Lines 203–402

AMPHITHEUS.
And I will flee those peppery old Acharnians.

CHORUS.
Here’s the trail; pursue, pursue him; follow, follow, every man;
Question whosoever meets you whitherwards the fellow ran.
Much it boots the state to catch him!
(To the audience) O inform me, if ye know,
Where the man who bears the treaties managed from my sight to go.
Fled and gone! Disappears!
O this weary weight of years!
O were I Now as spry
As in youthful days gone by,
When I stuck Like a man
To Phayllus as he ran,
And achieved Second place In the race,
Though a great Charcoal freight
I was bearing on my head,—
Not so light From my sight
Had this treaty-bearer fled,
Nor escaped With such ease From the chase.
Now because my joints have stiffened, and my shins are young no more,
And the legs of Lacrateides by old age are burdened sore,
He’s escaped us! But we’ll follow: but he shall not boast that he
Got away from us Acharnians, howsoever old we be.
Who has dared Father Zeus!
Gods of heaven! to make a truce,
Who has pledged Faith with those
Who are evermore my foes;
Upon whom War I make
For my ruined vineyard’s sake;
And I ne’er From the strife Will give o’er,
No, I ne’er Will forbear,
Till I pierce them in return,
Like a reed, Sharply barbed
Dagger-pointed, and they learn
Not to tread Down my vines Any more.
Now ’tis ours to seek the fellow, and Pelténe-wards to look,
And from land to land to chase him, till we bring the rogue to book.
Never shall I tire of pelting, pelting him to death with stones.

DICAEOPOLIS.
(Within) Keep ye all the holy silence!

CHORUS.
Hush! we’ve got him. Heard ye, comrades,
‘silence’ called in solemn tones?
This is he, the man we’re seeking.
Stand aside, and in a trice
He, methinks, will stand before us, coming out to sacrifice!

DICAEOPOLIS.
(Coming out) Keep ye all the holy silence!
Now, basket-bearer, go you on in front,
You, Xanthias, hold the phallus-pole erect.

WIFE.
Set down the basket, girl: and we’ll begin.

DAUGHTER.
O mother, hand me here the gravy-spoon,
To ladle out the gravy o’er the cake.

DICAEOPOLIS.
’Tis well. Lord Dionysus, grant me now
To show the show and make the sacrifice
As thou would’st have me, I and all my house;
Then keep with joy the Rural Dionysia;
No more of soldiering now. And may this Peace
Of thirty summers answer to my hopes.

WIFE.
O daughter, bear the basket sweetly, sweet,
With savory-eating look. Happy the man,
Whoe’er he is, who weds thee and begets
Kittens as fair and saucy as thyself.
Move on! but heed lest any in the crowd
Should nibble off, unseen, thy bits of gold.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O Xanthias, walk behind the basket-bearer,
Holding, you two, the phallus-pole erect.
And I’ll bring up the rear, and sing the hymn:
Wife, watch me from the roof. Now then, proceed.
(Singing) O Phales, comrade revel-roaming
Of Bacchus, wanderer of the gloaming,
Of wives and boys the naugthy lover,
Here in my home I gladly greet ye,
Six weary years of absence over;
For I have made a private treaty
And said good-bye to toils and fusses,
And fights, and fighting Lamachuses.
Far happier ’tis to me and sweeter,
O Phales, Phales, some soft glade in,
To woo the saucy, arch, deceiving,
Young Thratta (Strymodore his maiden),
As from my woodland fells I meet her
Descending with my fagots laden,
And catch her up, and ill entreat her,
And make her pay the fine for thieving.
O Phales, Phales, come and sup,
And in the morn, to brace you up,
Of Peace you’ll quaff a jovial cup;
And mid the chimney sparks our useless shield we’ll hang.

CHORUS.
That’s the man who made the treaty;
There he stands Full in view;
Pelt him, pelt him, pelt him, pelt him,
Pelt him you! Pelt him you!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Heracles! what ails the fellows?
Hang it all, ye’ll smash the pot!

CHORUS.
It is you we will smash with our stones, you detestable head.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O most worshipful Acharnians, why? what reason have ye got?

CHORUS.
Dare you ask? Traitor base!
Dare you look me in the face?
You who make, You alone,
Private treaties of your own!
Shameless heart! Shameless hand!
Traitor to your fatherland!

DICAEOPOLIS.
But ye know not why I did it: hear me now the facts declare.

CHORUS.
Hear you? No! You’re to die;
’Neath a stony cairn to lie!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Not, O not until ye’ve heard me; worthy sirs, forbear, forbear!

CHORUS.
No delay! Thee to slay
We’ll immediately begin.
No debate! Thee we hate
Worse than Cleon’s self, whose skin
I’ll ere long Cut to shoes
For the worthy Knights to use.
But from you, who made a treaty with the false Laconian crew,
I will hear no long orations,
I will surely punish you.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Worthy fellows, for the moment those Laconians pretermit;
’Tis a question of my treaty, was I right in making it.

CHORUS.
Right to make it! when with Sparta no engagement sacred stands,
Not the altar, not the oath-pledge, not the faith of clasped right hands!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Yet I know that these our foemen, who our bitter wrath excite,
Were not always wrong entirely, nor ourselves entirely right.

CHORUS.
Not entirely, shameless rascal?
Do you such opinions dare
Openly to flaunt before me?
Shall I then a traitor spare?

DICAEOPOLIS.
Not entirely, not entirely!
I can prove by reasons strong
That in many points the Spartans at our hands have suffered wrong.

CHORUS.
This is quite a heart-perplexing, terrible affair indeed,
If you mean that you will venture for our enemies to plead.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Aye, and if I plead not truly, or the people doubt display,
On a chopping-block I’m willing, whilst I speak, my head to lay.

CHORUS.
Why so slack, my fellow-burghers?
Let us stone the naughty varlet,
Let us scarify and shred him to an uniform of scarlet.

DICAEOPOLIS.
What a red and dangerous ember sparkled up within you then!
Won’t you hear me, won’t you hear me, good Acharnians, worthy men?

CHORUS.
Never, never, will we hear you.

DICAEOPOLIS.
That will cause me bitter woe.

CHORUS.
If I do, perdition seize me!

DICAEOPOLIS.
O Acharnians, say not so.

CHORUS.
Know that you must die this instant.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Then I’ll make you suffer too.
For my safety I’ve a hostage, one that’s very dear to you.
Now I’ll bring him out and slay him; you shall see your darling’s end.

CHORUS.
O Acharnian fellow-burghers, what can words like these portend
To our noble band of brethren?
Think you that the man can hold
Any child of ours in durance?
What can make him wax so bold?

DICAEOPOLIS.
Now then pelt me; here’s the hostage!
I will slay and will not spare.
I shall speedily discover which of you for charcoal care.

CHORUS.
Heaven preserve us! ’tis a scuttle, ’tis my fellow-burgher true!
Never do the thing you mention: never do, O never do!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Cry aloud! I’m going to slay him;
I shall neither hear nor heed.

CHORUS.
You will slay then this charcoal-adorer, its equal in years!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Aye, for when I craved a hearing you refused to hear me plead.

CHORUS.
Ah! but now! Now you may!
Whatsoever suits you say.
Say you love, Say you prize,
Our detested enemies.
Ne’er will I Faithless prove
To the scuttle which I love.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Well then first, the stones you gathered, throw them out upon the ground.

CHORUS.
Out they go! All my hoard!
Prithee, lay aside the sword.

DICAEOPOLIS.
But I fear that in your lappets other missiles may be found.

CHORUS.
All are gone! Every one!
See my garment shaken wide!
Don’t evade Promise made.
Lay, O lay the sword aside.
Here’s my robe Shaken out,
As I twist and twirl about.

DICAEOPOLIS.
You would then, would you, shake your cries aloft,
And this Parnesian charcoal all but died,
Slain by the madness of its fellow-burghers.
And in its fright this scuttle, cuttle-wise,
Voided its inky blackness on my clothes.
Alas that men should carry hearts as sour
As unripe grapes, to pelt and roar, nor hear
A tempered statement mingled half and half;
Not though I’m willing o’er a chopping-block
To say my say for Lacedaemon’s folk.
And yet I love, be sure, my own dear life.

CHORUS.
O why not bring the block out of doors without delay,
And speak the mighty speech which you think will win the day?
For really I’ve a longing to hear what you will say!
So in the fashion you yourself prescribed,
Place here the chopping-block and start your speech.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Well look and see, the chopping-block is here,
And I’m to speak, poor little friendless I.
Still never mind; I won’t enshield myself,
I’ll speak my mind for Lacedaemon’s folk.
And yet I fear; for well I know the moods
Of our good country people, how they love
To hear the City and themselves bepraised
By some intriguing humbug, right or wrong,
Nor ever dream they are being bought and sold.
And well I know the minds of those old men
Looking for nothing but a verdict-bite.
Aye and I know what I myself endured
At Cleon’s hands for last year’s Comedy.
How to the Council-house he haled me off,
And slanged, and lied, and slandered, and betongued me,
Roaring Cycloborus-wise; till I well nigh
Was done to death, bemiryslushified.
Now therefore suffer me, before I start,
To dress me up the loathliest way I can.

CHORUS.
O why keep putting off with that shilly-shally air?
Hieronymus may lend you, for anything I care,
The shaggy-“Cap of Darkness” from his tangle-matted hair.
Then open all the wiles of Sisyphus,
Since this encounter will not brook delay.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Now must my heart be strong, and I depart
To find Euripides. Boy! Ho there, boy!

CEPHISOPHON.
Who calls me?

DICAEOPOLIS.
Is Euripides within?

CEPHISOPHON.
Within and not within, if you conceive me.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Within and not within?

CEPHISOPHON.
’Tis even so.
His mind, without, is culling flowers of song,
But he, within, is sitting up aloft
Writing a play.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O lucky, lucky poet,
Whose very servant says such clever things!
But call him.