Lines 788–998

MEGARIAN.
But wad ye rear them, here’s a bonnie piggie!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Why she’s the staring image of the other.

MEGARIAN.
They’re o’ ane father an’ ane mither, baith.
But bide a wee, an’ when she’s fat an’ curlie
She’ll be an offerin’ gran’ for Aphrodite.

DICAEOPOLIS.
A pig’s no sacrifice for Aphrodite.

MEGARIAN.
What, no for Her! Mon, for hirsel’ the lane.
Why there’s nae flesh sae tastie as the flesh
O’ thae sma piggies, roastit on a spit.

DICAEOPOLIS.
But can they feed without their mother yet?

MEGARIAN.
Poteidan, yes! withouten father too.

DICAEOPOLIS.
What will they eat most freely?

MEGARIAN.
Aught ye gie them.
But spier yoursel’.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Hey, piggy, piggy!

FIRST GIRL.
Wee!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Do you like pease, you piggy?

FIRST GIRL.
Wee, wee, wee!

DICAEOPOLIS.
What, and Phibalean figs as well?

FIRST GIRL.
Wee, wee!

DICAEOPOLIS.
What, and you other piggy?

SECOND GIRL.
Wee, wee, wee!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Eh, but ye’re squealing bravely for the figs.
Bring out some figs here, one of you within,
For these small piggies. Will they eat them?
Yah!
Worshipful Heracles! how they are gobbling now.
Whence come the pigs? They seem to me Aetallian.

MEGARIAN.
Na, na; they haena eaten a’ thae figs.
See here; here’s ane I pickit up mysel’.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Upon my word, they are jolly little beasts.
What shall I give you for the pair? let’s hear.

MEGARIAN.
Gie me for ane a tie o’ garlic, will ye,
An’ for the tither half a peck o’ saut.

DICAEOPOLIS.
I’ll buy them: stay you here awhile.

MEGARIAN.
Aye, aye.
Traffickin’ Hairmes, wad that I could swap
Baith wife an’ mither on sic terms as thae.

INFORMER.
Man! who are you?

MEGARIAN.
Ane Megara piggie-seller.

INFORMER.
Then I’ll denounce your goods and you yourself
As enemies!

MEGARIAN.
Hech, here it comes again,
The vera primal source of a’ our wae.

INFORMER.
You’ll Megarize to your cost. Let go the sack.

MEGARIAN.
Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis! Here’s a chiel
Denouncin’ me.

DICAEOPOLIS.
(Re-entering) Where is he? Market-clerks,
Why don’t you keep these sycophants away?

INFORMER.
What! show him up without a lantern-wick?

DICAEOPOLIS.
Not show our enemies up?
You had better not.
Get out, and do your showing other-where.

MEGARIAN.
The pest thae birkies are in Athans toun!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Well never mind, Megarian, take the things,
Garlic and salt, for which you sold the pigs.
Fare well!

MEGARIAN.
That’s na our way in Megara toun.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Then on my head the officious wish return!

MEGARIAN.
O piggies, try withouten father now
To eat wi’ saut yere bannock, an’ ye git ane.

CHORUS.
A happy lot the man has got: his scheme devised with wondrous art
Proceeds and prospers as you see; and now he’ll sit in his private Mart
The fruit of his bold design to reap.
And O if a Ctesias come this way,
Or other informers vex us, they
Will soon for their trespass weep.
No sneak shall grieve you buying first the fish you wanted to possess,
No Prepis on your dainty robes: wipe off his utter loathsomeness.
You’ll no Cleonymus jostle there;
But all unsoiled through the Mart you’ll go,
And no Hyperbolus work you woe
With writs enough and to spare.
Never within these bounds shall walk the little fop we all despise,
The young Cratinus neatly shorn with single razor wanton-wise,
That Artemon-engineer of ill,
Whose father sprang from an old he-goat,
And father and son, as ye all may note,
Are rank with its fragrance still.
No Pauson, scurvy knave, shall here insult you in the market-place,
No vile Lysistratus, to all
Cholargian folk a dire disgrace,
That deep-dyed sinner, that low buffoon,
Who always shivers and hungers sore
Full thirty days, or it may be more,
In every course of the moon.

BOEOTIAN.
Hech sirs, my shouther’s sair, wat Heracles!
Ismeny lad, pit doon thae pennyroyal
Wi’ tentie care. Pipers wha cam’ frae Thaibes
Blaw oop the auld tyke’s hurdies wi’ the banes.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Hang you! shut up! Off from my doors, you wasps!
Whence flew these curst Chaeridian bumble-drones
Here, to my door? Get to the ravens!
Hence!

BOEOTIAN.
An’ recht ye are, by Iolaus, stranger.
They’ve blawn behint me a’ the wa’ frae Thaibes,
An’ danged the blossom aff my pennyroyal.
But buy, an’t please you, onie thing I’ve got,
Some o’ thae cleckin’ or thae four-winged gear.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O welcome, dear Boeotian muffin-eater,
What have you there?

BOEOTIAN.
A’ that Boeoty gies us.
Mats, dittany, pennyroyal, lantern-wicks,
An’ dooks, an’ kaes, an’ francolins, an’ coots,
Plivers an’ divers.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Eh? Why then, methinks,
You’ve brought fowl weather to my market-place.

BOEOTIAN.
Aye, an’ I’m bringin’ maukins, geese, an’ tods.
Easels an’ weasels, urchins, moles, an’ cats,
An’ otters too, an’ eels frae Loch Copais.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O man, to men their daintiest morsel bringing,
Let me salute the eels, if eels you bring.

BOEOTIAN.
Primest o’ Loch Copais’ fifty dochters
Come oot o’ that; an’ mak’ the stranger welcome.

DICAEOPOLIS.
O loved, and lost, and longed for, thou art come,
A presence grateful to the Comic choirs,
And dear to Morychus. Bring me out at once,
O kitchen-knaves, the brasier and the fan.
Behold, my lads, this best of all the eels,
Six years a truant, scarce returning now.
O children, welcome her; to you I’ll give
A charcoal fire for this sweet stranger’s sake.
Out with her! Never may I lose again,
Not even in death, my darling dressed in—beet.

BOEOTIAN.
Whaur sall I get the siller for the feesh?

DICAEOPOLIS.
This you shall give me as a market-toll.
But tell me, are these other things for sale?

BOEOTIAN.
Aye are they, a’ thae goods.

DICAEOPOLIS.
And at what price?
Or would you swap for something else?

BOEOTIAN.
I’se swap
For gear we haena, but ye Attics hae.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Well then, what say you to Phaleric sprats,
Or earthenware?

BOEOTIAN.
Sprats! ware! we’ve thae at hame.
Gie us some gear we lack, an’ ye’ve a rowth o’.

DICAEOPOLIS.
I’ll tell you what; pack an INFORMER up,
Like ware for exportation.

BOEOTIAN.
Mon! that’s guid.
By the Twa Gudes, an’ unco gain I’se mak’.
Takin’ a monkey fu’ o’ plaguy tricks.

DICAEOPOLIS.
And here’s Nicarchus coming to denounce you!

BOEOTIAN.
He’s sma’ in bouk.

DICAEOPOLIS.
But every inch is bad.

NICARCHUS.
Whose is this merchandise?

BOEOTIAN.
’Tis a’ mine here.
Frae Thaibes, wat Zeus, I bure it.

NICARCHUS.
Then I here
Denounce it all as enemies!

BOEOTIAN.
Hout awa!
Do ye mak’ war an’ enmity wi’ the burdies?

NICARCHUS.
Them and you too.

BOEOTIAN.
What hae I dune ye wrang?

NICARCHUS.
That will I say for the bystanders’ sake.
A lantern-wick you are bringing from the foe.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Show him up, would you, for a lantern-wick?

NICARCHUS.
Aye, for that lantern-wick will fire the docks.

DICAEOPOLIS.
A lantern-wick the docks! O dear, and how?

NICARCHUS.
If a Boeotian stuck it in a beetle,
And sent it, lighted, down a watercourse
Straight to the docks, watching when Boreas blew
His stiffest breeze, then if the ships caught fire,
They’d blaze up in an instant.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Blaze, you rascal!

NICARCHUS.
What, with a beetle and a lantern-wick?
Bear witness!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Stop his mouth, and bring me litter.
I’ll pack him up, like earthenware, for carriage,
So they mayn’t crack him on their journey home.

CHORUS.
Tie up, O best of men, with care
The honest stranger’s piece of ware,
For fear they break it,
As homeward on their backs they take it.

DICAEOPOLIS.
To that, be sure, I’ll have regard;
Indeed it creaks as though ’twere charred,
By cracks molested,
And altogether God-detested.

CHORUS.
How shall he deal with it?

DICAEOPOLIS.
For every use ’tis fit,
A cup of ills, a lawsuit can,
For audits an informing pan,
A poisoned chalice
Full filled with every kind of malice

CHORUS.
But who can safely use, I pray,
A thing like this from day to day
In household matters,
A thing that always creaks and clatters?

DICAEOPOLIS.
He’s strong, my worthy friend, and tough:
He will not break for usage rough,
Not though you shove him
Head foremost down, his heels above him.

CHORUS.
(To Boeotian) You’ve got a lovely pack.

BOEOTIAN.
A bonnie hairst I’se mak’.

CHORUS.
Aye, best of friends, your harvest make,
And whereso’er it please you take
This artful, knowing
And best equipped informer going.

DICAEOPOLIS.
’Twas a tough business, but I’ve packed the scamp.
Lift up and take your piece of ware, Boeotian.

BOEOTIAN.
Gae, pit your shouther underneath, Ismeny.

DICAEOPOLIS.
And pray be careful as you take him home.
You’ve got a rotten bale of goods, but still!
And if you make a harvest out of him,
You’ll be in luck’s way, as regards informers.

SERVANT.
Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS.
Well? why are you shouting?

SERVANT.
Why?
Lamachus bids you, towards the Pitcher-feast,
Give him some thrushes for this drachma here,
And for three drachmas one Copaic eel.

DICAEOPOLIS.
Who is this Lamachus that wants the eel?

SERVANT.
The dread, the tough, the terrible, who wields
The Gorgon targe, and shakes three shadowy plumes.

DICAEOPOLIS.
An eel for him? Not though his targe he gave me!
Let him go shake his plumes at his salt fish.
If he demur, I’ll call the Market clerks.
Now for myself I’ll carry all these things
Indoors, to the tune o’ merles an’ mavises wings.

CHORUS.
Have ye seen him, all ye people, seen the man of matchless art,
Seen him, by his private treaty, traffic gain from every mart.
Goods from every neighbour;
Some required for household uses; some ’twere pleasant warm to eat;
All the wealth of all the cities lavished here before his feet,
Free from toil and labour.
War I’ll never welcome in to share my hospitality,
Never shall the fellow sing
Harmodius in my company,
Always in his cups he acts so rudely and offensively.
Tipsily he burst upon our happy quiet family,
Breaking this, upsetting that, and brawling most pugnaciously.
Yea when we entreated him with hospitable courtesy,
Sit you down, and drink a cup, a Cup of Love and Harmony,
All the more he burnt the poles we wanted for our husbandry,
Aye and spilt perforce the liquor treasured up within our vines.
Proudly he prepares to banquet.
Did ye mark him, all elate,
As a sample of his living cast these plumes before his gate?
Grand his ostentation!
O of Cypris foster-sister, and of every heavenly Grace,
Never knew I till this moment all the glory of thy face,
RECONCILIATION!
O that Love would you and me unite in endless harmony,
Love as he is pictured with the wreath of roses smilingly.
Maybe you regard me as a fragment of antiquity:
Ah, but if I get you, dear,
I’ll show my triple husbandry.
First a row of vinelets will I plant prolonged and orderly,
Next the little fig-tree shoots beside them, growing lustily,
Thirdly the domestic vine; although I am so elderly.
Round them all shall olives grow, to form a pleasant boundary.