMICHORUS No other man, buying up the market ahead of you, will harm you, nor will Prepis wipe his wide-arsed lewdness off on you, nor will you be jostled in Cleonymus's crowd. You'll stroll about in a clean cloak, and Hyperbolus, meeting you, will not fill you up with lawsuits.

THIRD SEMICHORUS Nor, meeting you in the market, will Cratinus come up to you, walking along, ever cropped adulterer-fashion with a single razor — that arch-villain Artemon, too quick by far with his music, reeking foully of the armpits, son of his Tragasaean father.

FOURTH SEMICHORUS Nor again will the arch-rogue Pauson jeer at you, nor Lysistratus in the market, the disgrace of the Cholargians, that fellow steeped in vices, forever shivering and starving more than thirty days out of every single month.

BOEOTIAN Heracles be my witness, my shoulder's wretchedly worn out by the load! Set down the pennyroyal carefully, Ismenias; and you Theban flute-players, all who came along, blow on your bone-pipes "The Dog's Backside."

DICAEOPOLIS Stop — go to the crows! Won't these wasps get away from my door? Where have they flown in from, these damned Chaeris-bumblebees, buzzing at my door?

BOEOTIAN By Iolaus, you do me a kindness there, stranger; for, blowing from Thebes behind me, they've shaken the blossoms off my pennyroyal onto the ground. But buy, if you like, some of what I'm carrying, some of the chicks or the four-winged things.

DICAEOPOLIS Welcome, my little roll-eating Boeotian! What have you got?

BOEOTIAN All the good things of Boeotia, in a word: marjoram, pennyroyal, rush-mats, lamp-wicks, ducks, jackdaws, francolins, coots, wrens, grebes.

DICAEOPOLIS Why, you've come into the market like a very wintry blast of birds!

BOEOTIAN And I bring geese, hares, foxes, moles, hedgehogs, cats, polecats, martens, otters, and eels from Copais.

DICAEOPOLIS O you who bring men the most delightful slice of fish, let me greet them, if you have them — the eels!

BOEOTIAN Eldest of the fifty maidens of Copais, step forth here and do a kindness to the stranger.

DICAEOPOLIS O dearest one, you whom I have long desired, you have come, longed for by the comic choruses, and dear to Morychus. Servants, bring out the brazier here for me, and the fan. Look, children, at this finest of eels, arrived at last, after six years' longing. Greet her, my children. As for me, I'll provide you coals, in this stranger's honor. But bring her in. For not even in death would I be parted from you, dressed in beet-leaves.

BOEOTIAN And how am I to get my price for her?

DICAEOPOLIS This one you'll give me, I think, as a market-toll. But if you're selling any of these other things, say so.

BOEOTIAN Why, all of these.

DICAEOPOLIS Come, what price do you ask? Or will you take other goods from here to carry back?

BOEOTIAN Anything that's to be had in Athens but not in Boeotia.

DICAEOPOLIS Then you'll buy Phaleric sprats to take back, or pottery.

BOEOTIAN Sprats or pottery? But we have those there. No — something that's not with us, but plentiful here.

DICAEOPOLIS I have it, then: export an informer, packed up like crockery.

BOEOTIAN By the Twin Gods, I'd make a fine profit, and a big one, taking one along — like an ape, brimful of mischief.

DICAEOPOLIS And here's Nicarchus coming, to lay an information.

BOEOTIAN A small one, that fellow.

DICAEOPOLIS But all of him is evil.

NICARCHUS Whose are these goods?

BOEOTIAN Mine, from Thebes, Zeus be my witness.

NICARCHUS Then I here denounce them as enemy property.

BOEOTIAN What's got into you, to make war and battle on little birds?

NICARCHUS And I'll denounce you too, besides them.

BOEOTIAN What wrong have I done you?

NICARCHUS I'll tell you, for the sake of the bystanders: you're importing lamp-wicks from the enemy.

DICAEOPOLIS So you're laying an information over a lamp-wick?

NICARCHUS Why, this could set the dockyard on fire.

DICAEOPOLIS The dockyard — by a lamp-wick?

NICARCHUS I think so.

DICAEOPOLIS In what way?

NICARCHUS A Boeotian man could stick it in a beetle, set it alight, and send it into the dockyard down a water-channel, watching for a strong north wind. And if once the fire caught hold of the ships, they'd blaze up at once.

DICAEOPOLIS You most accursed wretch — they'd blaze up from a beetle and a lamp-wick?

NICARCHUS I call witnesses!

DICAEOPOLIS Stop up his mouth, somebody! Give me some straw, that I may pack him up and carry him off like a pot, so he won't get smashed in transit.

FIRST SEMICHORUS Pack up the goods well for the stranger, my good man, so that he won't break them carrying them away.

DICAEOPOLIS I'll see to that; since indeed the thing rattles, chattering and cracked by the fire, and otherwise hateful to the gods.

CHORUS What use will anyone make of it?

DICAEOPOLIS It'll be a vessel good for everything: a mixing-bowl of evils, a pestle for lawsuits, a lantern for informing on accountable officials, and a cup — and a thing to stir up trouble in.

FIRST SEMICHORUS But how could anyone trust a vessel like that for use about the house, forever rattling so?

DICAEOPOLIS It's strong, my good man, so that it would never be smashed, even if it were hung up by the feet, head down.

CHORUS Now it's nicely done for you.

BOEOTIAN Well, I mean to reap my harvest.

CHORUS Best of strangers, reap then, and take this fellow with you; fling him wherever you like, carrying him against every kind of informer.

DICAEOPOLIS I had a hard time tying up the cursed wretch. Pick up your crockery and carry it off, Boeotian.

BOEOTIAN Stoop down and take the load, Ismenichus.

DICAEOPOLIS And mind you carry him off carefully. You'll carry nothing sound, in any case; but all the same — and if you make a profit on this load you're hauling, you'll be a happy man — at least as far as informers go.

SERVANT OF LAMACHUS Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS What is it? Why are you bawling at me?

SERVANT OF LAMACHUS Why? Lamachus bids you, for this drachma here, spare him some of your thrushes for the Pitcher Feast, and for three drachmas a Copaic eel.

DICAEOPOLIS What Lamachus is this who wants the eel?

SERVANT OF LAMACHUS The terrible one, the tough-as-leather, who brandishes the Gorgon, shaking it, shadowed by his three crests.

DICAEOPOLIS By Zeus, not even if he gave me his shield; let him brandish his crests over salt-fish. And if he raises a din, I'll call the market-clerks. But I'll take this load for myself and go in, under the wings of thrushes and blackbirds.

CHORUS You have seen, O city, you have seen the prudent man, the surpassingly wise, what wares he has to traffic in, now that he has made his treaty — things useful in the house, and others fit to be eaten warm. Of their own accord all good things are furnished to this man. Never will I welcome War into my house, nor will he ever, reclining beside me, sing the "Harmodius," because he's a man born to drunken brawling, who, falling upon us as we had all good things, worked nothing but mischief, overturning, spilling, and fighting, and on top of that, when we kept inviting him, "Drink! Lie down! Take this loving-cup!" — he only set the vine-props blazing the more in the fire, and violently poured our wine out from the vines.

CHORUS But this man here is winged for his dinner and thinks great thoughts, and as a sample of his life has thrown out these feathers before his door. O Reconciliation, foster-sister of fair Cypris and the dear Graces, how fair your face was, and I never knew it! Would that some Eros might take and bring you and me together, like the one in the painting, wreathed with a garland of flowers! Or do you, perhaps, think me quite an old fellow? Yet if I had you, I think I could still drive three furrows: first I'd run a long row of vine-shoots, then beside it young slips of fig-trees, and third, the row of cultivated vine — this old man here — and round the whole plot, olives in a circle, so that you and I might anoint ourselves from them at each new moon.

CHORUS I envy you your good counsel, and still more your good cheer, fellow, that you have here at hand.

DICAEOPOLIS What will you say, then, when you see the thrushes roasting?

CHORUS I think you're right in that too.

DICAEOPOLIS Stir up the fire.

CHORUS Did you hear how cookishly, how daintily and dinner-wise, he serves himself?

FARMER Oh, wretched me!

DICAEOPOLIS Heracles! Who's this?

FARMER A luckless man.

DICAEOPOLIS Then keep your troubles to yourself.

FARMER O dearest one — since you alone have the treaty — measure me out a little peace, even five years' worth.

DICAEOPOLIS What's happened to you?

FARMER I'm ruined; I've lost my pair of oxen.

DICAEOPOLIS How?

FARMER The Boeotians took them from Phyle.

DICAEOPOLIS O thrice-luckless man — and yet you wear white?

FARMER And, by Zeus, those very oxen used to keep me in dung up to the eyes.

DICAEOPOLIS And what do you want now?

FARMER I've ruined my eyes weeping for the two oxen. But if you care anything for Dercetes of Phyle, anoint my eyes quickly with peace.

DICAEOPOLIS But, you poor fool, I'm not in public practice.

FARMER Come, I beseech you — see if I can get my oxen back.

DICAEOPOLIS It can't be done; go howl to Pittalus's people.

FARMER Just one drop of peace, then, trickle it for me into this little reed here.

DICAEOPOLIS Not so much as a smidgen. Go off and whine somewhere.

FARMER Oh, wretched me, and my two farm-oxen!

CHORUS The man has found something sweet in the treaty, and it seems he won't share it with anyone.

DICAEOPOLIS Pour the honey over the sausage; grill the cuttlefish.

CHORUS Did you hear his shrill cries?

DICAEOPOLIS Roast the eel-steaks!

CHORUS You'll kill me with hunger, and the neighbors too, with the savor and with shouting such things.

DICAEOPOLIS Roast these, and brown them nicely.

BRIDESMAN Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS Who's this? Who's this?

BRIDESMAN A certain bridegroom sent you this meat from his wedding-feast.

DICAEOPOLIS That was kind of him, whoever he was.

BRIDESMAN And he asked you, in return for the meat, to pour him one ladle of peace into this perfume-flask, so that he needn't go on campaign but could stay home and make love.

DICAEOPOLIS Take it away, take the meat away, don't give it to me; I wouldn't pour him any for ten thousand drachmas. But who's this?

BRIDESMAN The bridesmaid; she wants to say something to you, from the bride, in private.

DICAEOPOLIS Come, what is it you have to say? — How comical, O gods, is the bride's request, the thing she so urgently asks of me: that the bridegroom's prick may keep house at home. Bring the treaty here, that I may give to her alone, since she's a woman and not to blame for the war. Hold the flask out this way, here, woman. Do you know how to manage it? Tell this to the bride: when they're enrolling soldiers, let her anoint the bridegroom's prick with this by night. Take away the treaty. Bring the wine-ladle, that I may take it and pour out wine for the Pitcher Feast.

CHORUS Go, then, and good cheer to you, off to the army. How unlike are the roads you two are taking: for the one, to drink, garlanded; for you, to shiver and stand guard; for the one, to sleep beside the loveliest young girl, and have his you-know-what rubbed.

CHORUS Antimachus, son of Spittle, the writer, the maker of songs — may Zeus, to put it plainly, blot him out wretchedly; the man who, when he was choregus at the Lenaea, sent me, poor wretch, away without my dinner. May I yet see him longing for a cuttlefish, and may it, roasted, sizzling, fresh from the sea, lie waiting on the table — and just as he's about to take it, may a dog snatch it up and run off.

CHORUS That's one ill for him; and may a second come by night. For, feverish, as he walks home from his riding, may some drunken, raving Orestes crack him over the head; and he, wanting to throw a stone in the dark, may grope and grab with his hand a fresh-dropped turd, and rush on with the piece of marble, and then, missing his aim, hit Cratinus instead.

LAMACHUS Ah, ah! Oh, ah! Hateful these woes, and chilling! Wretched me! I am undone, struck down by an enemy spear. But this would be the lamentable thing, if Dicaeopolis should see me wounded and gloat over my misfortunes.

DICAEOPOLIS Ah, ah! Oh, ah! The little breasts — how firm and quince-like! Kiss me softly, my golden girls, with the wide-open and the deep-clinging kiss. . . . For I'm the first to have drained my pitcher.

LAMACHUS O wretched calamity of my woes! Ah, ah, the agony of my wounds!

DICAEOPOLIS . . . Hey there, greetings, little Lamachus-on-horseback!

LAMACHUS Hateful is my lot!

DICAEOPOLIS Why do you kiss me?

LAMACHUS Wretched is my lot!

DICAEOPOLIS Why do you bite me?

LAMACHUS Wretched me, for the heavy reckoning!

DICAEOPOLIS Was someone charging a reckoning at the Pitcher Feast?

LAMACHUS Oh, oh, Paean, Paean!

DICAEOPOLIS But there's no Paean-festival today.

LAMACHUS Hold me, hold my leg — ah! — take hold of me, friends.

DICAEOPOLIS And you two, take hold of me by the middle of my prick — both of you, dear girls.

LAMACHUS I'm dizzy, my head struck with a stone, and I'm faint with darkness.

DICAEOPOLIS And I want to go to bed, and I'm stiff, and I'd grope my way to a girl in the dark.

LAMACHUS Carry me out of doors to Pittalus's with healing hands.

DICAEOPOLIS Carry me to the judges! Where is the King-archon? Give me back the wineskin!

LAMACHUS A spear has pierced me through the bones — agony!

DICAEOPOLIS You see this wineskin here, empty. Hail, hero of victory!

CHORUS Hail indeed, since you call for it, old man — hero of victory!

DICAEOPOLIS And what's more, I poured it neat and drained it at one gulp.

CHORUS Hail then, noble fellow! Go, take your wineskin.

DICAEOPOLIS Follow me now, singing "Hail, hero of victory!"

CHORUS We'll follow, for your sake, singing "Hail, hero of victory!" — you and the wineskin.