The Ceramites flapped him, and smacked him, and slapped him,      
In the ribs, and the loin, and the flank, and the groin,      
And still, as they spanked him, he puffed and he panted,      
Till at one mighty cuff, he discharged such a puff           1104   
That he blew out his torch and levanted.      
   
CHOR. Dread the battle, and stout the combat, mighty and manifold looms the war.      
        Hard to decide in the fight they’re waging,      
        One like a stormy tempest raging,           1108   
One alert in the rally and skirmish, clever to parry and foin and spar.      
        Nay, but don’t be content to sit      
Always in one position only: many the fields for your keen-edged wit.      
        On then, wrangle in every way.           1112   
        Argue, battle, be flayed and flay,      
        Old and new from your stores display,      
Yea, and strive with venturesome daring something subtle and neat to say.      
   
Fear ye this, that to-day’s spectators lack the grace of artistic lore,           1116   
        Lack the knowledge they need for taking      
        All the points ye will soon be making?      
Fear it not: the alarm is groundless: that, be sure, is the case no more.      
        All have fought the campaign ere this:           1120   
Each a book of the words is holding; never a single point they’ll miss.      
        Bright their natures, and now, I ween,      
        Newly whetted, and sharp, and keen.      
        Dread not any defect of wit,           1124   
Battle away without misgiving, sure that the audience, at least, are fit.      
   
EUR.  Well, then, I’ll turn me to your prologues now,      
Beginning first to test the first beginning      
Of this fine poet’s plays. Why, he’s obscure           1128   
Even in the enunciation of the facts.      
   
DIO.  Which of them will you test?  EUR. Many: but first      
Give us that famous one from the “Oresteia.”      
   
DIO.  St! Silence, all! Now, Æschylus, begin.           1132   
   
ÆSCH.  Grave Hermes, witnessing a father’s power,      
Be thou my saviour and mine aid to-day,      
For here I come and hither I return.      
   
DIO.  Any fault there?  EUR. A dozen faults, and more.           1136   
   
DIO.  Eh! why, the lines are only three in all.      
   
EUR.  But every one contains a score of faults.      
   
DIO.  Now, Æschylus, keep silent; if you don’t,      
You won’t get off with three iambic lines.           1140   
   
ÆSCH.  Silent for him!  DIO. If my advice you’ll take.      
   
EUR.  Why, at first starting, here’s a fault sky-high.      
   
ÆSCH.  (To Dio.) You see your folly?  DIO. Have your way; I Care not.      
   
ÆSCH.  (To Eur.) What is my fault?  EUR. Begin the lines again.           1144   
   
ÆSCH.  Grave Hermes, witnessing a father’s power—      
   
EUR.  And this beside his murdered father’s grave      
Orestes speaks?  ÆSCH. I say not otherwise.      
   
EUR.  Then does he mean that when his father fell           1148   
By craft and violence at a woman’s hand,      
The god of craft was witnessing the deed?      
   
ÆSCH.  It was not he: it was the Helper Hermes      
He called the grave: and this he showed by adding           1152   
It was his sire’s prerogative he held.      
   
EUR.  Why, this is worse than all. If from his father      
He held this office grave, why, then—  DIO. He was      
A graveyard rifler on his father’s side.           1156   
   
ÆSCH.  Bacchus, the wine you drink is stale and fusty.      
   
DIO.  give him another: (To Eur.) you, look out for faults.      
   
ÆSCH.  Be thou my saviour and mine aid to-day,      
For here I come, and hither I return.           1160   
   
EUR.  The same thing twice says clever Æschylus.      
   
DIO.  How twice?  EUR. Why, just consider: I’ll explain.      
“I come,” says he; and “I return,” says he:      
It’s the same thing to “come” and to “return.”           1164   
   
DIO.  Aye, just as if you said, “Good fellow, lend me      
A kneading-trough: likewise, a trough to knead in.”      
   
ÆSCH.  It is not so, you everlasting talker,      
They’re not the same, the words are right enough.           1168   
   
DIO.  How so? inform me how you use the words.      
   
ÆSCH.  A man, not banished from his home, may “come”      
To any land, with no especial chance.      
A home-bound exile both “returns” and “comes.”           1172   
   
DIO.  O, good, by Apollo!      
What do you say, Euripides, to that?      
   
EUR.  I say Orestes never did “return.”      
He came in secret: nobody recalled him.           1176   
   
DIO.  O, good, by Hermes!      
(Aside.) I’ve not the least suspicion what he means.      
   
EUR.  Repeat another line.  DIO. Aye, Æschylus,      
Repeat one instantly: you, mark what’s wrong.           1180   
   
ÆSCH.  Now on this funeral mound I call my father      
To hear, to hearken.  EUR. There he is again.      
To “hear,” to “hearken”; the same thing, exactly.      
   
DIO.  Aye, but he’s speaking to the dead, you knave,           1184   
Who cannot hear us though we call them thrice.      
   
ÆSCH.  And how do you make your prologues?  EUR. You shall hear;      
And if you find one single thing said twice,      
Or any useless padding, spit upon me.           1188   
   
DIO.  Well, fire away: I’m all agog to hear      
Your very accurate and faultless prologues.      
   
EUR.  A happy man was Oedipus at first—      
   
ÆSCH.  Not so, by Zeus; a most unhappy man,           1192   
Who, not yet born nor yet conceived. Apollo      
Foretold would be his father’s murderer.      
How could he be a happy man at first?      
   
EUR.  Then he became the wretchedest of men.           1196   
   
ÆSCH.  Not so, by Zeus; he never ceased to be.      
No sooner born, than they exposed the babe      
(And that in winter), in an earthen crock,      
Lest he should grown a man, and slay his father.           1200

Then with both ankles pierced and swoln, he limped      
Away to Polybus: still young, he married      
An ancient crone, and her his mother too;      
The scratched out both his eyes.  DIO. Happy indeed           1204   
Had he been Erasinides’ colleague!      
   
EUR.  Nonsense; I say my prologues are first-rate.      
   
ÆSCH.  Nay, then, by Zeus, no longer line by line      
I’ll maul your phrases: but with heaven to aid           1208   
I’ll smash your prologues with a bottle of oil.      
   
EUR.  You mine with a bottle of oil?      
   
ÆSCH.  With only one.      
You frame your prologues so that each and all           1212   
Fit in with a “bottle of oil,” or “coverlet-skin,”      
Or “reticule-bag.” I’ll prove it here, and now.      
   
EUR.  You’ll prove it? You?  ÆSCH. I will.  DIO. Well, then, begin.      
   
EUR.  Aegyptus, sailing with his fifty sons,           1216   
As ancient legends mostly tell the tale,      
Touching at Argos,  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.      
   
EUR.  Hang it, what’s that? Confound that bottle of oil!      
   
DIO.  Give him another: let him try again.           1220   
   
EUR.  Bacchus, who, clad in fawnskins, leaps and bounds      
With torch and thyrsus in the choral dance      
Along Parnassus.  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.      
   
DIO.  Ah me, we are stricken—with that bottle again!           1224   
   
EUR.  Pooh, pooh, that’s nothing. I’ve a prologue here,      
He’ll never tack his bottle of oil to this:      
No man is blest in every single thing.      
One is of noble birth, but lacking means.           1228   
Another, baseborn,  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.      
   
DIO.  Euripedes!  EUR. Well?  DIO. Lower your sails, my boy;      
This bottle of oil is going to blow a gale.      
   
EUR.  O, by Demeter, I don’t care one bit;           1232   
Now from his hands I’ll strike that bottle of oil.      
   
DIO.  Go on then, go; but ware the bottle of oil.      
   
EUR.  Once Cadmus, quitting the Sidonian town,      
Agenor’s offspring  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.           1236   
   
DIO.  O, pray, my man, buy off that bottle of oil,      
Or else he’ll smash our prologues all to bits.      
   
EUR.  I buy of him?  DIO. If my advice you’ll take.      
   
EUR.  No, no I’ve many a prologue yet to say,           1240   
To which he can’t tack on his bottle of oil.      
Pelops, the son of Tantalus, while driving      
His mares to Pisa  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.      
   
DIO.  There! he tacked on the bottle of oil again.           1244   
O, for heaven’s sake, pay him its price, dear boy;      
You’ll get it for an obol, spick-and-span.      
   
EUR.  Not yet, by Zeus; I’ve plenty of prologues left.      
Oeneus once reaping  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.           1248   
   
EUR.  Pray let me finish one entire line first.      
Oeneus once reaping an abundant harvest,      
Offering the firstfruits  ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil.      
   
DIO.  What, in the act of offering? Fie! Who stole it?           1252   
   
EUR.  O, don’t keep bothering! Let him try with this!      
Zeus, as by Truth’s own voice the tale is told,      
   
DIO.  No, he’ll cut in with “Lost his bottle of oil.”      
Those bottles of oil on all your prologues seem           1256   
To gather and grow, like styes upon the eye.      
Turn to his melodies now, for goodness’ sake.      
   
EUR.  O, I can easily show that he’s a poor      
Melody-maker; makes them all alike.           1260   
   
CHOR.    What, O, what will be done!      
            Strange to think that he dare      
            Blame the bard who has won,      
            More than all in our days,           1264   
            Fame and praise for his lays,      
            Lays so many and fair.      
            Much I marvel to hear      
            What the charge he will bring           1268   
            ’Gainst our tragedy king;      
            Yea, for himself do I fear.      
   
EUR.  Wonderful lays! O, yes, you’ll see directly.      
I’ll cut down all his metrical strains to one.           1272   
   
DIO.  And I, I’ll take some pebbles, and keep count.      
   
(A slight pause, during which the music of a flute is heard. The music continues to the end of line 1277 as an accompaniment to the recitative.)


EUR.  Lord of Phthia, Achilles, why, hearing the voice of the hero-dividing,      
      Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?      
We, by the lake who abide, are adoring our ancestor Hermes.           1276   
      Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?      
   
DIO.      O Æschylus, twice art thou smitten!      
   
EUR.  Hearken to me, great king; yea, hearken, Atreides, thou noblest of all the Achaeans.      
      Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?           1280   
   
DIO.  Thrice, Æschylus, thrice art thou smitten!      
   
EUR.  Hush! the bee-wardens are here: they will quickly the Temple of Artemis open.      
      Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?      
I will expound (for I know it) the omen the chieftains encountered.           1284   
      Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?      
   
DIO.  O Zeus and King, the terrible lot of smitings!      
I’ll to the bath: I’m very sure my kidneys      
Are quite inflamed and swoln with all these smitings.           1288   
   
EUR.  Wait till you’ve heard another batch of lays      
Culled from his lyre-accompanied melodies.      
   
DIO.  Go on then, go: but no more smitings, please.      
   
EUR.  How the twin-throned powers of Achaea, the lords of the mighty           1292   
Hellenes.      
      O phlattothrattophlattothrat!      
Sendeth the Sphinx, the unchancy, the chieftainess blood-hound.      
      O phlattothrattophlattothrat!           1296   
Launcheth fierce with brand and hand the avengers the terrible eagle.      
      O phlattothrattophlattothrat!      
So for the swift-winged hounds of the air he provided a booty.      
      O phlattothrattophlattothrat!           1300

The throng down-bearing on Aias.      
      O phlattothrattophlattothrat!      
   
DIO.  Whence comes that phlattothrat? From Marathon, or      
Where picked you up these cable-twister’s strains?           1304   
   
ÆSCH.  From noblest source for noblest ends I brought them,      
Unwilling in the Muses’ holy field      
The selfsame flowers as Phrynichus to cull.      
But he from all things rotten draws his lays,           1308   
From Carian flutings, catches of Meletus,      
Dance-music, dirges. You shall hear directly.      
Bring me the lyre. Yet wherefore need a lyre      
For songs like these? Where’s she that bangs and jangles           1312   
Her castanets? Euripides’ Muse,      
Present yourself: fit goddess for fit verse.      
   
DIO.  The Muse herself can’t be a wanton? No!      
   
ÆSCH.  Halcyons, who by the ever-rippling           1316   
      Waves of the sea are babbling,      
      Dewing your plumes with the drops that fall      
      From wings in the salt spray dabbling.      
   
      Spiders, ever with twir-r-r-r-r-rling fingers           1320   
      Weaving the warp and the woof,      
      Little, brittle, network, fretwork,      
      Under the coigns of the roof.      
   
      The minstrel shuttle’s care.           1324   
   
      Where in the front of the dark-prowed ships      
      Yarely the flute-loving dolphin skips.      
   
      Races here and oracles there.      
      And the joy of the young vines smiling,           1328   
   
      And the tendril of grapes, care-beguiling.      
   
            O, embrace me, my child O, embrace me.      
(To Dio.) You see this foot?  DIO. I do.      
   
ÆSCH.  And this?  DIO. And that one too.           1332   
   
ÆSCH.  (To Eur.) You, such stuff who compile,      
          Dare my songs to upbraid;      
          You, whose songs in the style      
          Of Cyrene’s embraces are made.           1336   
        So much for them: but still I’d like to show      
        The way in which your monodies are framed.      
          “O darkly-light mysterious Night,      
          What may this Vision mean,           1340   
          Sent from the world unseen      
          With baleful omens rife;      
          A thing of lifeless life,      
          A child of sable night,           1344   
          A ghastly curdling sight,      
          In black funereal veils,      
        With murder, murder in its eyes,      
          And great enormous nails?           1348   
Light ye the lanterns, my maidens, and dipping your jugs in the stream,      
Draw me the dew of the water, and heat it to boiling and steam;      
So will I wash me away the ill effects of my dream.      
          God of the sea!           1352   
          My dream’s come true.      
          Ho, lodgers, ho,      
          This portent view.      
        Glyce has vanished, carrying off my cock,           1356   
          My cock that crew!      
        O Mania, help! O Oreads of the rock,      
          Pursue! pursue!      
        For I, poor girl, was working within,           1360   
        Holding my distaff heavy and full,      
        Twir-r-r-r-r-rling my hand as the threads I spin,      
        Weaving an excellent bobbin of wool;      
        Thinking, ‘To-morrow I’ll go to the fair,           1364   
        In the dusk of the morn, and be selling it there.’      
        But he to the blue upflew, upflew,      
        On the lightliest tips of his wings outspread;      
        To me he bequeathed but woe, but woe,           1368   
        And tears, sad tears, from my eyes o’erflow,      
        Which I, the bereaved, must shed, must shed.      
        O children of Ida, sons of Crete,      
        Grasping your bows, to the rescue come;           1372   
        Twinkle about on your restless feet,      
        Stand in a circle around her home.      
        O Artemis, thou maid divine,      
        Dictynna, huntress, fair to see,           1376   
        O, bring that keen-nosed pack of thine,      
        And hunt through all the house with me.      
        O Hecate, with flameful brands,      
        O Zeus’ daughter, arm thine hands           1380   
        Those swiftliest hands, both right and left;      
        Thy rays on Glyce’s cottage throw      
        That I serenely there may go      
        And search by moonlight for the theft.”           1384   
   
DIO.  Enough of both your odes.  ÆSCH. Enough for me.      
Now would I bring the fellow to the scales.      
That, that alone, shall test our poetry now,      
And prove whose words are weightiest, his or mine.           1388   
   
DIO.  Then both come hither, since I needs must weigh      
The art poetic like a pound of cheese.      
   
CHOR.  O, the labour these wits go through!      
        O, the wild, extravagant, new,           1392   
        Wonderful things they are going to do!      
        Who but they would ever have thought of it?      
        Why, if a man had happened to meet me      
        Out in the street, and intelligence brought of it,           1396   
        I should have thought he was trying to cheat me;      
        Thought that his story was false and deceiving.      
        That were a tale I could never believe in.      
   
DIO.  Each of you stand beside his scale,  ÆSCH. and EUR. We’re here           1400

DIO.  And grasp it firmly whilst ye speak your lines,      
And don’t let go until I cry “Cuckoo.”      
    
ÆSCH.  and EUR. Ready!  DIO. Now speak your lines into the scale.      
    
EUR.  O, that the Argo had not winged her way—           1404   
    
ÆSCH.  River Spercheius, cattle-grazing haunts—      
    
DIO.  Cuckoo! let go. O, look by far the lowest      
His scale sinks down.  EUR. Why, how came that about?      
    
DIO.  He threw a river in, like some wool-seller           1408   
Wetting his wool, to make it weight the more.      
But you threw in a light and wingèd word.      
    
EUR.  Come, let him match another verse with mine.      
    
DIO.  Each to his scale.  ÆSCH. and EUR. We’re ready.  DIO. Speak your lines.           1412   
    
EUR.  Persuasion’s only shrine is eloquent speech.      
    
ÆSCH.  Death loves not gifts, alone amongst the gods.      
    
DIO.  Let go, let go. Down goes his scale again.      
He threw in Death, the heaviest ill of all.           1416   
    
EUR.  And I Persuasion, the most lovely word.      
    
DIO.  A vain and empty sound, devoid of sense.      
Think of some heavier-weighted line of yours,      
To drag your scale down: something strong and big.           1420   
    
EUR.  Where have I got one? Where? Let’s see. Dio I’ll tell you.      
“Achilles threw two singles and a four.”      
Come, speak your lines: this is your last set-to.      
    
EUR.  In his right hand he grasped an iron-clamped mace.           1424   
    
ÆSCH.  Chariot on chariot, corpse on corpse was hurled.      
    
DIO.  There now! again he has done you.  EUR. Done me? How?      
    
DIO.  He threw tow chariots and two corpses in;      
Five-score Egyptians could not lift that weight.           1428   
    
ÆSCH.  No more of “line for line”; let him—himself,      
His children, wife, Cephisophon—get in,      
With all his books collected in his arms,      
Two lines of mine shall overweigh the lot.           1432   
    
DIO.  Both are my friends; I can’t decide between them:      
I don’t desire to be at odds with either:      
One is so clever, one delights me so.      
    
PLUTO.  Then you’ll effect nothing for which you came?           1436   
    
DIO.  And how, if I decide?  PLUTO. Then take the winner;      
So will your journey not be made in vain.      
    
DIO.  Heaven bless your Highness! Listen, I came down      
After a poet.  EUR. To what end?  DIO. That so           1440   
The city, saved, may keep her choral games.      
Now then, whichever of you two shall best      
Advise the city, he shall come with me.      
And first of Alcibiades, let each           1444   
Say what he thinks; the city travails sore.      
    
EUR.  What does she think herself about him?  DIO. What?      
She loves, and hates, and longs to have him back.      
But give me your advice about the man.           1448   
    
EUR.  I loathe a townsman who is slow to aid,      
And swift to hurt, his town; who ways and means      
Finds for himself, but finds not for the state.      
    
DIO.  Poseidon, but that’s smart! (To Æsch.) And what say you?           1452   
    
ÆSCH.  ’Twere best to rear no lion in the state:      
But having reared, ’tis best to humour him.      
    
DIO.  By Zeus the Saviour, still I can’t decide.      
One is so clever, and so clear the other.           1456   
But once again. Let each in turn declare      
What plan of safety for the state ye’ve got.      
    
EUR.  [First with Cinesias wing Cleocritus,      
Then zephyrs waft them o’er the watery plain.           1460   
    
DIO.  As funny sight, I own: but where’s the sense?      
    
EUR.  If, when the fleets engage, they, holding cruets,      
Should rain down vinegar in the foemen’s eyes,]      
I know, and I can tell you.  DIO. Tell away.           1464   
    
EUR.  When things, mistrusted now, shall trusted be,      
And trusted things, mistrusted.  DIO. How! I don’t      
Quite comprehend. Be clear, and not so clever.      
    
EUR.  If we mistrust those citizens of ours           1468   
Whom now we trust, and those employ whom now      
We don’t employ, the city will be saved.      
If on our present tack we fail, we surely      
Shall find salvation in the opposite course.           1472   
    
DIO.  Good, O Palamedes! Good, you genius you.      
[Is this your cleverness or Cephisophon’s?      
    
EUR.  This is my own: the cruet-plan was his.]      
    
DIO.  (To Æsch.) Now, you,  ÆSCH. But tell me whom the city uses. The good and useful?  DIO. What are you dreaming of?           1476   
She hates and loathes them.  ÆSCH. Does she love the bad?      
    
DIO.  Not love them, no: she uses them perforce.      
    
ÆSCH.  How can one save a city such as this,      
Whom neither frieze nor woollen tunic suits?           1480   
    
DIO.  O, if to earth you rise, find out some way.      
    
ÆSCH.  There will I speak: I cannot answer here.      
    
DIO.  Nay, nay; send up your guerdon from below.      
    
ÆSCH.  When they shall count the enemy’s soil their own,           1484   
And theirs the enemy’s: “when they know that ships      
Are their true wealth, their so-called wealth delusion.      
    
DIO.  Aye, but the justices suck that down, you know.      
    
PLUTO.  Now then, decide.  DIO. I will; and thus I’ll do it:           1488   
I’ll choose the man in whom my soul delights.      
    
EUR.  O, recollect the gods by whom you swore      
You’d take me home again; and choose your friends.      
    
DIO.  ’Twas my tongue swore; my choice is—Æschylus.           1492   
    
EUR.  Hah! what have you done?  DIO. Done? Given the victor’s prize      
To Æschylus; why not?  EUR. And do you dare      
Look in my face, after that shameful deed?      
    
DIO.  What’s shameful, if the audience think not so?           1496   
    
EUR.  Have you no heart? Wretch, would you leave me dead?      
    
DIO.  Who knows if death be life, and life be death,      
And breath be mutton broth, and sleep a sheepskin?      
    
PLUTO.  Now, Dionysus, come ye in,  DIO. What for?           1500

PLUTO.  And sup before ye go.  DIO. A bright idea. I’ faith, I’m nowise indisposed for that.      
   
CHOR.    Blest the man who possesses a      
          Keen intelligent mind.      
          This full often we find.           1504   
          He, the bard of renown,      
          Now to earth reascends,      
          Goes, a joy to his town,      
          Goes, a joy to his friends,           1508   
          Just because he possesses a      
          Keen intelligent mind.      
          RIGHT it is and befitting,      
          Not, by Socrates sitting,           1512   
          Idle talk to pursue,      
          Stripping tragedy-art of      
          All things noble and true,      
          Surely the mind to school           1516   
          Fine-drawn quibbles to seek,      
          Fine-set phrases to speak,      
          Is but the part of a fool!      
   
PLUTO. Farewell then, Æschylus, great and wise,           1520   
      Go, save our state by the maxims rare      
      Of thy noble thought; and the fools chastise,      
        For many a fool dwells there.      
      And this to Cleophon give, my friend,           1524   
      And this to the revenue-raising crew,      
      Nicomachus, Myrmex, next I send,      
        And this to Archenomus too.      
      And bid them all that without delay,           1528   
      To my realm of the dead they hasten away.      
      For if they loiter above, I swear      
      I’ll come myself and arrest them there.      
      And branded and fettered the slaves shall go           1532   
      With the vilest rascal in all the town,      
      Adeimantus, son of Leucolophus, down,      
        Down, down to the darkness below.      
   
ÆSCH.  I take the mission. This chair of mine           1536   
        Meanwhile to Sophocles here commit      
      (For I count him next in our craft divine),      
        Till I come once more by thy side to sit.      
      But as for that rascally scoundrel there,           1540   
        That low buffoon, that worker of ill,      
        O, let him not sit in my vacant chair,      
          Not even against his will.      
   
PLUTO. (To the Chorus.) Escort him up with your mystic throngs,           1544   
        While the holy torches quiver and blaze.      
        Escort him up with his own sweet songs      
          And his noble festival lays.      
   
CHOR.  First, as the poet triumphant is passing away to the light,           1548   
        Grant him success on his journey, ye powers that are ruling below.      
        Grant that he find for the city good counsels to guide her aright;      
        So we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe,      
        Freed from the onsets of war. Let Cleophon now and his band           1552   
        Battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland.