Wasps

SOSIAS Hey there, what's the matter with you, poor Xanthias?

XANTHIAS I'm being trained to drop a night watch.

SOSIAS Then your ribs must owe somebody a big beating. Do you even know what kind of monster we're guarding?

XANTHIAS I know — but I'd like to doze off my worries for a bit.

SOSIAS Take the risk, then, since over my own eyes too something sweet is being poured out of sleep.

XANTHIAS Are you really out of your mind, or possessed like a Corybant?

SOSIAS No — but a kind of sleep from Sabazius has hold of me.

XANTHIAS Then you and I tend the same Sabazius, for just now a sleep dropped on me too — a sentry- Mede laid siege to my eyelids and made me nod. And just now I saw a marvellous dream.

SOSIAS So did I, truly — one such as never before. But tell yours first.

XANTHIAS I dreamed I saw an eagle, a very big one, swoop down into the market square, snatch up a bronze-faced shield in its talons, and carry it up high into the sky — and then Cleonymus threw it away.

SOSIAS So Cleonymus is no different from a riddle.

XANTHIAS How so?

SOSIAS Someone will say to his drinking-companions: "What creature is it that, on land and in the sky and in the sea alike, threw away its shield?"

XANTHIAS Oh no — what evil is going to come to me for having seen a dream like that?

SOSIAS Don't worry. Nothing terrible will come of it, by the gods, none.

XANTHIAS It is a terrible thing, a man throwing away his arms. But now tell yours.

SOSIAS Well, it's a big one. It's about the whole hull of the ship of state.

XANTHIAS Tell me, then — quick — the very keel of the matter.

SOSIAS In my first sleep I dreamed that on the Pnyx a flock of sheep sat in assembly together, holding staffs and little threadbare cloaks; and then before these sheep, I dreamed, a greedy she-whale was haranguing them, with a voice like a pig being roasted.

XANTHIAS Ugh.

SOSIAS What's wrong?

XANTHIAS Stop, stop, say no more — that dream stinks horribly of rotten leather.

SOSIAS Then the foul she-whale took a balance and weighed out ox-fat.

XANTHIAS Poor me — she wants to divide our People into factions.

SOSIAS Then I dreamed Theorus was sitting near her on the ground, with the head of a raven. And then Alcibiades said to me, with his lisp, "Do you thee? Theoruth hath the head of a waven."

XANTHIAS That's the right way for Alcibiades to lisp it.

SOSIAS Isn't it odd, though — Theorus turning into a raven?

XANTHIAS Not at all — it's excellent.

SOSIAS How?

XANTHIAS How? A man, and then suddenly a raven — isn't it plain to guess from that that he'll be carried off from us and go to the ravens — to ruin?

SOSIAS Then shouldn't I pay two obols to hire you, seeing how cleverly you play the dream-interpreter?

XANTHIAS Come now, let me explain the plot to the spectators, after first telling them just these few things: expect nothing too grand from us, and no laughter pilfered from Megara. For we have no slaves throwing out nuts from a basket to the audience, no Heracles cheated of his dinner, nor any fresh outrage on Euripides; and not even if Cleon shone, thanks to a stroke of luck, will we mince up the same man over again. No — we have a little tale with a point, not over your own heads, no, but cleverer than vulgar comedy. You see, we have a master — that one up there, asleep on top of the roof, the great man. He's set the two of us to guard his father, shut up indoors, so he won't get out the door. For the father suffers a strange disease, one no man would ever know or guess at unless he heard it from us — so make your guesses. Amynias, son of Pronapus, here says the man's a dice-addict — but he's talking nonsense.

SOSIAS By Zeus, no — he's guessing the disease from his own case.

XANTHIAS No — though "addict-of-" is the start of the trouble. And here's Sosias telling Derkylos the man's a drink-addict.

SOSIAS Not at all, since that's the disease of honest men.

XANTHIAS And Nikostratos of Skambonidae says the man's a sacrifice-addict, or a hospitality-addict.

SOSIAS By the Dog, Nikostratos, no, not hospitality — since Philoxenus is a hospitable bugger of a sort.

XANTHIAS You're all babbling pointlessly — you'll never find it. If you really want to know, be quiet now. For I'll tell you the master's disease right away. He's a trial-addict, like no other man, in love with it — with judging — and he groans if he doesn't get to sit on the front bench. At night he doesn't see a wink of sleep. And if he does shut his eyes even a speck, even so his mind flies there, all night, around the water-clock. And because he's used to holding the voting-pebble, he gets up clutching three fingers together, like a man laying incense on the altar at the new moon. And by Zeus, if he sees written up somewhere on a door "Demos is beautiful, Pyrilampes' son," he goes and writes beside it "the ballot-funnel is beautiful." The cock that crowed from evening on, he said was rousing him late, having been bribed and paid by the men under audit. Straight from supper he's bawling for his shoes, then off he goes there, lies down very early, clinging to the column like a limpet. And from sheer bad temper he votes the long line — the harsh sentence — for everyone; and like a bee or a bumblebee he comes home with wax plastered under his fingernails. And afraid that he might one day run short of pebbles to do his judging with, he keeps a whole beach indoors. So he raves. And the more he's reproached, the more he judges. So we guard this one, chaining him in with bolts, so he won't get out. For his son takes the disease hard. First he tried by gentle words to coax and persuade him not to wear the threadbare cloak nor go out the door — but he wouldn't be persuaded. Then he washed and purified him — and he wouldn't have it. After that he treated him with Corybant rites — and the old man, drum and all, rushed in to the New Court and went on judging. And when these rituals were no help, he sailed across to Aegina, and then seized him and laid him down by night in the temple of Asclepius — and the man showed up at the rail at first light. After that we let him out no more, but he'd slip away through the drains and the spouts; and we stuffed up every hole there was with rags and plugged them tight; but he, like a jackdaw, knocked in pegs for himself along the wall, and then leapt out. So we have spread nets over the whole courtyard all the way round, and we keep watch. The old man's name is Philocleon — yes, by Zeus — and the son's here is Bdelycleon, a fellow with rather snooty, high-and-mighty ways.

BDELYCLEON Hey, Xanthias and Sosias — are you asleep?

XANTHIAS Oh no.

SOSIAS What is it?

XANTHIAS Bdelycleon's getting up.

BDELYCLEON Won't one of you run round here quick? My father's gone into the kitchen and is rooting about in there like a mouse. Watch — see he doesn't slip out through the drain-hole of the basin. And you, lean against the door.

SOSIAS Yes, master.

BDELYCLEON Lord Poseidon, what's that noise in the chimney? Hey — who are you?

PHILOCLEON It's me — coming out as smoke.

BDELYCLEON Smoke? Let me see — from what wood?

PHILOCLEON Fig-wood.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, the sharpest, most acrid of all smokes. But you won't slip out. Where's the chimney-board? Get back down. Here, let me put a log on you too. Now look for some other scheme in there. But I'm the most wretched man alive — no one more — the man who'll now be called "son of Smoky."

SOSIAS He's pushing at the door.

BDELYCLEON Press hard, then, well and like a man — I'm coming there too. And mind the latch, and watch the bar so he doesn't gnaw the pin right out.

PHILOCLEON What are you doing? Won't you let me out, you scum, to go judge? Is Dracontides to get off scot-free?

BDELYCLEON And you'd take that hard?

PHILOCLEON Yes — for the god, when I once consulted him at Delphi, told me that whenever a defendant escapes me, I'll wither away.

BDELYCLEON Apollo, avert that oracle!

PHILOCLEON Come, I beg you, let me out, or I'll burst.

BDELYCLEON By Poseidon, Philocleon, never.

PHILOCLEON Then I'll gnaw through the net with my teeth.

BDELYCLEON But you've no teeth.

PHILOCLEON Poor wretched me! How could I kill you? How? Give me a sword, quick — or a tablet for fixing penalties.

BDELYCLEON This fellow means to do some great mischief.

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, not at all — I only want to sell the donkey, panniers and all — it's the new moon, you know, market day.

BDELYCLEON Then couldn't I sell it myself just as well?

PHILOCLEON Not the way I would.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, better.

PHILOCLEON Well then, bring the donkey out.

SOSIAS What an excuse he let down — how slyly — to get you to send him out!

BDELYCLEON But he hauled in nothing that way — I saw what he was scheming. But I think I'll go in and bring the donkey out myself so the old man can't even peep through again. Donkey, why are you crying? Because you'll be sold today? Walk faster. Why groan, unless you're carrying some Odysseus?

SOSIAS But by Zeus, it is carrying one — look, here's a man slipped under it down below.

BDELYCLEON What man? Let me see. This here — what was it? Who in the world are you, fellow, really?

PHILOCLEON Noman, by Zeus.

BDELYCLEON Noman, you? From where?

PHILOCLEON Ithacan, son of Runaway-horse.

BDELYCLEON Noman — by Zeus, you won't get any joy of it. Drag him out quick. The filthiest of men, where he's crept under! He looks to me most like the foal of a process-server.

PHILOCLEON If you don't leave me in peace, we'll fight.

BDELYCLEON And what'll we be fighting about, exactly?

PHILOCLEON About a donkey's shadow.

BDELYCLEON You're a sorry sort, far gone in cunning, and reckless.

PHILOCLEON Me, sorry? By Zeus, no — but you don't know how good I am right now. Maybe you will, once you've eaten the paunch of an old juryman.

BDELYCLEON Shove the donkey and yourself back into the house.

PHILOCLEON Fellow-jurors! Cleon! Help!

BDELYCLEON Bawl indoors, with the door shut. You, push a lot of stones against the door, and ram the pin back into the bar, and set the big mortar against the beam and roll it up, quick.

SOSIAS Poor wretched me! Where on earth did this clod fall on me from?

BDELYCLEON Maybe a mouse threw it at you from above somewhere.

SOSIAS A mouse? By Zeus, no — it's a juryman of the rafters here, slipping out from under the tiles.

BDELYCLEON Oh no, the man's turning into a sparrow. He'll fly off. Where, where's my net? Shoo, shoo — back again, shoo! By Zeus, it really would have been better to guard Scione than this father of mine.

SOSIAS Come now — since we've scared him off, and there's no way he can slip past us unseen again, why don't we sleep just the tiniest scrap?

BDELYCLEON But you poor fool, in a little while they'll come — the fellow-jurors — calling out for this man, my father.

SOSIAS What do you mean? But it's deep dawn now.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, they've got up late this time, then. For from the middle of the night they always come calling, carrying lamps and humming old tunes, honey-sweet songs of Phrynichus the Sidonian, to call him out.

SOSIAS Well then, if need be, we'll soon pelt them with stones.

BDELYCLEON But you poor fool, that tribe of old men, if anyone rouses them to anger, is like a wasps' nest. For they have a sting too, out of the rump, very sharp, with which they prick; and with a shout they leap and pelt like sparks of fire.

SOSIAS Don't worry. If I've got stones, I'll scatter a whole swarm of jurymen.

CHORUS March on, step out stoutly. Comias, you're lagging. By Zeus, you weren't like this before — you were a strap of dog-leather. But now Charinades is a better walker than you. Strymodorus of Conthyle, best of fellow-jurors, is Euergides here anywhere, or Chabes of Phlya? They're here — what's left of that prime, alas, alas, of those days of youth when we were together in Byzantium on garrison duty, you and I; and then, walking about by night, we filched the bread-woman's kneading-trough without her knowing, and split it up and boiled our pot-herbs on it. But let's hurry, men, for today it'll be Laches' turn; they all say he's got a beehive stuffed with money. So yesterday Cleon, our guardian, ordered us to come in good time, bringing three days' worth of bitter anger against him, to punish him for the wrongs he's done. But come, let's make haste, men of our years, before day breaks. Let's go, and with the lamp let's peer all around, in case some stone in the path does us a mischief.

BOY Father, oh father, watch out for this mud here.

CHORUS Pick up a twig from the ground and trim the lamp-wick with it.

BOY No — I think I'll trim the lamp with this finger.

CHORUS What got into you, poking the wick with your finger, and that when oil's scarce, you fool? It doesn't pinch you, does it, when we have to buy it dear.

BOY By Zeus, if you correct us again with your knuckles, we'll put out the lamps and go home by ourselves; and then, perhaps, robbed of this in the dark, you'll go stirring up the mud as you walk, like a snipe.

CHORUS For sure I punish bigger fellows than you. But here's some muck I seem to be treading in; and there's no way but that within four days at most the god must of necessity make rain. These mushroom-snuffs have crept up on the lamps here, anyway; and when that happens, it's especially apt to bring rain. And the crops too, the ones not yet ripe, need rain to come, and a north wind to breathe on them.

But what's happened to the juror from this house here, that he doesn't appear out here to join the crowd? He wasn't a laggard before — no, he'd lead us off, the first of us, singing Phrynichus; for the man's a lover of song. But I think, men, we should stand here and sing to call him out, in case somehow, hearing my song, for the pleasure of it he'll creep out the door.

CHORUS Why doesn't the old man show himself at his door, or answer us? Has he lost his shoes, or stubbed his toe somewhere in the dark, and so his ankle swelled, being an old man? And maybe he's got a swollen groin. He was by far the sharpest of us all, and the only one who wouldn't be persuaded; but whenever anyone pleaded with him, he'd bend his head down like this and say, "You'll boil a stone."

CHORUS Or maybe, because of yesterday's man, who slipped through us, deceiving and saying that he loved Athens and was the first to denounce the doings in Samos — maybe because of that he's in pain and now lies feverish. For that's the sort of man he is. But come, good fellow, get up, and don't eat yourself up so, or be vexed. For a fat man has come, one of the traitors over Thrace; see you pot him for it. On, boy, on.

BOY Will you do something for me then, father, if I ask you for something?

CHORUS Of course, my little boy. But tell me, what fine thing do you want me to buy you? I suppose you'll say knucklebones, no doubt, boy.

BOY By Zeus, no — figs, daddy, they're nicer.

CHORUS Not a chance, by Zeus, even if you both hang for it.

BOY By Zeus, then I won't escort you any more.

CHORUS For out of this little wage of mine, the third part, I have to find barley-meal and firewood and relish. And you ask me for figs!

BOY Come now, father, if the archon doesn't seat the court today, where shall we buy our lunch? Have you any good hope for us, or some sacred Hellespont-passage to find?

CHORUS Alas, alas, alas, alas, by Zeus, I don't know myself where our dinner is to come from.

BOY Why did you bear me, miserable mother?

CHORUS So you could give me trouble to feed.

BOY Then you were a useless ornament, my little pouch. Alas, alas. There's nothing for us but to groan.

PHILOCLEON Friends, I've been melting away this long while, through the chink, listening to you. But I just can't — sing. What shall I do? I'm watched by these two, since I've longed this long while to go with you to the voting-urns and do some mischief. But, O Zeus, you who thunder mightily, either turn me suddenly into smoke, or into Proxenides, or that son of Sellus, that lying braggart of a vine-prop. Dare, lord, to grant me this favour, pitying my plight; or with your white-hot thunderbolt burn me to ashes, quick, and then snatch me up, blow me out, and plunge me into hot brine-and-vinegar; or else make me the stone on which they count out the voting-shells.

CHORUS Who is it that shuts you in and bars you behind the door? Tell us — you'll be speaking to friends.

PHILOCLEON My own son. But don't shout — for he happens to be sleeping just there in front. So lower your pitch.

CHORUS But on what pretext, you fool, does he want to do this to you? And what excuse has he?

PHILOCLEON He won't let me judge, men, nor do any mischief at all, but is ready to feast me well — and I don't want it.

CHORUS He dared to gape out that, the foul wretch, this Demagogue-Cleon-fellow, just because you say something true about the ships. For this man would never have dared to say that unless he were one of the conspirators.

CHORUS Well, in view of this it's high time you sought some new device to let you come down here, unknown to this man.

PHILOCLEON What could it be? Look for it, you — for I'd do anything; I'm so itching to make my way through the planking with my voting-shell.

CHORUS Is there any hole you could dig through from inside, and then slip out, hidden in rags like crafty Odysseus?

PHILOCLEON Everything's fenced off, and there's no hole even for a gnat to get through. You must look for something else: it's no use becoming an opening.

CHORUS Do you remember when, on campaign, you once filched the spits and let yourself down the wall quick, when Naxos was taken?

PHILOCLEON I know — but what of it? That's nothing like this. For I was young then, and able to steal, and master of myself; and no one was guarding me, but I could run away with no fear. Now men under arms are drawn up along the passages, keeping watch, and two of them at the very doors are watching me, holding spits, as you'd watch a cat that's filched the meat.

CHORUS But even now, find some scheme as quick as you can, for it's dawn, little honey-bee.

PHILOCLEON The best thing for me, then, is to gnaw through the net. And may Dictynna, lady of the net, forgive me the net.

CHORUS That's the act of a man set on his salvation. Now put your jaw to it.

PHILOCLEON It's gnawed through, that. But don't shout at all, let's take care Bdelycleon doesn't notice.

CHORUS Fear nothing, my good man, nothing. For if he so much as grunts, I'll make him bite his heart and run the race for his life, so he'll learn not to trample on the decrees of the Two Goddesses. But tie the cord to the window and let yourself down, fastening yourself, and filling your soul with Diopeithes.

PHILOCLEON Come now — if those two notice and try to fish me up and haul me back inside, what will you do? Tell me now.

CHORUS We'll defend you, calling up our oak-tough spirit, all of us, so it won't be possible to shut you in. That's what we'll do.

PHILOCLEON I'll do it then, trusting in you, and — do you hear? — if anything happens to me, take me up, weep over me, and lay me beneath the courtroom rails.

CHORUS You'll come to no harm — fear nothing. Come, good man, let yourself down, take heart, and pray to your fathers' gods.

PHILOCLEON O lord Lykos, hero and neighbour — for you delight in the very things I do, in the tears of defendants always, and in their laments; you came and settled here on purpose, to hear these things, and you alone of heroes chose to sit beside the weeping man. Pity and save now your own near neighbour; and I'll never piss or fart by your reed-fence again.

BDELYCLEON Hey you, wake up!

XANTHIAS What's the matter?

BDELYCLEON A sort of voice has wreathed itself around me.

XANTHIAS Is the old man slipping out somewhere again?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, no — he's lowering himself, tied to a rope.

XANTHIAS You scoundrel, what are you doing? You won't get down! Climb up quick, the other way, and beat him with the branches, in case, struck with the harvest-wreaths, he'll back water — back his stern off.

PHILOCLEON Won't you help me, all of you who have lawsuits coming on this year — Smikythion and Teisiades and Chremon and Pheredeipnus? When, if not now, will you stand by me, before I'm dragged further in?

CHORUS Tell me, why do we delay to stir up that bile which, whenever someone provokes our wasps' nest, we feel? Now that, now that sharp-tempered weapon with which we punish, our sting, is stretched out keen. Come, throw off your cloaks as quick as you can, children, and run and shout, and report this to Cleon, and bid him come against a man who hates the city and deserves to die, because he brings in this proposal, that we should not try lawsuits.

BDELYCLEON Good fellows, hear the matter out — but don't keep bawling.

CHORUS By Zeus, we will — to high heaven.

BDELYCLEON For I won't let go of this man.

CHORUS Isn't this terrible — open tyranny? O city! O Theorus, hated of the gods, and any other flatterer who stands at our head!

XANTHIAS Heracles, they've got stings too! Don't you see, master?

BDELYCLEON The ones they destroyed Philippus, son of Gorgias, with, in a trial.

CHORUS And with these same we'll destroy you. Wheel round, every man, this way, and stick your stings out, then fling yourselves at him, drawn up close, in good order, full of anger and rage, so he'll know well henceforth what a swarm he's angered.

XANTHIAS This really is terrible now, by Zeus, if we're to fight; for I'm afraid of their stings, seeing them.

CHORUS Let the man go — and if not, I tell you, you'll be calling the tortoises blessed for their shells.

PHILOCLEON On then, fellow-jurors, sharp-hearted wasps, some of you fly at their backsides in your wrath, others, sting them round the eyes and on their fingers.

BDELYCLEON Midas and Phryx, help here! And Masyntias! Lay hold of this man and don't let him go for anyone; or else you'll get no lunch in heavy fetters. For I've heard the crackle of many a roasting fig-leaf.

CHORUS If you don't let this man go, something will get stuck in you.

PHILOCLEON O Cecrops, hero and lord, in your snake's lower parts a Dracontides, do you look on while I'm overpowered by barbarian men, men I taught to weep four to the quart-measure?

CHORUS Then aren't there many terrible evils in old age? Clearly. And now these two manhandle their old master by force, remembering nothing of the old leather jerkins and sleeveless coats he used to buy them, and the caps; and how he warmed their feet in winter so they shouldn't freeze each time. But in these there's not, not even in their eyes, any shame for the old shoes.

PHILOCLEON Won't you even now let me go, you vilest of beasts, nor remember the time I caught you stealing the grapes, led you to the olive-tree, and flogged you well and like a man, so all envied you? But you, it seems, were ungrateful. But let me go, you and you, before my son runs out.

CHORUS You two will soon pay us a fine penalty for this, before long — so you'll learn what sort of men they are, sharp-tempered and just and looking cress.

BDELYCLEON Hit, hit them, Xanthias — the wasps — away from the house!

XANTHIAS I'm doing it. But you too — smoke them with a lot of smoke.

SOSIAS Won't you scram? Won't you go to the ravens? Won't you be off? Hit them with the stick!

XANTHIAS And you, throw on some Aeschines, son of Sellartius, and smoke them out. Were we going to drive you off in time, then, after all?

BDELYCLEON But by Zeus, you wouldn't have escaped them so easily if they'd happened to gorge on the songs of Philocles.

CHORUS Isn't this plain, then, to the poor — that tyranny has crept up on me in secret, if you, O wretch of wretches and long-haired Amynias, keep us off from the laws the city laid down, with no excuse, no plausible word, ruling alone, all by yourself?

BDELYCLEON Is there any way, without a fight and without that shrill bawling, we could come to words with one another and to a settlement?

CHORUS Words — with you, you people-hater, lover of monarchy, ally of Brasidas, wearer of woollen fringes and tassels, growing your beard unshorn?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, it'd really be better for me to give up my father entirely than to do battle every day with such great troubles.

CHORUS But you're not even at the parsley-and-rue stage yet — for we'll throw that in among the three-quart phrases. But you feel no pain now; you'll feel it when the prosecutor pours out these same charges over you and calls you a conspirator.

BDELYCLEON By the gods, won't you be rid of me at last? Or am I doomed to flay and be flayed all day long?

CHORUS Never — not while any part of me is left, seeing you've set yourself thus at tyranny over us.

BDELYCLEON How everything is tyranny and conspirators to you, whether someone brings a charge great or small — a word I hadn't even heard for fifty years! But now it's far cheaper than salt-fish, so its very name is bandied about in the market. If a man buys gurnard but won't have sprats, at once the seller of sprats nearby says: "This man looks like he's marketing with tyranny in mind." And if he asks for a leek as a relish for his anchovies, the green-grocer-woman, squinting at him, says: "Tell me — you ask for a leek? With tyranny in mind, or do you think Athens grows you relishes for free?"

XANTHIAS And me too — yesterday a whore, when I came in at midday and bade her ride me jockey-style, got angry with me and asked if I was setting up the tyranny of Hippias.

BDELYCLEON Yes, for this sort of thing is sweet to their ears — that even now I, because I want my father, freed from these dawn-haunting, sycophant-ridden, lawsuit-wretched ways, to live a noble life like Morychus — I'm charged with doing this as a conspirator and thinking tyrannical thoughts.

PHILOCLEON And rightly so, by Zeus — for I wouldn't take even birds' milk in place of the life you're now robbing me of. I take no joy in skate or eels, but I'd far sooner eat a little stewed lawsuit served up in a casserole.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, yes — you've grown used to delighting in such things. But if you'll bear with me in silence and learn what I say, I think I'll teach you that you're all wrong in this.

PHILOCLEON I'm doing wrong by judging?

BDELYCLEON Yes — and you're laughed at, without knowing it, by the very men you all but worship. You're a slave without realizing it.

PHILOCLEON Stop talking of slavery, when I rule over all.

BDELYCLEON Not you — you serve, thinking you rule. Come, father, teach us: what's this honour you have, reaping the fruits of Hellas?

PHILOCLEON Gladly — and I'm willing to put it to these men as judges.

BDELYCLEON And so am I. Now release him, all of you.

PHILOCLEON And give me a sword too. For if I'm beaten in the argument by you, I'll fall on the sword.

BDELYCLEON Tell me — what if — well — you won't abide by the verdict?

PHILOCLEON May I never drink the wage of the Good Spirit unmixed.

CHORUS Now the man from our own wrestling-school must say something new, so he'll show himself —

BDELYCLEON Someone bring me out the writing-case here, quick as you can. But how will he show himself, if you keep cheering him on like that?

CHORUS Not in the young man's manner there, in his speaking. For you see how great is your contest, and about everything, if — which heaven forbid — this man means to beat you.

BDELYCLEON Well, whatever he says, I'll plainly write it down as notes.

PHILOCLEON What do you say, then — if this fellow beats me in the argument?

CHORUS No longer will the throng of old men be of use, not a whit; mocked in the streets we'll be called "olive-branch-bearers," mere husks of pleadings.

CHORUS But O you who are about to argue for the whole kingdom that is ours — now, take heart, and put every tongue to the test.

PHILOCLEON Right then, straight from the starting-line I'll prove about our power that it's inferior to no kingdom. For what is happier or more to be envied now than a juror, what creature more luxurious or more terrible — and an old man at that? First, as I creep from bed, men keep watch for me at the courtroom rails, great men, four cubits tall; and then, the moment I come up, he thrusts into mine his delicate hand, that has stolen public funds; and bowing low they beseech me, pouring out piteous voices: "Pity me, father, I beg you — if you yourself ever pilfered anything when holding office, or on campaign shopping for your messmates" — a man who'd never have known I was alive but for my earlier acquittal of him.

BDELYCLEON Let me have this as a note — about the suppliants.

PHILOCLEON Then, going in, having been entreated and wiped clean of my anger, once inside I do none of all the things I promise, but I listen to them sending out every kind of voice for acquittal. Come, let me see — what flattery is there a juror can't hear there? Some lament their poverty and add woes to what they have, till in his grief he makes them equal to mine; others tell us tales, others some funny bit of Aesop; others crack jokes, so I'll laugh and lay aside my wrath. And if we're not won over by these, then at once he hauls up his little children by the hand, his daughters and his sons; and I listen, while they, ducking their heads together, bleat; and then the father, on their behalf, trembling, beseeches me like a god to acquit him at the audit: "If you delight in a lamb's voice, take pity on a boy's voice; or if again you delight in piglets, be persuaded by a daughter's voice." And then for him we slacken the peg of our anger a little. Isn't that great power, and a mockery of wealth?

BDELYCLEON This is the second thing of yours I write down — the mockery of wealth. And remember the good things you say you have, you who claim to rule Hellas.

PHILOCLEON When boys are examined for citizenship, it's ours to inspect their privates. And if Oeagrus comes in as a defendant, he doesn't get off until he's recited us the finest speech, picked out of his Niobe. And if a flute-player wins his case, in return for that he pipes us jurors out as we leave, with mouthpiece on. And if a father dying leaves an heiress-daughter to someone, we tell the will to go weep loud and long, head and all, and the seal-shell so very grandly sitting on the marks, and give her to whoever wins us over with his pleading. And we do all this unaccountable — no other office is like it.

BDELYCLEON Yes, this is the one grand thing of all you've said that I count you blessed in. But about the heiress's will you do wrong, shelling it open.

PHILOCLEON What's more, whenever the Council and the People are at a loss to decide some great matter, they've voted by decree to hand the wrongdoers over to the jurors. And then Euathlus and that great shield-throwing Toady-onymus say they'll never betray us, but will fight on behalf of the masses. And in the Assembly no one's ever carried a motion, unless he proposes to dismiss the courts the moment they've judged one case. And Cleon himself, the great bawler, alone of all doesn't nibble at us, but keeps us safe in his hand and beats off the flies. But you've never done your own father any of these things. No — Theorus, though he's a man no less than Euphemius, takes the sponge from the basin and blacks our shoes. Just look from what blessings you're shutting and shutting me out, the things you said you'd prove were slavery and servitude.

BDELYCLEON Have your fill of talking — for at any rate you'll stop at last and lay bare an arse that comes off the worse for its bath despite all the holiness of your office.

PHILOCLEON And what's sweetest of all of these, which I'd forgotten — when I go home with my wage, and then, the moment I arrive, all of them at once greet me for the sake of the silver, and first my daughter washes me and anoints my feet and, bending down, kisses me, and "daddy-ing" me, fishes the three-obol piece out with her tongue; and my little wife, coaxing me, brings me a barley-cake, and then sits beside me and presses me — "Eat this, have a bite of this." In these things I delight, and I needn't look to you and the steward, to see when he'll grudgingly serve up my lunch, cursing and muttering. But if he doesn't knead it for me quick, I have this here as a bulwark against ills, a defence against missiles. And if you won't pour me wine to drink, I've brought in this jug full of wine — the donkey here — and I tip it up and pour for myself, lying down; while it, gaping open, brays a great soldierly fart at your wine-cup. Isn't that great power I wield, no less than Zeus's, when I hear the very things they say of Zeus? At any rate, if we make an uproar, every passer-by says, "How the court thunders, O King Zeus!" And if I lighten, the rich ones cluck and shit themselves at me, the very grand ones too. And you yourself fear me most of all; by Demeter you fear me — but may I perish if I fear you.

CHORUS Never have we heard anyone speak so clearly, nor so cleverly.

PHILOCLEON No — he thought he'd harvest a deserted vineyard so easily. For he knew well that I'm strongest in this.

CHORUS How he's gone over everything and passed nothing by, so that I grew taller listening, and thought I myself was judging in the Isles of the Blest, delighting in his speech.

PHILOCLEON How he's writhing already, and isn't himself.

BDELYCLEON For sure, I'll make you look leather-faced today.

CHORUS You must weave all sorts of wiles for your acquittal. For it's hard to soften my anger for a young man who doesn't speak on my side.

CHORUS In view of this it's high time you sought a good, freshly-cut millstone, unless you've something to say, able to grind down my wrath.

BDELYCLEON It's hard, and the task of a clever mind, and greater than belongs to comic poets, to cure an old disease bred deep in the city. But, O father, our son of Cronus —

PHILOCLEON Stop, and don't "father" me. For unless you teach me quick how I'm a slave, there's no way you won't die — even if I must keep off sacrificial meat.

BDELYCLEON Listen now, dear daddy, and unknit your brow a little. First, reckon roughly — not with pebbles but on your fingers — the tribute that comes in to us from the cities, all together; and apart from this the dues separately, and the many one-percents, court-fees, mines, markets, harbours, rents, and confiscated goods. The total of these comes to nearly two thousand talents for us. Now set down from this the year's pay for the jurors, six thousand of them — never more have settled in the land — and it comes, I suppose, to a hundred and fifty talents for us.

PHILOCLEON So the pay we got wasn't even a tenth of the revenue!

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, no, it wasn't.

PHILOCLEON And where does the rest of the money go, then?

BDELYCLEON To these fellows of "I'll-never-betray-the-Athenian-rabble," "I'll-always-fight-for-the-masses." For you, father, choose them to rule over you, taken in by these little phrases. And then these men take bribes of fifty talents apiece from the cities, threatening and frightening them like this: "You'll pay the tribute, or I'll thunder and overturn your city." And you're content to gnaw the scraps of your own office. And the allies, when they see the rest of the common herd sucking at an empty ballot-box and chewing nothing, think you a Connus's-vote — a worthless thing — while to these men they bring gifts: jars, wine, rugs, cheese, honey, sesame, cushions, bowls, fine mantles, garlands, necklaces, drinking-cups, health-and-wealth; while to you, of all you rule over, after toiling much on land and much at sea, no one gives so much as a head of garlic for your boiled greens.

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, no — I had to send to Eucharides for three cloves of garlic myself. But you're wearing me out, not showing me this slavery itself.

BDELYCLEON Isn't it great slavery, that all these men should be in office, themselves and their flatterers drawing pay, while you're content if someone gives you three obols — obols you yourself earned with much toil, rowing and fighting on land and besieging? And besides this you go about under orders, which throttles me most, when some catamite youngster, the son of Chaereas, comes in, striding like this, swaying his body and all soft, and tells you to come early and in good time to judge — since whoever of you comes later than the signal won't get the three obols; while he himself takes his advocate's drachma even if he comes late. And sharing the spoils with one of his fellow-officials, if some defendant offers anything, the two of them, putting their heads together, make a deal; and like men working a two-handled saw, one pulls and the other gives way; while you gape at the paymaster, and what's going on escapes you.

PHILOCLEON Is this what they do to me? Oh no — what are you saying? How you stir my bottom up, and draw my mind round more, and I don't know what on earth you're doing to me.

BDELYCLEON Consider then how, when you might be rich, and all of you, you've been somehow hedged round — I don't know how — by these eternal demagogues; you who rule over more cities than any, from the Black Sea to Sardinia, get no enjoyment of it but the pittance you carry — and that they drip into you in wool, little by little, just to keep you alive, like oil. For they want you to be poor; and I'll tell you why: so you'll know your tamer, and then, whenever he hisses you on against one of his enemies, you'll leap on them savagely. For if they wanted to provide a living for the People, it would be easy. There are a thousand cities that now pay us tribute; if someone ordered each of them to feed twenty men, two myriads of common folk would live in clover — in hares of all kinds and garlands and beestings, enjoying things worthy of their land and of the trophy at Marathon. But as it is, you go like olive-pickers, trailing after the man with the pay.

PHILOCLEON Oh, what's happening to me? A numbness is pouring down over my hand, and I can't hold the sword, but I'm growing soft already.

BDELYCLEON But whenever they themselves are afraid, they offer you Euboea, and undertake to provide grain, fifty bushels a head; yet they never gave it to you, except the other day five bushels — and even that you got barley by the quart, with difficulty, after defending yourself on a charge of being an alien. That's why I always shut you up, wanting to feed you myself, and not have these men mock you with their loud-mouthing. And now I'm simply willing to provide whatever you want, except the paymaster's milk to drink.

CHORUS He was a wise man, surely, who said: "Don't judge until you've heard the tale from both sides." For now you seem to me to win by far; so I slacken my anger already and throw down my staffs. But O fellow-reveller of our own age,

CHORUS be persuaded, be persuaded by his words, and don't be a fool, nor a man too stiff and stubborn. Would that I had some guardian or kinsman to give me such advice! But to you now some god, present and manifest, is helping in your affairs, and is plainly doing you good; and you, since he's here, receive it.

BDELYCLEON And what's more, I'll feed him, providing everything fitting for an old man: gruel to lick up, a soft cloak, a fleecy wrap, a whore to rub his prick and his loins. But that he's silent and doesn't grunt a word — that I can't take.

CHORUS He's come to his senses about the things he was then mad for; for he's just now realized, and reckons that all those were faults, the things he wouldn't be persuaded of when you bade him. But now perhaps he's persuaded by your words, and is wise, after all, changing his ways for the future, and obeying you.

PHILOCLEON Alas, alas for me!

BDELYCLEON You there, why are you wailing?

PHILOCLEON Don't promise me any of these things. Those are what I love — there would I be, where the herald says, "Who hasn't voted? Let him stand up." And I'd stand at the ballot-funnels, the last of those voting. Hurry, my soul. Where's my soul? Make way, O shade. By Heracles, may I never now, among the jurors, catch Cleon thieving.

BDELYCLEON Come, father, by the gods, be persuaded by me.

PHILOCLEON What shall I be persuaded of? Say what you want, except one thing.

BDELYCLEON What thing? Let me see.

PHILOCLEON Not to judge. That Hades will decide before I'm persuaded of it.

BDELYCLEON Well then, since you take such pleasure in doing this, don't go there any more, but here, stay at home and judge the household slaves.

PHILOCLEON About what? You're talking nonsense.

BDELYCLEON The very things that are done there: that the maidservant opened the door secretly — on her you'll vote a single penalty, just one. And anyway you used to do this there every time. And this part's reasonable too: if it's sunny at dawn, you'll hold court in the sun; and if it snows, sitting by the fire; if it rains, you'll go in; and if you wake up at midday, no presiding magistrate will shut you out at the rail.

PHILOCLEON This pleases me.

BDELYCLEON And besides, if anyone makes a long speech, you won't have to wait hungry, gnawing at yourself and at the defendant.

PHILOCLEON But how will I be able to judge well, discerning, as before, while still chewing on the matter?

BDELYCLEON Far better. For there's a saying, this one, that the jurors, when the witnesses lie, barely make out the matter, chewing it over.

PHILOCLEON You persuade me round. But you still haven't told me where I'll get the pay.

BDELYCLEON From me.

PHILOCLEON Good — since I'll get it for myself, not along with another. For Lysistratus the mocker did me a most shameful turn. Taking a drachma with me the other day, he went and changed it among the fishmongers, and then put three mullet-scales into my hand; and I gulped them down, thinking I'd got obols; and then, disgusted at the smell, I spat them out and dragged him off to law.

BDELYCLEON And what did he say to that?

PHILOCLEON What? He said I had the gut of a cock — "You'll soon be digesting silver," he said.

BDELYCLEON See how much you'll gain by this too, then.

PHILOCLEON No small thing. But do what you mean to.

BDELYCLEON Wait now — I'll come bringing these things.

PHILOCLEON See the thing — how the oracles come true! For I'd heard that one day the Athenians would try their cases at their own houses, and every man would build in his porch a tiny little courtroom of his own, like a shrine of Hecate, everywhere before the doors.

BDELYCLEON There, what more will you say? See, I bring everything I said, and much more besides. Here's a chamber-pot, if you need to piss, hung up beside you, near, on the peg.

PHILOCLEON A clever thing, and fitting for an old man — you've found, in truth, a remedy for the strangury.

BDELYCLEON And here's a fire too; and a lentil-soup stands ready to sup, if you need anything.

PHILOCLEON That's clever too; for even if I'm feverish, I'll still get my pay. Staying here, I'll sup my lentil-soup. But why have you brought the bird out to me?

BDELYCLEON So that, if you fall asleep while someone's pleading, it can crow from above and wake you up.

PHILOCLEON One thing more I long for; the rest pleases me.

BDELYCLEON What's that?

PHILOCLEON If only you could bring out the hero-shrine of Lykos.

BDELYCLEON Here it is — and here's the lord himself.

PHILOCLEON O master hero, how grim you are to look at!

BDELYCLEON Just like Cleonymus appears to us.

PHILOCLEON At any rate, hero though he is, he too has no arms.

BDELYCLEON If you'd sat down quicker, I'd have called the case quicker.

PHILOCLEON Call it now — I've been sitting a long while.

BDELYCLEON Come now, what case shall I bring in first for him? What mischief has someone in the house done? Thratta, scorching the pot the other day —

PHILOCLEON Hold on, you! How nearly you ruined me! You mean to call the case without a railing, the first of our holy things to appear?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, it's not here.

PHILOCLEON Then I'll run and fetch it myself this instant from inside.

BDELYCLEON What ever's this? How dreadful is the love of one's place!

SOSIAS Go to the ravens! Fancy keeping a dog like this.

BDELYCLEON What is it, really?

SOSIAS Didn't Labes the dog just now dart into the kitchen and snatch up a Sicilian cheese-cake and gobble it down?

BDELYCLEON So this is the first crime to be brought in before my father. You be there to prosecute.

SOSIAS By Zeus, not I. But the other dog says he'll prosecute, if anyone brings the charge.

BDELYCLEON Go now, fetch them both here.

SOSIAS That's what I'll do.

BDELYCLEON What's this here?

PHILOCLEON A pig-pen of Hestia's.

BDELYCLEON Have you committed sacrilege, then, bringing it?

PHILOCLEON No — but so that, beginning from Hestia, I may grind someone to dust. But bring it in, quick — for I'm looking to fix a heavy penalty.

BDELYCLEON Come then, let me bring the tablets and the indictments.

PHILOCLEON Oh, you're wasting time and you'll be the death of me, dawdling away! I was longing to plough up the ground — with a verdict.

BDELYCLEON There.

PHILOCLEON Call the case now.

BDELYCLEON Right. Who's this here, the first one?

PHILOCLEON Go to the ravens! How vexed I am that I forgot to bring out the voting-urns.

BDELYCLEON Hey, you — where are you running?

PHILOCLEON For the urns.

BDELYCLEON No, no. I had these ladles here.

PHILOCLEON Splendid, then; for everything's at hand for us that we need, except the water-clock.

BDELYCLEON And what's this, then? Isn't it a water-clock?

PHILOCLEON You provide it well, and in true native style.

BDELYCLEON But quick, someone bring out fire from inside, and myrtle-boughs and the frankincense, so we may first pray to the gods.

CHORUS And we, over your libations and your prayers, will speak you a good word, that you've nobly settled out of war and quarrel.

BDELYCLEON Let there first be holy silence now.

CHORUS O Phoebus Apollo of Pytho, with good fortune may the plan he's contriving out here before the doors fit us all, now we've ceased our wanderings. O hail, Healer Paean!

BDELYCLEON O master lord, neighbour of the street, guardian of the porch and gateway, receive, lord, the new rite which we are starting up for my father, and make an end of his too-harsh, oak-tough temper, mixing a little honey-syrup into his sour little soul instead; and let him be from now on gentle to men, pitying the defendants more than the prosecutors, and weeping with those who plead, and, ceasing from his peevishness, plucking the nettle of anger out of his wrath.

CHORUS We join you in this same prayer and sing along with you, for the new rule, because of what's been said. For we've been well-disposed to you ever since we learned that you love the People as no man does of the younger men. O hail, Healer Paean!

BDELYCLEON If there's any juror outside, let him come in; for once they start speaking, we won't let him in.

PHILOCLEON Who's the defendant, then?

BDELYCLEON This one.

PHILOCLEON How he'll be convicted!

BDELYCLEON Hear the indictment now. There has indicted — a Dog of Kydathenaeum — Labes of Aexone, for wrongdoing about the cheese, in that he ate up alone the Sicilian one. Penalty: a fig-wood collar.

PHILOCLEON A dog's death, rather, if once he's convicted.

BDELYCLEON And here's the defendant, Labes, present.

PHILOCLEON The foul brute! How he looks a thief, too, how he grins, thinking he'll deceive me! But where's the prosecutor, the Dog of Kydathenaeum?

DOG Bow-wow.

BDELYCLEON Here he is.

PHILOCLEON This is another Labes, in his turn.

BDELYCLEON Good at barking, and at licking out the pots.

PHILOCLEON Quiet, sit down. And you, get up and prosecute.

PHILOCLEON Come now, while I pour myself this and sup it too.

SOSIAS You've heard the indictment which I drew up, jurymen, against this fellow. For he's done the most dreadful of deeds to me and to the rowers' "yo-heave-ho." For he ran off into the corner and Sicilianized a great deal of cheese and stuffed himself in the dark —

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, but it's plain. To me, at any rate, he just now belched up the foulest reek of cheese, the disgusting creature.

SOSIAS And he gave me no share when I asked. And yet who can do you good, if no one throws a bit to me, the dog, as well?

PHILOCLEON He gave no share to me, the public, either. For the man's hot — no less so than the lentil-soup.

BDELYCLEON By the gods, don't prejudge, father, before you've heard both sides.

PHILOCLEON But my good man, the matter's plain — it cries out of itself.

SOSIAS Don't let him off, then — seeing he's again by far the most solitary-feeding of all the dogs there are, who sailed round the whole mortar in a circle and ate up the rind out of the cities.

PHILOCLEON And I've nothing even to mend my water-pot with.

SOSIAS In view of this, punish him; for never could one thicket feed two thieves. So I won't be barking in vain to no purpose; and if not, in future I won't bark at all.

PHILOCLEON Whew, whew! What villainies he's denounced! The man's a thievish business. Don't you think so too, cock? By Zeus, he winks yes, at any rate. The presiding magistrate — where is he? Let him give me the chamber-pot.

BDELYCLEON Take it down yourself; for I'm calling in the witnesses. Witnesses for Labes are to be present: a bowl, a pestle, a cheese-grater, a brazier, a pot, and the rest, the scorched utensils. But are you still pissing, and not yet seated?

PHILOCLEON This one here, I think, will be shitting himself today.

BDELYCLEON Won't you ever stop being harsh and peevish, and that toward defendants — but bite down hard? Get up, make your defence. Why are you silent? Speak.

PHILOCLEON But it seems this one has nothing to say.

BDELYCLEON No — I think he's suffered the very thing Thucydides once suffered as a defendant: he became suddenly stricken in the jaws. Get out of the way. For I'll make the defence. It's hard, gentlemen, to answer for a dog who's been slandered — but I'll speak all the same. For he's a good dog, and he chases off the wolves.

PHILOCLEON A thief, rather, this one — and a conspirator.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, no — he's the best of the dogs there are now, able to stand guard over many sheep.

PHILOCLEON What's the use, if he eats up the cheese?

BDELYCLEON What use? He fights in front for you and guards the door and is best in all else. And if he did pilfer, forgive him — for he doesn't know how to play the lyre.

PHILOCLEON I'd wish he didn't even know his letters, so he couldn't write up our account, the rogue.

BDELYCLEON Hear my witnesses, good sir. Get up, Cheese-grater, and speak out loud. For you happened to be the housekeeper. Answer clearly: did you, or did you not, grate down for the soldiers what you took? She says she grated it.

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, but she's lying.

BDELYCLEON My good sir, pity the wretched. For this Labes here eats up necks and fish-bones, and never stays in one place. The other's only good for guarding the house. For staying put, he begs his share of whatever anyone brings inside; and if he doesn't get it, he bites.

PHILOCLEON Ugh. What's this trouble that's softening me? Some evil is creeping round me, and I'm being won over.

BDELYCLEON Come, I beg you — pity him, father, and don't destroy him. Where are the children? Come up, you wretched, whining things, and beg and plead and weep.

PHILOCLEON Get down, get down, get down, get down!

BDELYCLEON I'll get down. And yet this "get down" has deceived a great many. But still, I'll get down.

PHILOCLEON Go to the ravens! What a no-good thing this supping is! For I just now wept, against my own judgment — for no reason at all, except that I was full of lentil-soup.

BDELYCLEON So isn't he acquitted, then?

PHILOCLEON It's hard to know.

BDELYCLEON Come, dear daddy, turn to the better course. Take this voting-pebble and to the second urn, with eyes shut, dash past it, father, and acquit.

PHILOCLEON No, indeed — for I don't know how to play the lyre.

BDELYCLEON Here now, let me lead you round this way the quickest.

PHILOCLEON Is this the first one?

BDELYCLEON It is.

PHILOCLEON Then in it goes, here.

BDELYCLEON He's been deceived and has acquitted against his will. Come, let me empty them out.

PHILOCLEON How have we done in the contest?

BDELYCLEON It looks like it'll show. You've got off, Labes! Father, father, what's the matter? Oh no — where's water? Lift yourself up.

PHILOCLEON Just tell me this: did he really get off?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, yes.

PHILOCLEON Then I'm nothing.

BDELYCLEON Don't take it to heart, good sir — but get up.

PHILOCLEON How then shall I bear this on my conscience, having acquitted a defendant? What ever will become of me? But, O greatly honoured gods, forgive me; for I did it unwillingly, and not from my own nature.

BDELYCLEON And don't be vexed at all. For I, father, will keep you well, taking you everywhere with me, to dinner, to drinking-parties, to the festival, so you'll spend the rest of your time pleasantly; and Hyperbolus won't be gaping with deceit at you. But let's go in.

PHILOCLEON This now, then, if you think best.

CHORUS Go your ways rejoicing, wherever you wish. But you, meanwhile, O countless myriads, take care that the good things about to be spoken don't fall feebly to the ground. For that is the part of dull spectators to suffer, and not befitting you.

CHORUS Now again, people, pay attention, if you love anything that's clean. For the poet now wishes to find fault with the audience. For he says he's been wronged first, after doing them much good — partly not openly, but secretly helping other poets, imitating the prophetic art and cunning of Eurycles, slipping into others' bellies to pour out much comic stuff; and after that, openly in his own right, taking the risk, guiding the mouths not of others' Muses but of his own. And raised high, and honoured as no one ever was among you, he says he didn't, puffed up, fail to finish, nor swell his pride, nor go reveling round the wrestling-schools to seduce; nor, if some lover who hated to see his boyfriend lampooned came hurrying to him, did he ever consent to anyone, he says, having a fair-minded resolve, so that he might not make the Muses he uses into procuresses. Nor, when he first began to produce, did he attack mere men, but with a Heracles-like wrath he set on the greatest, boldly grappling from the very start with the saw-toothed one himself, from whose eyes flashed the most terrible rays of the Bitch-star, and round his head a hundred heads of accursed flatterers licked, and he had the voice of a torrent giving birth to destruction, the smell of a seal, the unwashed balls of a Lamia, a camel's arse. Seeing such a monster, he says he wasn't afraid and didn't take a bribe, but on your behalf he still fights even now; and he says that after him last year he set upon the agues and the fevers, which throttled your fathers by night and choked your grandfathers, and lying down on the beds of the quiet, unmeddlesome among you glued together affidavits and summonses and depositions, so that many, in terror, leapt up and ran to the polemarch. Though you found such a guardian-spirit and purifier of this land, last year you betrayed him when he sowed the freshest new ideas, which, through your failing to understand them clearly, you made fruitless. And yet, pouring many libations over many offerings, he swears by Dionysus that no one ever heard better comic verses than these. So this is a disgrace to you, who didn't grasp it on the spot; but the poet is reckoned none the worse among the wise, if, outstripping his rivals, he wore out his fancy.

CHORUS But henceforth, you blessed people, love and cherish more the poets who seek to say and discover something new, and keep their conceptions safe, and store them up in your chests along with the apples. And if you do this, all year long your clothes will smell of cleverness.

CHORUS O we who once were brave in the dances, brave in battles, and in this one thing alone, the bravest of men; that was once, before these things; but now it's gone, and these hairs of ours, whiter than a swan's, bloom upon us. But even from these remnants we must get youthful strength; for I think my own old age is better than the curls of many young men, and their figure and their wide-arsed ways.

CHORUS If any of you spectators, seeing my appearance, then wonders at the sight of me wasp-waisted in the middle — what the meaning of our sting is — I'll easily explain, even to one who was unmusical before. We are the men who have this rump-appendage, the only true-born native Attic men, a most manly race, and we did this city the most service in battles, when the barbarian came, smoking the whole city with fire and burning it, eager to take by force our wasps' nests. For at once, running out with spear, with shield, we fought them, having drunk the wine of sharp courage, man standing by man, gnawing our lips in rage; and for the arrows you couldn't see the sky. But still, with the gods' help, we pushed them off toward evening. For an owl flew over our army before we fought; and then we followed, harpooning them tuna-style into their baggy trousers, and they fled, stung in the jaws and the eyebrows; so that among the barbarians everywhere, even now, nothing's called more manly than an Attic wasp.

CHORUS Was I not terrible then, fearing nothing at all, and did I not overthrow the enemy, sailing there with the triremes? For it was no concern of ours then to make a fine speech, nor to lay a sycophant's information against anyone, but only who'd be the best oarsman. And so, having taken many cities of the Medes, we're most to blame for the tribute's being brought here — which the younger men steal.

CHORUS Looking at us in many ways, you'll find us in all most like wasps in our ways and in our manner of life. For first, there's no creature, once provoked, more sharp-tempered than we, nor more peevish; and then in all else we contrive things like wasps. For gathering in swarms, just like wasps' nests, some of us judge where the archon is, some by the Eleven, some in the Odeon, some packed close against the walls, nodding toward the ground, scarcely stirring, like the grubs in their cells. And as for the rest of our way of life, we're most resourceful; for we sting every man and provide ourselves a living. But there are drones sitting among us, without a sting, who, staying put, eat up the toil of our tribute, not labouring at all. And this is most painful to us — if some man who's never served swallows down our pay, having taken up neither oar nor spear nor blister for this land. But it seems to me that henceforth, in short, every citizen who hasn't the sting shouldn't draw the three obols.

BDELYCLEON "Wealth and might to Cleitagora and me, together with the Thessalians—"

PHILOCLEON You've boasted a lot, and so have I.

BDELYCLEON This much you understand well enough. But let's see how we're to go to dinner at Philoctemon's. Boy, boy, Chrysus, pack the dinner for us, so that for once after a long while we may get drunk.

PHILOCLEON No, no. Drinking's a bad thing. For from wine come door-smashing and brawling and pelting with stones, and then paying out money out of your hangover.

BDELYCLEON Not if you're in the company of fine, decent men. For either they begged off the injured party for you, or you yourself told some witty story, an Aesop-joke or a Sybarite one, which you learned at the party; and then you turned the matter to a laugh, so the man let you go and went off.

PHILOCLEON Then I must learn lots of these stories, if I'm to pay no penalty when I do some mischief.

BDELYCLEON Come now, let's go. Let nothing hold us back.

CHORUS Many a time I've thought myself naturally clever, and never dull; but Amynias, son of Sellus, of the Top-Knot clan, this one whom I once saw dining on apple and pomegranate with Leogoras — for he's as hungry as Antiphon; but he went off as ambassador to Pharsalus, and there, alone among the lonely Penestae of the Thessalians, was himself a serf inferior to none.

CHORUS O blessed Automenes, how we count you blessed, because you've begotten the most skilled of children: first, a man dear to all and most clever, the finest lyre-singer, whom grace attended; and another, an actor, marvellously clever; and then Ariphrades, by far the most ingenious, who once swore that, having learned it from no one, but from his clever nature, self-taught, he learned to ply his tongue in the brothels every time he goes in.

CHORUS . . .

CHORUS There are some who said I'd been reconciled, when Cleon harried me, pressing on, and galled me with vile abuse; and then, when I was being flayed, the outsiders laughed to see me bawling loud, caring nothing for me, but only wanting to know whether, hard-pressed, I'd let fall some little joke. Seeing this, I played the ape a little; and then now the vine-prop has deceived the vine.

PHILOCLEON Up and out of the way! Someone among those following behind me is going to howl; for, you wretches, if you don't clear off, with this torch here I'll make you into roasted kippers.

A FELLOW-GUEST For sure, you'll pay us all the penalty for this tomorrow, young blood though you are. For we'll come in a crowd to summon you.

PHILOCLEON Hey-ho, ha-ha — summon, will you! How old-fashioned of you! Don't you know that I can't bear even to hear of lawsuits? Ugh, ugh! This is what pleases me — away with the voting-urns! Won't he be off? Where's our juryman? Out of the way. Come up here, my little golden cockchafer, take hold of this rope with your hand. Hold on; but mind, the rope's rotten — still, it doesn't mind being rubbed. You see how cleverly I filched you away when you were just about to play the Lesbian for the guests; so pay this prick of mine a favour for it. But you won't pay it, or do me the service, I know; you'll cheat me and gape a great laugh at it, for you've done it to many others already. But if you'll not be a bad woman now, when my son dies I'll buy you free and keep you as my mistress, little piglet. As it is, I'm not master of my own money, for I'm young and watched very closely; my little sonny keeps an eye on me, and he's peevish and a cumin-splitting, cress-scraping skinflint besides. So he's afraid for me, that I'll go to ruin; for he has no father but me. And here he is himself, running, it seems, at you and me. But quick as you can, stand still, taking these torches, so I can mock him roundly, as he did me before the Mysteries.

BDELYCLEON Hey you, you there, you smoke-dried old lecher and pig-squeezer, you seem to long and lust for a coffin ripe and ready. By Apollo, you won't get away with doing this.

PHILOCLEON How you'd love to eat a lawsuit dressed in vinegar!

BDELYCLEON Isn't it dreadful that you mock me, having filched the flute-girl from the fellow-guests?

PHILOCLEON What flute-girl? What's this nonsense, as if you'd fallen off a tomb?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, this is your Dardanis, somewhere about.

PHILOCLEON No — it's a torch burning in the market for the gods.

BDELYCLEON This a torch?

PHILOCLEON A torch indeed. Don't you see it's branded?

BDELYCLEON And what's this black part of it in the middle?

PHILOCLEON That's the pitch coming out as it burns.

BDELYCLEON And isn't this behind here an arse?

PHILOCLEON No — that's a knot of the torch sticking out.

BDELYCLEON What do you mean, you? What sort of knot? Come here, you!

PHILOCLEON Ah, ah — what are you going to do?

BDELYCLEON Take her and lead her off, taking her from you, and reckoning you rotten and able to do nothing.

PHILOCLEON Listen to me now. At Olympia, when I was a spectator there, Ephoudion fought Ascondas finely, old man though he was; and then, with a blow of his fist, the older man knocked down the younger. In view of this, watch you don't get black eyes.

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, you've learned your Olympia by heart.

A BREAD-WOMAN Come, stand by me, I beg you, by the gods. For this is the man who ruined me, beating me with the torch, and knocked out from here ten obols' worth of loaves and four extra ones besides.

BDELYCLEON See what you've done? Now there'll be more troubles and lawsuits to deal with because of your wine.

PHILOCLEON Not at all, since some clever stories will settle them; so I know I'll be reconciled with this one.

BREAD-WOMAN By the Two Goddesses, you won't get away with it — ruining the wares of Myrtia, daughter of Ancylion and Sostrate — like this.

PHILOCLEON Listen, woman; I want to tell you a charming tale.

BREAD-WOMAN By Zeus, not to me, my good man.

PHILOCLEON Aesop, walking home from dinner one evening, had a bold, drunken bitch barking at him. And then he said, "O bitch, bitch, if, by Zeus, instead of that wicked tongue you'd buy yourself some wheat somewhere, I'd think you had sense."

BREAD-WOMAN And you mock me? I summon you, whoever you are, before the market-inspectors, for damage to my wares, with Chaerephon here as my witness.

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, no — listen, if you'll think I say something. Lasus and Simonides once competed against each other; then Lasus said, "It's little I care."

BREAD-WOMAN Really, you?

PHILOCLEON And you, Chaerephon — you seem fit to be witness for a woman, sallow-faced, an Ino hanging at the feet of Euripides.

BDELYCLEON Here comes another one, it seems, to summon you; he's got a witness, anyway.

A PLAINTIFF Oh, wretched me! I summon you, old man, for assault.

BDELYCLEON Assault? No, no, don't summon him, by the gods; for I'll pay you a penalty on his behalf, whatever you fix, and I'll be grateful besides.

PHILOCLEON I myself will gladly be reconciled with him; for I admit I struck and pelted him. But come here. Will you leave it to me, how much silver I should pay for the matter to be your friend henceforth, or will you fix it?

PLAINTIFF You say. For I want no lawsuits and no troubles.

PHILOCLEON A man of Sybaris fell out of his chariot, and somehow cracked his head very badly indeed; for he happened to be no skilled hand at horsemanship. And then a friend of his stood by and said to him: "Let each man do the craft he knows." So you too — run off to Pittalus's surgery.

BDELYCLEON This too is just like the rest of your ways.

PLAINTIFF Well, you at least remember what he answered.

PHILOCLEON Listen, don't run off. In Sybaris a woman once smashed a jar.

PLAINTIFF I call you to witness this.

PHILOCLEON So the jar, having a witness, called one to attest; then the Sybarite woman said: "If, by the Maiden, you'd let this witnessing go and quick buy yourself a bandage, you'd have more sense."

PLAINTIFF Go on insulting, until the magistrate calls the case.

BDELYCLEON By Demeter, you won't stay here any longer, but I'll pick you up and carry you off —

PHILOCLEON What are you doing?

BDELYCLEON What am I doing? I'm carrying you inside from here; or else soon there'll be too few summoners for those you summon.

PHILOCLEON The Delphians once, against Aesop —

BDELYCLEON It's little I care.

PHILOCLEON — accused him of stealing a bowl of the god's; and he told them how a beetle once —

BDELYCLEON Oh, how I'll destroy you, beetles and all!

CHORUS I envy the old man his good luck, how he's changed from dry ways and a dry life; and now, having learned otherwise, he'll surely shift greatly toward the luxurious and the soft. But perhaps he won't want to; for it's hard to stand off from a nature one always has. And yet many have suffered this: keeping company with others' minds, they changed their ways.

CHORUS With much praise from me and from the right-thinking, having won it, the son of Philocleon goes off, for his love of his father and his wisdom. For I never met anyone so agreeable, nor was I maddened or carried away by anyone's ways. For in what did he, arguing, not prove the stronger, wishing to adorn his father with grander things?

PHILOCLEON Who's that sitting at the courtyard doors?

XANTHIAS There — the trouble's coming on now.

PHILOCLEON Let these bolts be loosed. And now, here goes — for this is the beginning of a dance-figure —

XANTHIAS Or rather, perhaps, the beginning of madness.

PHILOCLEON — as I twist my side with vigour. How my nostril snorts and my backbone resounds!

XANTHIAS Drink some hellebore.

PHILOCLEON Phrynichus crouches like a cock—

XANTHIAS You'll soon be pelted.

PHILOCLEON —kicking his leg sky-high. My arse gapes open.

XANTHIAS Watch yourself.

PHILOCLEON For now in our joints the loose socket turns supple.

PHILOCLEON Not bad, eh?

BDELYCLEON By Zeus, no indeed — it's a mad business.

PHILOCLEON Come now, let me make a proclamation and call up rivals. If any tragedian says he dances well, let him come in here to dance it out against me. Does anyone say so, or no one?

XANTHIAS That one alone.

PHILOCLEON Who's the wretch?

XANTHIAS The son of Carcinus, the middle one.

PHILOCLEON He'll be gobbled up, then; for I'll destroy him with the rhythm of a knuckle-punch. For he's nothing when it comes to the beat.

XANTHIAS But, you poor wretch, here comes another tragedian of the Carcinus brood, his brother.

PHILOCLEON By Zeus, then I've got a fish dinner.

XANTHIAS By Zeus, no — nothing else but crabs; for here comes yet another of Carcinus's lot.

PHILOCLEON What's this creeping up? A vinegar-cruet, or a spider?

XANTHIAS This is the pea-crab of the family, the smallest, who writes tragedy.

PHILOCLEON O Carcinus, O blessed in your fine children, what a flock of little wrens has come fluttering down! But I must go down against them. You, you poor wretch, mix up the brine-sauce for these, if I win.

CHORUS Come now, let's all give way to them a little, so that at their leisure they may spin themselves like tops before us.

CHORUS Come, O greatly-named children of the god of the sea, leap by the sand and the shore of the barren brine, brothers of the shrimps;

CHORUS whirl your swift foot round, and let someone kick out the Phrynichus-step, so that the spectators, seeing the leg up high, may cry out.

CHORUS Spin, parade in a circle, and pummel your own belly, fling your leg sky-high; let there be tops spinning. For the sea-ruling lord himself, the father, creeps up, delighted at his own children, the buzzard-brood. But lead us out the door, quick, if you love dancing at all; for this no one has ever done before — sent a chorus of comedians off dancing.