The Frogs

XANTHIAS.  SHALL I crack any of those old jokes, master,      
At which the audience never fail to laugh?      
   
DIONYSUS.  Aye, what you will, except I’m getting crushed:      
Fight shy of that: I’m sick of that already.           4   
   
XAN.  Nothing else smart?      
   
DIO.  Aye, save my shoulder’s aching.      
   
XAN.  Come now, that comical joke?      
   
DIO.  With all my heart.           8   
Only be careful not to shift your pole.      
And—  XAN. What?  DIO. And vow that you’ve a belly-ache.      
   
XAN.  May I not say I’m overburdened so      
That if none ease me, I must ease myself?           12   
   
DIO.  For mercy’s sake, not till I’m going to vomit.      
   
XAN.  What! must I bear these burdens, and not make      
One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis      
And Phrynichus, in every play they write,           16   
Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers?      
   
DIO.  Don’t make them; no! I tell you when I see      
Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away      
More than a twelvemonth older than I went.           20   
   
XAN.  O, thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now      
Is getting crushed, yet must not crack its joke!      
   
DIO.  Now is not this fine pampered insolence      
When I myself, Dionysus, son of—Pipkin,           24   
Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride,      
Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing?      
   
XAN.  What, don’t I bear?  DIO. How can you when you’re riding?      
   
XAN.  Why, I bear these.  DIO. How?  XAN. Most unwillingly.           28   
   
DIO.  Does not the donkey bear the load you’re bearing?      
   
XAN.  Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he.      
   
DIO.  How can you bear, when you are borne yourself?      
   
XAN.  Don’t know: but anyhow my shoulder’s aching.           32   
   
DIO.  Then since you say the donkey helps you not,      
You lift him up and carry him in turn.      
   
XAN.  O, hang it all! why didn’t I fight at sea?      
You should have smarted bitterly for this.           36   
   
DIO.  Get down, you rascal; I’ve been trudging on      
Till now I’ve reached the portal, where I’m going      
First to turn in. Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy!      
   
HERACLES. Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur           40   
He drove against it! Mercy o’ me, what’s this?      
   
DIO.  Boy.  XAN. Yes.  DIO. Did you observe?  XAN. What?  DIO. How alarmed      
He is.  XAN. Aye, truly, lest you’ve lost your wits.      
   
HER.  O, by Demeter, I can’t choose but laugh.           44   
Biting my lips won’t stop me. Ha! ha! ha!      
   
DIO.  Pray you, come hither, I have need of you.      
   
HER.  I vow I can’t help laughing, I can’t help it.      
A lion’s hide upon a yellow silk,           48   
A club and buskin! What’s it all about?      
Where were you going?  DIO. I was serving lately      
Aboard the—Cleisthenes.  HER. And fought?  DIO. And sank      
More than a dozen of the enemy’s ships.           52   
   
HER.  You two?  DIO. We two.  HER. And then I awoke, and lo!      
   
DIO.  There as, on deck, I’m reading to myself      
The “Andromeda,” a sudden pang of longing      
Shoots through my heart, you can’t conceive how keenly.           56   
   
HER.  How big a pang?  DIO. A small one, Molon’s size.      
   
HER.  Caused by a woman?  DIO. No.  HER. A boy?  DIO. No, no.      
   
HER.  A man?  DIO. Ah! ah!  HER. Was it for Cleisthenes?      
   
DIO.  Don’t mock me, brother; on my life I am           60   
In a bad way: such fierce desire consumes me.      
   
HER.  Aye, little brother? how?  DIO. I can’t describe it.      
But yet I’ll tell you in a riddling way.      
Have you e’er felt a sudden lust for soup?           64   
   
HER.  Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times.      
   
DIO.  Is the thing clear, or must I speak again?      
   
HER.  Not of the soup: I’m clear about the soup.      
   
DIO.  Well, just that sort of pang devours my heart           68   
For lost Euripides.  HER. A dead man too.      
   
DIO.  And no one shall persuade me not to go      
After the man.  HER. Do you mean below, to Hades?      
   
DIO.  And lower still, if there’s a lower still.           72   
   
HER.  What on earth for?  DIO. I want a genuine poet,      
“For some are not, and those that are, are bad.”      
   
HER.  What! does not Iophon live?  DIO. Well, he’s the sole      
Good thing remaining, if even he is good.           76   
For even of that I’m not exactly certain.      
   
HER.  If go you must, there’s Sophocles—he comes      
Before Euripides—why not take him?      
   
DIO.  Not till I’ve tried if Iophon’s coin rings true           80   
When he’s alone, apart from Sophocles.      
Besides, Euripides, the crafty rogue,      
Will find a thousand shifts to get away,      
But he was easy here, is easy there.           84   
   
HER.  But Agathon, where is he?  DIO. He has gone and left us.      
A genial poet, by his friends much missed.      
   
HER.  Gone where?  DIO. To join the blessed in their banquets.      
   
HER.  But what of Xenocles?  DIO. O, he be hanged!           88   
   
HER.  Pythangelus?  XAN. But never a word of me,      
Not though my shoulder’s chafed so terribly.      
   
HER.  But have you not a shoal of little songsters,      
Tragedians by the myriad, who can chatter           92   
A furlong faster than Euripides?      
   
DIO.  Those be mere vintage-leavings, jabberers, choirs      
Of swallow-broods, degraders of their art,      
Who get one chorus, and are seen no more,           96   
The Muses’ love once gained. But, O my friend,      
Search where you will, you’ll never find a true      
Creative genius, uttering startling things.      
   
HER.  Creative? how do you mean?  DIO. I mean a man           100   
Who’ll dare some novel venturesome conceit,      
Air, Zeus’ chamber, or Time’s foot, or this:      
’Twas not my mind that swore: my tongue committed      
A little perjury on its own account.           104   
   
HER.  You like that style?  DIO. Like it? I dote upon it.      
   
HER.  I vow it’s ribald nonsense, and you know it.      
   
DIO.  “Rule not my mind”: you’ve got a house to mind.      
   
HER.  Really and truly, though, ’tis paltry stuff.           108   
   
DIO.  Teach me to dine!  XAN. But never a word of me.      
   
DIO.  But tell me truly—’twas for this I came      
Dressed up to mimic you—what friends received      
And entertained you when you went below           112   
To bring back Cerberus, in case I need them.      
And tell me too the havens, fountains, shops,      
Roads, resting-places, stews, refreshment rooms,      
Towns, lodgings, hostesses, with whom were found           116   
The fewest bugs.  XAN. But never a word of me.      
   
HER.  You are really game to go?      
   
DIO.  O, drop that, can’t you?      
And tell me this: of all the roads you know,           120   
Which is the quickest way to get to Hades?      
I want one not too warm, nor yet too cold.      
   
HER.  Which shall I tell you first? which shall it be?      
There’s one by rope and bench: you launch away           124   
And—hang yourself.  DIO. No, thank you: that’s too stifling.      
   
HER.  Then there’s a track, a short and beaten cut,      
By pestle and mortar.  DIO. Hemlock, do you mean?      
   
HER.  Just so.  DIO. No, that’s too deathly cold a way;           128   
You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed.      
   
HER.  Well, would you like a steep and swift descent?      
   
DIO.  Aye, that’s the style: my walking powers are small.      
   
HER.  Go down to the Cerameicus.  DIO. And do what?           132   
   
HER.  Climb to the tower’s top pinnacle—  DIO. And then?      
   
HER.  Observe the torch-race started, and when all      
The multitude is shouting Let them go,      
Let yourself go.  DIO. Go whither?  HER. To the ground.           136   
   
DIO.  O, that would break my brain’s two envelopes.      
I’ll not try that.  HER. Which will you try?  DIO. The way      
You went yourself.  HER. A parlous voyage that,      
For first you’ll come to an enormous lake           140   
Of fathomless depth.  DIO. And how and I to cross?      
   
HER.  An ancient mariner will row you over      
In a wee boat, so big. The fare’s two obols.      
   
DIO.  Fie! The power two obols have, the whole world through!           144   
How came they thither?  HER. Theseus took them down.      
And next you’ll see great snakes and savage monsters      
In tens of thousands.  DIO. You needn’t try to scare me,      
I’m going to go.  HER. Then weltering seas of filth           148   
And ever-rippling dung: and plunged therein,      
Whoso has wronged the stranger here on earth,      
Or robbed his boylove of the promised pay,      
Or swinged his mother, or profanely smitten           152   
His father’s cheek, or sworn an oath forsworn,      
Or copied out a speech of Morsimus.      
   
DIO.  There too, perdie, should he be plunged, whoe’er      
Has danced the sword-dance of Cinesias.           156   
   
HER.  And next the breath of flutes will float around you,      
And glorious sunshine, such as ours, you’ll see,      
And myrtle groves, and happy bands who clap      
Their hands in triumph, men and women too.           160   

DIO.  And who are they?  HER. The happy mystic bands,      
   
XAN.  And I’m the donkey in the mystery show.      
But I’ll not stand it, not one instant longer.      
   
HER.  Who’ll tell you everything you want to know.           164   
You’ll find them dwelling close beside the road      
You are going to travel, just at Pluto’s gate.      
And fare thee well, my brother.  DIO. And to you      
Good cheer. (To Xan.) Now, sirrah, pick you up the traps.           168   
   
XAN.  Before I’ve put them down?  DIO. And quickly too.      
   
XAN.  No, prithee, no; but hire a body, one      
They’re carrying out, on purpose for the trip.      
   
DIO.  If I can’t find one?  XAN. Then I’ll take them.  DIO. Good.           172   
And see! they are carrying out a body now.      
Hallo! you there, you deadman, are you willing      
To carry down our little traps to Hades?      
   
CORPSE. What are they?  DIO. These.  CORP. Two drachmas for the job?           176   
   
DIO.  Nay, that’s too much.  CORP. Out of the pathway, you!      
   
DIO.  Beshrew thee, stop: maybe we’ll strike a bargain.      
   
CORP.  Pay me two drachmas, or it’s no use talking.      
   
DIO.  One and a half.  CORP. I’d liefer live again!           180   
   
XAN.  How absolute the knave is! He be hanged!      
I’ll go myself.  DIO. You’re the right sort, my man.      
Now to the ferry.  CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to.      
   
XAN.  Whatever’s that?  DIO. Why, that’s the lake, by Zeus,           184   
Whereof he spake, and yon’s the ferry-boat.      
   
XAN.  Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow’s Charon.      
   
DIO.  Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon!      
   
CHAR.  Who’s for the Rest from every pain and ill?           188   
Who’s for the Lethe’s plain? the Donkey-shearings?      
Who’s for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens?      
   
DIO.  I.  CHAR. Hurry in.  DIO. But where are you going really?      
In truth to the Ravens?  CHAR. Aye, for your behoof.           192   
Step in.  DIO. (To Xan.) Now, lad.  CHAR. A slave? I take no slave,      
Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea.      
   
XAN.  I couldn’t go. I’d got the eye-disease.      
   
CHAR.  Then fetch a circuit round about the lake.           196   
   
XAN.  Where must I wait?  CHAR. Beside the Withering stone,      
Hard by the Rest.  DIO. You understand?  XAN. Too well.      
O, what ill omen crossed me as I started!      
   
CHAR.  (To Dio.) Sit to the oar. (Calling.) Who else for the boat? Be quick.           200   
(To Dio.) Hi! What are you doing?  DIO. What am I doing? Sitting      
On to the oar. You told me to, yourself.      
   
CHAR.  Now sit you there, you little Potgut.  DIO. So?      
   
CHAR.  Now stretch your arms full length before you.  DIO. So?           204   
   
CHAR.  Come, don’t keep fooling; plant your feet, and now      
Pull with a will.  DIO. Why, how am I to pull?      
I’m not an oarsman, seaman, Salaminian.      
I can’t!  CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once,           208   
You’ll hear the loveliest timing songs.  DIO. What from?      
   
CHAR.  Frog-swans, most wonderful.  DIO. Then give the word.      
   
CHAR.  Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!      
   
FROGS.  Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!           212   
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!      
We children of the fountain and the lake,      
      Let us wake      
Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out,           216   
Our symphony of clear-voiced song.      
The song we used to love, in the Marshland up above,      
  In praise of Dionysus to produce,      
  Of Nysaean Dionysus, son of Zeus,           220   
When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay,      
To our precinct reeled along on the holy      
          Pitcher day.      
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.           224   
   
DIO.  O, dear! O, dear! now I declare      
I’ve got a bump upon my rump.      
   
FR.  Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
   
DIO.  But you, perchance, don’t care.           228   
   
FR.  Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
   
DIO.  Hang you, and your ko-axing too!      
There’s nothing but ko-ax with you.      
   
FR.  That is right, Mr. Busybody, right!           232   
For the Muses of the lyre love us well;      
And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays;      
And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight;      
For the strong reed’s sake which I grow within my lake           236   
      To be girdled in his lyre’s deep shell.      
        Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
   
DIO.  My hands are blistered very sore;      
My stern below is sweltering so,           240   
’Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar      
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
O tuneful race, O, pray give o’er,      
O, sing no more.  FR. Ah, no! ah, no!           244   
Loud and louder our chant must flow.      
Sing if ever ye sang of yore,      
When in sunny and glorious days      
Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing           248   
On we swept, in the joy of singing      
Myriad-diving roundelays.      
Or when fleeing the storm, we went      
Down to the depths, and our choral song           252   
Wildly raised to a loud and long      
Bubble-bursting accompaniment.      
   
FR.  and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
   
DIO.  This timing song I take from you.           256   
   
FR.  That’s a dreadful thing to do.      
   
DIO.  Much more dreadful, if I row      
Till I burst myself, I trow.      
   
FR.  and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.           260   
   
DIO.  Go, hang yourselves; for what care I?      
   
FR.  All the same we’ll shout and cry,      
Stretching all our throats with song,      
Shouting, crying, all day long,           264   
   
FR.  and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.      
   
DIO.  In this you’ll never, never win.      
   
FR.  This you shall not beat us in.      
   
DIO.  No, nor ye prevail o’er me.           268   
Never! never! I’ll my song      
Shout, if need be, all day long,      
Until I’ve learned to master your ko-ax.      
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.           272   
I thought I’d put a stop to your ko-ax.      
   
CHAR.  Stop! Easy! Take the oar and push her to.      
Now pay your fare and go.  DIO. Here ’tis: two obols.      
Xanthias! where’s Xanthias? Is it Xanthias there?           276   
   
XAN.  Hoi, hoi!  DIO. Come hither.  XAN. Glad to meet you, master.      
   
DIO.  What have you there?  XAN. Nothing but filth and darkness.      
   
DIO.  But tell me, did you see the parricides      
And perjured folk he mentioned?  XAN. Didn’t you?           280   
   
DIO.  Poseidon, yes. Why, look! (Pointing to the audience.) I see them now.      
What’s the next step?  XAN. We’d best be moving on.      
This is the spot where Heracles declared      
Those savage monsters dwell.  DIO. O, hang the fellow!           284   
That’s all his bluff: he thought to scare me off,      
The jealous dog, knowing my plucky ways.      
There’s no such swaggerer lives as Heracles.      
Why, I’d like nothing better than to achieve           288   
Some bold adventure, worthy of our trip.      
   
XAN.  I know you would. Hallo! I hear a noise.      
   
DIO.  Where? what?  XAN. Behind us, there.  DIO. Get you behind.      
   
XAN.  No, it’s in front.  DIO. Get you in front directly.           292   
   
XAN.  And now I see the most ferocious monster.      
   
DIO.  O, what’s it like?  XAN. Like everything by turns.      
Now it’s a bull: now it’s a mule: and now      
The loveliest girl.  DIO. O, where? I’ll go and meet her.           296   
   
XAN.  It’s ceased to be a girl: it’s a dog now.      
   
DIO.  It is Empusa!  XAN. Well, its face is all      
Ablaze with fire.  DIO. Has it a copper leg?      
   
XAN.  A copper leg? yes, one; and one of cow dung.           300   
   
DIO.  O, whither shall I flee?  XAN. O, whither I?      
   
DIO.  My priest, protect me, and we’ll sup together.      
   
XAN.  King Heracles, we’re done for.  DIO. O, forbear,      
Good fellow, call me anything but that.           304   
   
XAN.  Well, then, Dionysus.  DIO. O, that’s worse again.      
   
XAN.  (To the Spectre.) Aye, go thy way. O master, here, come here.      
   
DIO.  O, what’s up now?  XAN. Take courage; all’s serene.      
And, like Hegelochus, we now may say,           308   
“Out of the storm there comes a new fine wether.”      
Empusa’s gone.  DIO. Swear it.  XAN. By Zeus she is.      
   
DIO.  Swear it again.  XAN. By Zeus.  DIO. Again.  XAN. By Zeus.      
O, dear, O, dear, how pale I grew to see her,           312   
But he from fright has yellowed me all over.      
   
DIO.  Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head?      
Who is the god to blame for my destruction?      
Air, Zeus’ chamber, or the Foot of Time?           316   
   
(A flute is played behind the scenes.)


DIO.  Hist!  XAN. What’s the matter?  DIO. Didn’t you hear it?      
   
XAN.  What?      
   
DIO.  The breath of flutes.  XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches      
Breathed o’er me too; a very mystic whiff.           320   

DIO.  Then crouch we down, and mark what’s going on.      
   
CHORUS.  (In the distance.)  O Iacchus!      
    O Iacchus! O Iacchus!      
   
XAN.  O have it, master: ’tis those blessed Mystics,           324   
Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts.      
They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made.      
   
DIO.  I think so too: we had better both keep quiet      
And so find out exactly what it is.           328   
   
(The calling forth of Iacchus.)


CHOR.  O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temples dwelling,      
      O Iacchus! O Iacchus!      
      Come to tread this verdant level,      
      Come to dance in mystic revel,           332   
      Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles      
      Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles,      
      Come with wild and saucy paces      
      Mingling in our joyous dance,           336   
Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces,      
      When the mystic choirs advance.      
   
XAN.  Holy and sacred queen, Demeter’s daughter,      
O, what a jolly whiff of pork breathed o’er me!           340   
   
DIO.  Hist! and perchance you’ll get some tripe yourself.      
   
(The welcome to Iacchus.)


CHOR.  Come, arise, from sleep awaking, come the fiery torches shaking,      
      O Iacchus! O Iacchus!      
      Morning Star that shinest nightly.           344   
      Lo, the mead is blazing brightly,      
      Age forgets its years and sadness,      
      Agèd knees curvet for gladness,      
      Lift thy flashing torches o’er us,           348   
      Marshal all thy blameless train,      
Lead, O, lead the way before us; lead the lovely youthful Chorus      
      To the marshy flowery plain.      
   
(The warning-off of the profane.)


All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our choirs depart,           352   
Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of heart;      
Who ne’er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the Muses high;      
Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus’ word supply;      
Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they make;           356   
Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to slake,      
But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to reap;      
Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on the stormy deep;      
Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away           360   
Forbidden stores from Aegina’s shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay      
Transmitting oar-pads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five per cents;      
The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy’s armaments;      
The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate’s wayside shrine;           364   
The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feasts would, with heart malign,      
Keep nibbling away the Comedians’ pay;—to these I utter my warning cry,      
I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that they draw not nigh      
To the sacred dance of the mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the song,           368   
The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast belong.      
   
(The start of the procession.)


Advance, true hearts, advance!      
On to the gladsome bowers,      
On to the sward, with flowers           372   
    Embosomed bright!      
March on with jest, and jeer, and dance,      
Full well ye’ve supped to-night.      
   
(The processional hymn to Persephone.)


              March, chanting loud your lays,           376   
              Your hearts and voices raising,      
              The Saviour goddess praising      
                  Who vows she’ll still      
              Our city save to endless days,           380   
              Whate’er Thorycion’s will.      
   
Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and hymns adorn      
Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn.      
   
(The processional hymn to Demeter.)


        O Lady, over our rites presiding,           384   
        Preserve and succour thy choral throng,      
        And grant us all, in thy help confiding,      
        To dance and revel the whole day long;      
        AND MUCH in earnest, and much in jest,           388   
        Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein.      
        And when we have bantered and laughed our best,      
        The victor’s wreath be it ours to win.      
   
Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay,           392   
Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way.      
   
(The processional hymn to Iacchus.)


      O, come with the joy of thy festival song,      
      O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng      
      Untired, though the journey be never so long.           396   
          O Lord of the frolic and dance,      
          Iacchus, beside me advance!      
      For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent,      
      Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent,           400   
      Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent.      
          O Lord of the frolic and dance,      
          Iacchus, beside me advance!      
      A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show,           404   
      Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo,      
      There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow.      
          O Lord of the frolic and dance,      
          Iacchus, beside me advance!           408   
   
DIO.  Wouldn’t I like to follow on, and try      
A little sport and dancing?  XAN. Wouldn’t I?      
   
(The banter at the bridge of Cephisus.)


CHOR.      Shall we all a merry joke      
              At Archedemus poke,           412   
Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old;      
              Yet up among the dead      
              He is demagogue and head,      
And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold?           416   
              And Cleisthenes, they say,      
              Is among the tombs all day,      
Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine.      
              And Callias, I’m told,           420   
              Has become a sailor bold,      
And casts a lion’s hide o’er his members feminine.      
   
DIO.        Can any of you tell      
              Where Pluto here may dwell?           424   
For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before.      
   
CHOR.      O, then no further stray,      
              Nor again inquire the way,      
For know that ye have journeyed to his very entrance-door.           428   
   
  DIO.        Take up the wraps, my lad.      
   
  XAN.        Now is not this too bad?      
Like “Zeus’ Corinth,” he “the wraps” keeps saying o’er and o’er.      
   
CHOR.  Now wheel your sacred dances through the glade with flowers bedight,           432   
All ye who are partakers of the holy festal rite;      
And I will with the women and the holy maidens go      
Where they keep the nightly vigil, an auspicious light to show.      
   
(The departure for the Thriasian Plain)


                Now haste we to the roses,           436   
                And the meadows full of posies,      
                Now haste we to the meadows      
                    In our own old way,      
                In choral dances blending,           440   
                In dances never ending,      
                Which only for the holy      
                    The Destinies array.      
                O happy mystic chorus,           444   
                The blessed sunshine o’er us      
                On us alone is smiling,      
                    In its soft sweet light:      
                On us who strove for ever           448   
                With holy, pure endeavour,      
                Alike by friend and stranger      
                    To guide our steps aright.      
   
DIO.  What’s the right way to knock? I wonder how           452   
The natives here are wont to knock at doors.      
   
XAN.  No dawdling: taste the door. You’ve got, remember,      
The lion-hide and pride of Heracles.      
   
DIO.  Boy! Boy!  AEACUS. Who’s there?  DIO. I, Heracles the strong!           456   
   
AEAC.  O you most shameless desperate ruffian, you!      
O villain, villain, arrant vilest villain!      
Who seized our Cerberus by the throat, and fled,      
And ran, and rushed, and bolted, haling off           460   
The dog, my charge! But now I’ve got thee fast.      
So close the Styx’s inky-hearted rock,      
The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron      
Shall hem thee in: the hell-hounds of Cocytus           464   
Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp      
Shall rive thy heart-strings: the Tartesian Lamprey      
Prey on thy lungs: and those Tithrasian Gorgons      
Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them,           468   
Entrails and all, into one bloody mash.      
I’ll speed a running foot to fetch them hither.      
   
XAN.  Hallo! what now?  DIO. I’ve done it: call the god.      
   
XAN.  Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly,           472   
Before you’re seen.  DIO. What, I get up? I’m fainting.      
Please dab a sponge of water on my heart.      
   
XAN.  Here!  DIO. Dab it, you.  XAN. Where? O ye golden gods,      
Lies your heart there?  DIO. It got so terrified           476   
It fluttered down into my stomach’s pit.      
   
XAN.  Cowardliest of gods and men!  DIO. The cowardliest? I?      
What, I, who asked you for a sponge, a thing      
A coward never would have done!  XAN. What then?           480   
   
DIO.  A coward would have lain there wallowing;      
But I stood up, and wiped myself withal.      
   
XAN.  Poseidon! quite heroic.  DIO. ’Deed I think so.      
But weren’t you frightened at those dreadful threats           484   
And shoutings?  XAN. Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not.      
   
DIO.  Come then, if you’re so very brave a man,      
Will you be I, and take the hero’s club      
And lion’s skin, since you’re so monstrous plucky?           488   
And I’ll be now the slave, and bear the luggage.      
   
XAN.  Hand them across. I cannot choose but take them.      
And now observe the Xanthio-heracles      
If I’m a coward and a sneak like you.           492   
   
DIO.  Nay, you’re the rogue from Melite’s own self.      
And I’ll pick up and carry on the traps.      
   
MAID.  O, welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart.      
My Lady, when they told her, set to work,           496   
Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three tureens      
Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole,      
Made rolls and honey-cakes. So come along.

XAN.  (Declining.) You are too kind.  MAID. I will not let you go.           500   
I will not LET you! Why, she’s stewing slices      
Of juicy bird’s-flesh, and she’s making comfits,      
And tempering down her richest wine. Come, dear,      
Come along in.  XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her.  MAID. O, you’re jesting           504   
I shall not let you off: there’s such a lovely      
Flute-girl all ready, and we’ve two or three      
Dancing-girls also.  XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls?      
   
MAID.  Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed.           508   
Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up      
The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables.      
   
XAN.  Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls      
Of whom you spake, I’m coming in Myself.           512   
Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me.      
   
DIO.  Hi! stop! you’re not in earnest, just because      
I dressed you up, in fun, as Heracles?      
Come, don’t keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift           516   
And carry in the traps yourself.  XAN. Why! what!      
You are never going to strip me of these togs      
You gave me!  DIO. Going to? No, I’m doing it now.      
Off with that lion-skin.  XAN. Bear witness all,           520   
The Gods shall judge between us.  DIO. Gods, indeed!      
Why, how could you (the vain and foolish thought!)      
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son?      
   
XAN.  All right, then, take them; maybe, if God will,           524   
You’ll soon require my services again.      
   
CHOR.  This is the part of a dexterous clever      
        Man with his wits about him ever,      
        One who has travelled the world to see;           528   
        Always to shift, and to keep through all      
        Close to the sunny side of the wall;      
        Not like a pictured block to be,      
        Standing always in one position;           532   
        Nay, but to veer, with expedition,      
        And ever to catch the favouring breeze,      
        This is the part of a shrewd tactician,      
        This is to be a—THERAMENES!           536   
   
DIO.  Truly an exquisite joke ’twould be,      
        Him with a dancing-girl to see,      
        Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs;      
        Me, like a slave, beside him standing,           540   
        Aught that he wants to his lordship handing;      
        Then as the damsel fair he hugs,      
        Seeing me all on fire to embrace her,      
        He would perchance (for there’s no man baser),           544   
        Turning him round like a lazy lout,      
        Straight on my mouth deliver a facer,      
        Knocking my ivory choirmen out.      
   
HOSTESS.  O Plathane! Plathane! Here’s that naughty man,           548   
That’s he who got into our tavern once,      
And ate up sixteen loaves.  PLATHANE. O, so he is!      
The very man.  XAN. Bad luck for somebody!      
   
HOS.  O, and, besides, those twenty bits of stew,           552   
Half-obol pieces.  XAN. Somebody’s going to catch it!      
   
HOS.  That garlic too.  DIO. Woman, you’re talking nonsense.      
You don’t know what you’re saying.  HOS. O, you thought      
I shouldn’t know you with your buskins on!           556   
Ah, and I’ve not yet mentioned all that fish,      
No, nor the new-made cheese: he gulped it down,      
Baskets and all, unlucky that we were.      
And when I just alluded to the price,           560   
He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull.      
   
XAN.  Yes, that’s his way; that’s what he always does.      
   
HOS.  O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad.      
   
PLA.  O, that he did.  HOS. And terrified us so           564   
We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I.      
Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.      
   
XAN.  That’s his way too; but something must be done.      
   
HOS.  Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here!           568   
   
PLA.  O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus!      
We’ll pay you out to-day.  HOS. O filthy throat,      
O, how I’d like to take a stone, and hack      
Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares.           572   
   
PLA.  I’d like to pitch you in the deadman’s pit.      
   
HOS.  I’d like to get a reaping-hook and scoop      
That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe.      
But I’ll to Cleon: he’ll soon serve his writs;           576   
He’ll twist it out of you to-day, he will.      
   
DIO.  Perdition seize me, if I don’t love Xanthias.      
   
XAN.  Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking.      
I won’t be Heracles.  DIO. O, don’t say so,           580   
Dear, darling Xanthias.  XAN. Why, how can I,      
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son!      
   
DIO.  Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it,      
And if you pummel me, I won’t complain.           584   
But if I strip you of these togs again,      
Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children,      
And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus.      
   
XAN.  That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.           588   
   
CHOR.  Now that at last you appear once more,      
Wearing the garb that at first you wore,      
Wielding the club and the tawny skin,      
Now it is yours to be up and doing,           592   
Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing,      
Mindful of him whose guise you are in.      
If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you      
Suffer a word of alarm to escape you,           596   
Showing yourself but a feckless knave,      
Then will your master at once undrape you,      
Then you’ll again be the toiling slave.      
   
XAN.  There, I admit, you have given to me a           600   
Capital hint, and the like idea,

Friends, had occurred to myself before.      
Truly if anything good befell      
He would be wanting, I know full well,           604   
Wanting to take to the togs once more.      
Nevertheless, while in these I’m vested,      
Ne’er shall you find me craven-crested,      
No, for a dittany look I’ll wear,           608   
Aye, and methinks it will soon be tested:      
Hark! how the portals are rustling there.      
   
AEAC.  Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him,      
Drag him to justice!  DIO. Somebody’s going to catch it.           612   
   
XAN.  (Striking out.) Hands off! get away! stand back!  AEAC. Eh? You’re for fighting?      
Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas,      
Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave.      
   
DIO.  Now isn’t it a shame the man should strike,           616   
And he a thief besides?  AEAC. A monstrous shame!      
   
DIO.  A regular burning shame!  XAN. By the Lord Zeus,      
If ever I was here before, if ever      
I stole one hair’s-worth from you, let me die!           620   
And now I’ll make you a right noble offer:      
Arrest my lad: torture him as you will,      
And if you find I’m guilty, take and kill me.      
   
AEAC.  Torture him, how?  XAN. In any mode you please.           624   
Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid:      
Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge      
Of prickly bristles: only not with this,      
A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek.           628   
   
AEAC.  A fair proposal. If I strike too hard      
And maim the boy, I’ll make you compensation.      
   
XAN.  I shan’t require it. Take him out and flog him.      
   
AEAC.  Nay, but I’ll do it here before your eyes.           632   
Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak      
The truth, you fellow.  DIO. (In agony.) Man! don’t torture ME!      
I am a god. You’ll blame yourself hereafter      
If you touch ME.  AEAC. Hillo! What’s that you are saying?           636   
   
DIO.  I say I’m Bacchus, son of Zeus, a god,      
And he’s the slave.  AEAC. You hear him?  XAN. Hear him? Yes.      
All the more reason you should flog him well.      
For if he is a god, he won’t perceive it.           640   
   
DIO.  Well, but you say that you’re a god yourself.      
So why not you be flogged as well as I?      
   
XAN.  A fair proposal. And be this the test:      
Whichever of us two you first behold           644   
Flinching or crying out—he’s not the god.      
   
AEAC.  Upon my word you’re quite the gentleman,      
You’re all for right and justice. Strip then, both.      
   
XAN.  How can you test us fairly?  AEAC. Easily,           648   
I’ll give you blow for blow.  XAN. A good idea.      
We’re ready! Now! (Aeacus strikes him) see if you catch me flinching.      
   
AEAC.  I struck you.  XAN. (Incredulously.) No!  AEAC. Well, it seems “no,” indeed.      
Now then I’ll strike the other (Strikes Dio.).  DIO. Tell me when.           652   
   
AEAC.  I struck you.  DIO. Struck me? Then why didn’t I sneeze?      
   
AEAC.  Don’t know, I’m sure. I’ll try the other again.      
   
XAN.  And quickly too. Good gracious!  AEAC. Why “good gracious”?      
Not hurt you, did I?  XAN. No, I merely thought of           656   
The Diomeian feast of Heracles.      
   
AEAC.  A holy man! ’Tis now the other’s turn.      
   
DIO.  Hi! Hi!  AEAC. Hallo!  DIO. Look at those horsemen, look!      
   
AEAC.  But why these tears?  DIO. There’s such a smell of onions.           660   
   
AEAC.  Then you don’t mind it?  DIO. (Cheerfully.) Mind it? Not a bit.      
   
AEAC.  Well, I must go to the other one again.      
   
XAN.  O! O!  AEAC. Hallo!  XAN. Do, pray, pull out this thorn.      
   
AEAC.  What does it mean? ’Tis this one’s turn again.           664   
   
DIO.  (Shrieking.) Apollo! Lord! (Calmly) of Delos and of Pytho.      
   
XAN.  He flinched! You heard him?  DIO. Not at all; a jolly      
Verse of Hipponax flashed across my mind.      
   
XAN.  You don’t half do it: cut his flanks to pieces.           668   
   
AEAC.  By Zeus, well thought on. Turn your belly here.      
   
DIO.  (Screaming.) Poseidon!  XAN. There! he’s flinching.  DIO. (Singing) who dost reign      
Amongst the Aegean peaks and creeks      
And o’er the deep blue main.           672   
   
AEAC.  No, by Demeter, still I can’t find out      
Which is the god, but come ye both indoors;      
My lord himself and Persephassa there,      
Being gods themselves, will soon find out the truth.           676   
   
DIO.  Right! right! I only wish you had thought of that      
Before you gave me those tremendous whacks.      
   
CHOR.  Come, Muse, to our mystical Chorus, O, come to the joy of my song,      
O, see on the benches before us that countless and wonderful throng,           680   
Where wits by the thousand abide, with more than a Cleophons’ pride—      
On the lips of that foreigner base, of Athens the bane and disgrace,      
There is shrieking, his kinsman by race,      
The garrulous swallow of Thrace;           684   
From the perch of exotic descent,      
Rejoicing her sorrow to vent,      
She pours, to her spirit’s content, a nightingale’s woful lament      
That e’en though the voting be equal, his ruin will soon be the sequel.           688   
   
Well it suits the holy Chorus evermore with counsel wise      
To exhort and teach the city; this we therefore now advise—      
End the townsmen’s apprehensions; equalize the rights of all;      
If by Phrynichus’ wrestlings some perchance sustained a fall,           692   
Yet to these ’tis surely open, having put away their sin,      
For their slips and vacillations pardon at your hands to win.      
Give your brethren back their franchise. Sin and shame it were that slaves,      
Who have once with stern devotion fought your battle on the waves,           696   
Should be straightway lords and masters, yea, Plataeans fully blown—      
Not that this deserves our censure; there I praise you; there alone      
Has the city, in her anguish, policy and wisdom shown—      
Nay, but these, of old accustomed on our ships to fight and win           700

(They, their fathers too before them), these, our very kith and kin,      
You should likewise, when they ask you, pardon for their single sin.      
O, by nature best and wisest, O, relax your jealous ire,      
Let us all the world as kinsfolk and as citizens acquire,           704   
All who on our ships will battle well and bravely by our side.      
If we cocker up our city, narrowing her with senseless pride,      
Now when she is rocked and reeling in the cradles of the sea,      
Here again will after ages deem we acted brainlessly.           708   
And O, if I’m able to scan the habits and life of a man      
Who shall rue his iniquities soon! not long shall that little baboon,      
That Cleigenes shifty and small, the wickedest bath-man of all      
Who are lords of the earth—which is brought from the isle of Cimolus, and wrought           712   
              With nitre and lye into soap—      
              Not long shall he vex us, I hope.      
              And this the unlucky one knows,      
              Yet ventures a peace to oppose,           716   
And being addicted to blows, he carries a stick as he goes,      
Lest while he is tipsy and reeling, some robber his cloak should be stealing.      
   
Often has it crossed my fancy, that the city loves to deal      
With the very best and noblest members of her commonwealth,           720   
Just as with our ancient coinage, and the newly-minted gold.      
Yea, for these, our sterling pieces, all of pure Athenian mould,      
All of perfect die and metal, all the fairest of the fair,      
All of workmanship unequalled, proved and valued everywhere           724   
Both amongst our own Hellenes and Barbarians far away,      
These we use not: but the worthless pinchbeck coins of yesterday,      
Vilest die and basest metal, now we always use instead.      
Even so, our sterling townsmen, nobly born and nobly bred,           728   
Men of worth and rank and mettle, men of honourable fame,      
Trained in every liberal science, choral dance, and manly game,      
These we treat with scorn and insult, but the strangers newliest come,      
Worthless sons of worthless fathers, pinchbeck townsmen, yellowy scum,           732   
Whom in earlier days the city hardly would have stooped to use      
Even for her scapegoat victims, these for every task we choose.      
O unwise and foolish people, yet to mend your ways begin;      
Use again the good and useful: so hereafter, if ye win           736   
’Twill be due to this your wisdom: if ye fall, at least ’twill be      
Not a fall that brings dishonour, falling from a worthy tree.      
   
AEAC.  By Zeus the Saviour, quite the gentleman      
Your master is.  XAN. Gentleman? I believe you.           740   
He’s all for wine and women, is my master.      
   
AEAC.  But not to have flogged you, when the truth came out      
That you, the slave, were passing off as master!      
   
XAN.  He’d get the worst of that.  AEAC. Bravo! that’s spoken           744   
Like a true slave: that’s what I love myself.      
   
XAN.  You love it, do you?  AEAC. Love it? I’m entranced      
When I can curse my lord behind his back.      
   
XAN.  How about grumbling, when you have felt the stick,           748   
And scurry out of doors?  AEAC. That’s jolly too.      
   
XAN.  How about prying?  AEAC. That beats everything!      
   
XAN.  Great Kin-god Zeus! And what of overhearing      
Your master’s secrets?  AEAC. What? I’m mad with joy.           752   
   
XAN.  And blabbing them abroad?  AEAC. O, heaven and earth!      
When I do that, I can’t contain myself.      
   
XAN.  Phoebus Apollo! clap your hand in mine,      
Kiss and be kissed: and prithee tell me this,           756   
Tell me by Zeus, our rascaldom’s own god,      
What’s all that noise within? What means this hubbub      
And row?  AEAC. That’s Æschylus and Euripides.      
   
XAN.  Eh?  AEAC. Wonderful, wonderful things are going on.           760   
The dead are rioting, taking different sides.      
   
XAN.  Why, what’s the matter?  AEAC. There’s a custom here      
With all the crafts, the good and noble crafts,      
That the chief master of his art in each           764   
Shall have his dinner in the assembly hall,      
And sit by Pluto’s side.  XAN. I understand.      
   
AEAC.  Until another comes, more wise than he      
In the same art: then must the first give way.           768   
   
XAN.  And how has this disturbed our Æschylus?      
   
AEAC.  ’Twas he that occupied the tragic chair,      
As, in his craft, the noblest.  XAN. Who does now?      
   
AEAC.  But when Euripides came down, he kept           772   
Flourishing off before the highwaymen,      
Thieves, burglars, parricides—these form our mob      
In Hades—till with listening to his twists      
And turns, and pleas and counterpleas, they went           776   
Mad on the man, and hailed him first and wisest:      
Elate with this, he claimed the tragic chair      
Where Æschylus was seated.  XAN. Wasn’t he pelted?      
   
AEAC.  Not he: the populace clamoured out to try           780   
Which of the twain was wiser in his art.      
   
XAN.  You mean the rascals?  AEAC. Aye, as high as heaven!      
   
XAN.  But were there none to side with Æschylus?      
   
AEAC.  Scanty and sparse the good, (Regards the audience) the same as here.           784   
   
XAN.  And what does Pluto now propose to do?      
   
AEAC.  He means to hold a tournament, and bring      
Their tragedies to the proof.  XAN. But Sophocles,      
How came not he to claim the tragic chair?           788   
   
AEAC.  Claim it? Not he! When he came down, he kissed      
With reverence Æschylus, and clasped his hand,      
And yielded willingly the chair to him.      
But now he’s going, says Cleidemides,           792   
To sit third-man: and then if Æschylus win,      
He’ll stay content: if not, for his art’s sake,      
He’ll fight to the death against Euripides.      
   
XAN.  Will it come off?  AEAC. O, yes, by Zeus, directly.           796   
And then, I hear, will wonderful things be done,      
The art poetic will be weighed in scales.      
   
XAN.  What! weigh out tragedy, like butcher’s meat?      
   
AEAC.  Levels they’ll bring, and measuring-tapes for words,           800   
And moulded oblongs.  XAN. Is it bricks they are making?

AEAC.  Wedges and compasses: for Euripides      
Vows that he’ll test the dramas, word by word.      
   
XAN.  Æschylus chafes at this, I fancy.  AEAC. Well,           804   
He lowered his brows, upglaring like a bull.      
   
XAN.  And who’s to be the judge?  AEAC. There came the rub.      
Skilled men were hard to find: for with the Athenians      
Æschylus, somehow, did not hit it off.           808   
   
XAN.  Too many burglars, I expect he thought.      
   
AEAC.  And all the rest, he said, were trash and nonsense      
To judge poetic wits. So then at last      
They chose your lord, an expert in the art.           812   
But go we in: for when our lords are bent      
On urgent business, that means blows for us.      
   
CHOR.  O, surely with terrible wrath will the thunder-voiced monarch be filled,      
When he sees his opponent beside him, the tonguester, the artifice-skilled,           816   
Stand, whetting his tusks for the fight! O, surely, his eyes, rolling fell,      
              Will with terrible madness be fraught!      
O, then will be charging of plume-waving words with their wild-floating mane,      
And then will be whirling of splinters, and phrases smoothed down with the plane,           820   
When the man would the grand-stepping maxims, the language gigantic, repel      
              Of the hero-creator of thought.      
There will his shaggy-born crest upbristle for anger and woe,      
Horribly frowning and growling, his fury will launch at the foe           824   
Huge-clamped masses of words, with exertion Titanic uptearing      
              Great ship-timber planks for the fray.      
But here will the tongue be at work, uncoiling, word-testing, refining,      
Sophist-creator of phrases, dissecting, detracting, maligning,           828   
Shaking the envious bits, and with subtle analysis paring      
              The lung’s large labour away.      
   
EURIPIDES.  Don’t talk to me; I won’t give up the chair,      
I say I am better in the art than he.           832   
   
DIO.  You hear him, Æschylus: why don’t you speak?      
   
EUR.  He’ll do the grand at first, the juggling trick      
He used to play in all his tragedies.      
   
DIO.  Come, my fine fellow; pray, don’t talk too big.           836   
   
EUR.  I know the man, I’ve scanned him through and through,      
A savage-creating stubborn-pulling fellow,      
Uncurbed, unfettered, uncontrolled of speech,      
Unperiphrastic, bombastiloquent.           840   
   
ÆSCHYLUS.  Hah! sayest thou so, child of the garden quean!      
And this to ME, thou chattery-babble-collector,      
Thou pauper-creating rags-and-patches-stitcher?      
Thou shalt abye it dearly!  DIO. Pray, be still;           844   
Nor heat thy soul to fury, Æschylus.      
   
  ÆSCH. Not till I’ve made you see the sort of man      
This cripple-maker is who crows so loudly.      
   
DIO.  Bring out a ewe, a black-fleeced ewe, my boys:           848   
Here’s a typhoon about to burst upon us.      
   
ÆSCH.  Thou picker-up of Cretan monodies,      
Foisting thy tales of incest on the stage—      
   
DIO.  Forbear, forbear, most honoured Æschylus;           852   
And you, poor Euripides, begone,      
If you are wise, out of this pitiless hail,      
Lest with some heady word he crack your skull      
And batter out your brain—less Telephus.           856   
And not with passion, Æschylus, but calmly      
Test and be tested. ’Tis not meet for poets      
To scold each other, like two baking-girls.      
But you go roaring like an oak on fire.           860   
   
EUR.  I’m ready, I! I don’t draw back one bit.      
I’ll lash or, if he will, let him lash first      
The talk, the lays, the sinews of a play:      
Aye, and my Peleus, aye, and Aeolus,           864   
And Meleager, aye, and Telephus.      
   
DIO.  And what do you propose? Speak, Æschylus.      
   
ÆSCH.  I could have wished to meet him otherwhere.      
We fight not here on equal terms.  DIO. Why not?           868   
   
ÆSCH.  My poetry survived me: his died with him:      
He’s got it here, all handy to recite.      
Howbeit, if so you wish it, so we’ll have it.      
   
DIO.  O, bring men fire, and bring me frankincense.           872   
I’ll pray, or e’er the clash of wits begin,      
To judge the strife with high poetic skill.      
Meanwhile (To the Chorus) invoke the Muses with a song.      
   
CHOR.  O Muses, the daughters divine of Zeus, the immaculate Nine,           876   
Who gaze from your mansions serene on intellects subtle and keen,      
When down to the tournament lists, in bright-polished wit they descend,      
With wrestling and turnings and twists in the battle of words to contend,      
O, come and behold what the two antagonist poets can do,           880   
Whose mouths are the swiftest to teach grand language and filings of speech:      
For now of their wits is the sternest encounter commencing in earnest.      
   
DIO.  Ye two, put up your prayers before ye start.      
   
ÆSCH.  Demeter, mistress, nourisher of my soul,           884   
O, make me worthy of thy mystic rites!      
   
DIO.  (To Eur.) Now put on incense, you.  EUR. Excuse me, no;      
My vows are paid to other gods than these.      
   
DIO.  What, a new coinage of your own?  EUR. Precisely.           888   
   
DIO.  Pray then to them, those private gods of yours.      
   
EUR.  Ether, my pasture, volubly-rolling tongue,      
Intelligent wit and critic nostrils keen,      
O’ well and neatly may I trounce his plays!           892   
   
CHOR.  We also yearning from these to be learning      
        Some stately measure, some majestic grand      
        Movement telling of conflicts nigh.      
        Now for battle arrayed they stand,           896   
        Tongues embittered, and anger high.      
        Each has got a venturesome will,      
        Each an eager and nimble mind;      
        One will wield, with artistic skill,           900

        Clear-cut phrases, and wit refined;      
        Then the other, with words defiant,      
        Stern and strong, like an angry giant      
        Laying on with uprooted trees,           904   
        Soon will scatter a world of these      
        Superscholastic subtleties.      
   
DIO.  Now then, commence your arguments, and mind you both display      
True wit, not metaphors, nor things which any fool could say.           908   
   
EUR.  As for myself, good people all, I’ll tell you by-and-by      
My own poetic worth and claims; but first of all I’ll try      
To show how this portentous quack beguiled the silly fools      
Whose tastes were nurtured, ere he came, in Phrynichus’ schools.           912   
He’d bring some single mourner on, seated and veiled, ’twould be      
Achilles, say, or Niobe—the face you could not see—      
An empty show of tragic woe, who uttered not one thing.      
   
DIO.  ’Tis true.  EUR. then in the Chorus came, and rattled off a string           916   
Of four continuous lyric odes: the mourner never stirred.      
   
DIO.  I liked it too. I sometimes think that I those mutes preferred      
To all your chatterers now-a-days.  EUR. Because, if you must know,      
You were an ass.  DIO. An ass, no doubt: what made him do it though?           920   
   
EUR.  That was his quackery, don’t you see, to set the audience guessing      
When Niobe would speak; meanwhile, the drama was progressing.      
   
DIO.  The rascal, how he took me in! ’Twas shameful, was it not?      
(To Æsch.) What makes you stamp and fidget so?  EUR. He’s catching it so hot.           924   
So when he had humbugged thus awhile, and now his wretched play      
Was halfway through, a dozen words, great wild-bull words, he’d say,      
Fierce Bugaboos, with bristling crests, and shaggy eyebrows too,      
Which not a soul could understand.  ÆSCH. O, heavens!  DIO. Be quiet, do.           928   
   
EUR.  But not one single word was clear.  DIO. St! don’t your teeth be      
gnashing.      
   
EUR.  ’Twas all Scamanders, moated camps, and griffin-eagles flashing      
In burnished copper on the shields, chivalric-precipice—high           932   
Expressions, hard to comprehend.  DIO. Aye, by the Powers, and I      
Full many a sleepless night have spent in anxious thought, because      
I’d find the tawny cock-horse out, what sort of bird it was!      
   
ÆSCH.  It was a sign, you stupid dolt, engraved the ships upon.           936   
   
DIO.  Eryxis I supposed it was, Philoxenus’ son.      
   
EUR.  Now really should a cock be brought into a tragic play?      
   
ÆSCH.  You enemy of gods and men, what was your practice, pray?      
   
EUR.  No cock-horse in my plays, by Zeus, no goat-stag there you’ll           940   
see, Such figures as are blazoned forth in Median tapestry.      
When first I took the art from you, bloated and swoln, poor thing,      
With turgid gasconading words and heavy dieting,      
First I reduced and toned her down, and made her slim and neat           944   
With wordlets and with exercise and poultices of beet,      
And next a dose of chatterjuice, distilled from books, I gave her,      
And monodies she took, with sharp Cephisophon for flavour.      
I never used haphazard words, or plunged abruptly in;           948   
Who entered first explained at large the drama’s origin      
And source.  DIO. Its source, I really trust, was better than your own.      
   
EUR.  Then from the very opening lines no idleness was shown;      
The mistress talked with all her might, the servant talked as much,           952   
The master talked, the maiden talked, the beldame talked.  ÆSCH. For such      
An outrage was not death your due?  EUR. No, by Apollo, no:      
That was my democratic way.  DIO. Ah, let that topic go.      
Your record is not there, my friend, particularly good.           956   
   
EUR.  Then next I taught all these to speak.  ÆSCH. You did so, and I      
would      
That ere such mischief you had wrought, your very lungs had split.      
   
EUR.  Canons of verse I introduced, and neatly chiselled wit;           960   
To look, to scan: to plot, to plan; to twist, to turn, to woo.      
On all to spy; in all to pry.  ÆSCH. You did: I say so too.      
   
EUR.  I showed them scenes of common life, the things we know and see,      
Where any blunder would at once by all detected be.           964   
I never blustered on, or took their breath and wits away      
By Cycnuses or Memnons clad in terrible array,      
With bells upon their horses’ heads, the audience to dismay.      
Look at his pupils, look at mine: and there the contrast view.           968   
Uncouth Megaenetus is his, and rough Phormisius too;      
Great long-beard-lance-and-trumpet-men, flesh-tearers with the      
pine: But natty smart Theramenes, and Cleitophon are mine.      
   
DIO.  Theramenes? a clever man and wonderfully sly:           972   
Immerse him in a flood of ills, he’ll soon be high and dry,      
“A Kian with a kappa, sir, not Chian with a chi.”      
   
  EUR.    I taught them all these knowing ways      
          By chopping logic in my plays,           976   
          And making all my speakers try      
          To reason out the How and Why.      
          So now the people trace the springs,      
          The sources, and the roots of things,           980   
          And manage all their households too      
          Far better than they used to do,      
          Scanning and searching What’s amiss?      
          And, Why was that? And, How is this?           984   
   
  DIO.    Ay, truly, never now a man      
          Comes home, but he begins to scan;      
          And to his household loudly cries,      
          Why, where’s my pitcher? What’s the matter?           988   
          ’Tis dead and gone my last year’s platter.      
          Who gnawed these olives? Bless the sprat,      
          Who nibbled off the head of that?      
          And where’s the garlic vanished, pray,           992   
          I purchased only yesterday?      
          —Whereas, of old, our stupid youths      
          Would sit, with open mouths and eyes,      
          Like any dull-brained Mammacouths.           996   
   
CHOR.  “All this thou beholdest, Achilles our boldest.”      
          And what wilt thou reply? Draw tight the rein      
          Lest that fiery soul of thine

          Whirl thee out of the listed plain,           1000   
          Past the olives, and o’er the line.      
          Dire and grievous the charge he brings.      
          See thou answer him, noble heart,      
          Not with passionate bickerings.           1004   
          Shape thy course with a sailor’s art,      
          Reef the canvas, shorten the sails,      
          Shift them edgewise to shun the gales.      
          When the breezes are soft and low,           1008   
          Then, well under control, you’ll go      
          Quick and quicker to strike the foe.      
O first of all the Hellenic bards high loftily-towering verse to rear,      
And tragic phrase from the dust the raise, pour forth thy fountain with right good cheer.           1012   
   
ÆSCH.  My wrath is hot at this vile mischance, and my spirit revolts at the thought that I      
Must bandy words with a fellow like him: but lest he should vaunt that I can’t reply—      
Come, tell me what are the points for which a noble poet our praise obtains.      
   
EUR.  For his ready wit, and his counsels sage, and because the citizen folk he trains           1016   
To be better townsmen and worthier men.  ÆSCH. If then you have done the very reverse,      
Found noble-hearted and virtuous men, and altered them, each and all, for the worse,      
Pray what is the meed you deserve to get?  DIO. Nay, ask not him. He deserves to die.      
   
ÆSCH.  For just consider what style of men he received from me, great six-foot-high           1020   
Heroical souls, who never would blench from a townsman’s duties in peace or war;      
Not idle loafers, or low buffoons, or rascally scamps such as now they are,      
But men who were breathing spears and helms, and the snow-white plume in its crested pride,      
The greave, and the dart, and the warrior’s heart in its seven-fold casing of tough bull-hide.           1024   
   
DIO.  He’ll stun me, I know, with his armoury-work; this business is going from bad to worse.      
   
EUR.  And how did you manage to make them so grand, exalted, and brave with your wonderful verse?      
   
DIO.  Come, Æschylus, answer, and don’t stand mute in your self-willed pride and arrogant spleen.      
   
ÆSCH.  A drama I wrote with the War-god filled.  DIO. Its name?  ÆSCH. ’Tis the “Seven against Thebes” that I mean,           1028   
Which whoso beheld, with eagerness swelled to rush to the battlefield there and then.      
   
DIO.  O, that was a scandalous thing you did! You have made the Thebans mightier men,      
More eager by far for the business of war. Now, therefore, receive this punch on the head.      
   
ÆSCH.  Ah, ye might have practised the same yourselves, but ye turned to other pursuits instead.           1032   
Then next the “Persians” I wrote, in praise of the noblest deed that the world can show,      
And each man longed for the victor’s wreath, to fight and to vanquish his country’s foe.      
   
DIO.  I was pleased, I own, when I heard their moan for old Darius, their great king, dead;      
When they smote together their hands, like this, and Evir alake the Chorus said.           1036   
   
ÆSCH.  Aye, such are the poet’s appropriate works: and just consider how all along      
From the very first they have wrought you good, the noble bards, the masters of song.      
First, Orpheus taught you religious rites, and from bloody murder to stay your hands:      
Musaeus healing and oracle lore; and Hesiod all the culture of lands, The time to gather, the time to plough. And gat not Homer his glory divine           1040   
By singing of valour, and honour, and right, and the sheen of the battle-extended line,      
The ranging troops and the arming of men?  DIO. O, aye, but he didn’t teach that, I opine,      
To Pantacles; when he was leading the show I couldn’t imagine what he was at,      
He had fastened his helm on the top of his head, he was trying to fasten his plume upon that.           1044   
   
ÆSCH.  But others, many and brave, he taught, of whom was Lamachus, hero true;      
And thence my spirit the impress took, and many a lion-heart chief I drew,      
Patrocluses, Teucers, illustrious names; for I fain the citizen-folk would spur      
To stretch themselves to their measure and height, whenever the trumpet of war they hear.           1048   
But Phædras and Stheneboeas? No! no harlotry business deformed my plays.      
And none can say that ever I drew a love-sick woman in all my days.      
   
EUR.  For you no lot or portion had got in Queen Aphrodite.  ÆSCH. Thank Heaven for that.      
But ever on you and yours, my friend, the mighty goddess mightily sat; Yourself she cast to the ground at last.  DIO. O, aye, that came uncommonly pat.           1052   
You showed how cuckolds are made, and lo, you were struck yourself by the very same fate.      
   
EUR.  But say, you cross-grained censor of mine, how my Stheneboeas could harm the state.      
   
ÆSCH.  Full many a noble dame, the wife of a noble citizen, hemlock took,      
And died, unable the shame and sin of your Bellerophon-scenes to brook.           1056   
   
EUR.  Was then, I wonder, the tale I told of Phædra’s passionate love untrue?      
   
ÆSCH.  Not so: but tales of incestuous vice the sacred poet should hide from view,      
Nor ever exhibit and blazon forth on the public stage to the public ken.      
For boys a teacher at school is found, but we, the poets, are teachers of men.           1060   
We are BOUND things honest and pure to speak.  EUR. And to speak great Lycabettuses, pray,      
And massive blocks of Parnassian rocks, is that things honest and pure to say?      
In human fashion we ought to speak.  ÆSCH. Alas, poor witling, and can’t you see      
That for mighty thoughts and heroic aims, the words themselves must appropriate be?           1064   
And grander belike on the ear should strike the speech of heroes and godlike powers,      
Since even the robes that invest their limbs are statelier, grander robes than ours.      
Such was my plan: but when you began, you spoilt and degraded it all.  EUR. How so?      
   
ÆSCH.  Your kings in tatters and rags you dressed, and brought them on, a beggarly show,           1068   
To move, forsooth, our pity and ruth.  EUR. And what was the harm, I should like to know.      
   
ÆSCH.  No more will a wealthy citizen now equip for the state a galley of war.      
He wraps his limbs in tatters and rags, and whines he is poor, too poor by far.      
   
DIO.  But under his rags he is wearing a vest, as woolly and soft as a man could wish.           1072   
Let him gull the stated and he’s off to the mart; an eager, extravagant buyer of fish.      
   
ÆSCH.  Moreover, to prate, to harangue, to debate, is now the ambition of all in the state.      
Each exercise-ground is in consequence found deserted and empty: to evil repute      
Your lessons have brought our youngsters, and taught our sailors to challenge, discuss, and refute           1076   
The orders they get from their captains, and yet, when I was alive, I protest that the knaves      
Knew nothing at all, save for rations to call, and to sing “Rhyppapae” as they pulled through the waves.      
   
DIO.  And, bedad, to let fly from their sterns in the eye of the fellow who tugged at the undermost oar,      
And a jolly young messmate with filth to besmirch, and to land for a filching adventure ashore;           1080   
          But now they harangue, and dispute, and won’t row,      
          And idly and aimlessly float to and fro.      
   
ÆSCH.  Of what ills is he not the creator and cause?      
          Consider the scandalous scenes that he draws,           1084   
          His bawds, and his panders, his women who give,      
              Give birth in the sacredest shrine,      
          Whilst other with brothers are wedded and bedded,      
                  And others opine           1088   
          That “not to be living’ is truly “to live.”      
          And therefore our city is swarming to-day      
          With clerks and with demagogue-monkeys, who play      
          Their jackanape tricks at all times, in all places,           1092   
          Deluding the people of Athens; but none      
          Has training enough in athletics to run      
              With the torch in his hand at the races.      
   
DIO.  By the Powers, you are right! At the Panathenaea           1096   
I laughed till I felt like a postherd to see a      
Pale, paunchy young gentlemen pounding along,      
With his head butting forward, the last of the throng,      
In the direst of straits; and, behold, at the gates,           1000