Lines 1205–1394

PEISTHETAERUS.
Fly up, some buzzard there,
Fly up, and seize her.

IRIS.
Me! Seize ME, do you say?
What the plague’s this?

PEISTHETAERUS.
You’ll find to your cost, directly.

IRIS.
Well now, this passes!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Answer! By what gates
Got you within the city wall, Miss Minx?

IRIS.
I’ faith, I know not, fellow, by what gates.

PEISTHETAERUS.
You hear the jade, how she prevaricates!
Saw you the daw-commanders? What, no answer?
Where’s your stork-pass?

IRIS.
My patience, what do you mean?

PEISTHETAERUS.
You never got one?

IRIS.
Have you lost your wits?

PEISTHETAERUS.
Did no bird-captain stick a label on you?

IRIS.
On ME? None stuck a label, wretch, on ME.

PEISTHETAERUS.
So then you thought in this sly stealthy way
To fly through Chaos and a realm not yours?

IRIS.
And by what route, then, ought the Gods to fly?

PEISTHETAERUS.
I’ faith, I know not. Only not by this.
This is a trespass! If you got your rights,
Of all the Irises that ever were
You’d be most justly seized and put to death.

IRIS.
But I am deathless.

PEISTHETAERUS.
All the same for that
You should have died. A pretty thing, forsooth,
If, whilst all else obey us, you the Gods
Run riot, and forget that you in turn
Must learn to yield obedience to your betters.
But tell me, where do you navigate your wings?

IRIS.
I? From the Father to mankind I’m flying,
To bid them on their bullock-slaughtering hearths
Slay sheep to the Olympian Gods, and steam
The streets with savour.

PEISTHETAERUS.
What do you say? What Gods?

IRIS.
What Gods? To us, the Gods in Heaven, of course.

PEISTHETAERUS.
(with supreme contempt) What, are YOU Gods?

IRIS.
What other Gods exist?

PEISTHETAERUS.
Birds are now Gods to men; and men must slay
Victims to them; and not, by Zeus, to Zeus.

IRIS.
O fool, fool, fool! Stir not the mighty wrath
Of angry Gods, lest Justice, with the spade
Of vengeful Zeus, demolish all thy race,
And fiery vapour, with Licymnian strokes,
Incinerate thy palace and thyself!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Now listen, girl; have done with that bombast.
(Don’t move.) A Lydian or a Phrygian is it,
You think to terrify with words like those?
Look here. If Zeus keep troubling me, I’ll soon
Incinerate his great Amphion’s domes
And halls of state with eagles carrying fire.
And up against him, to high heaven, I’ll send
More than six hundred stout Porphyrion rails
All clad in leopard-skins. Yet I remember
When one Porphyrion gave him toil enough.
And as for you, his waiting-maid, if you
Keep troubling me with your outrageous ways,
I’ll outrage you, and you’ll be quite surprised
To find the strength of an old man like me.

IRIS.
O shame upon you, wretch, your words and you.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Now then begone; shoo, shoo! Eurax patax!

IRIS.
My father won’t stand this; I vow he won’t.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Now Zeus-a-mercy, maiden; fly you off,
Incinerate some younger man than I.

CHORUS.
Never again shall the Zeus-born Gods,
Never again shall they pass this way!
Never again through this realm of ours
Shall men send up to the heavenly Powers
The savour of beasts which on earth they slay!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Well but that herald whom we sent to men,
’Tis strange if he should nevermore return.

HERALD.
O Peisthetaerus, O thou wisest, best,
Thou wisest, deepest, happiest of mankind,
Most glorious, most—O give the word!

PEISTHETAERUS.
What news?

HERALD.
Accept this golden crown, wherewith all peoples
Crown and revere thee for thy wisdom’s sake!

PEISTHETAERUS.
I do. What makes them all revere me so?

HERALD.
O thou who hast built the ethereal glorious city,
Dost thou not know how men revere thy name,
And burn with ardour for this realm of thine?
Why, till ye built this city in the air,
All men had gone Laconian-mad; they went
Long-haired, half-starved, unwashed, Socratified,
With scytales in their hands; but O the change!
They are all bird-mad now, and imitate
The birds, and joy to do whate’er birds do.
Soon as they rise from bed at early dawn,
They settle down on laws, as ye on lawns,
And then they brood upon their leaves and leaflets,
And feed their fill upon a crop of statutes.
So undisguised their madness, that full oft
The names of birds are fastened on to men.
One limping tradesman now is known as “Partridge”;
They dub Menippus “Swallow”; and Opuntius
“Blind Raven”; Philocles is “Crested Lark,”
Theagenes is nicknamed “Sheldrake” now;
Lycurgus “Ibis”; Chaerephon the “Vampire”;
And Syracosius “Jay”; whilst Meidias there
Is called the “Quail”; aye and he’s like a quail
Flipped on the head by some quail-filliper.
So fond they are of birds that all are singing
Songs where a swallow figures in the verse,
Or goose, or may-be widgeon, or ring-dove,
Or wings, or even the scantiest shred of feather.
So much from earth. And let me tell you this;
More than ten thousand men will soon be here,
All wanting wings and taloned modes of life.
Somehow or other you must find them wings.

PEISTHETAERUS.
O then, by Zeus, no time for dallying now;
Quick, run you in; collect the crates and baskets,
And fill them all with wings; that done, let Manes
Bring me them out; whilst I, remaining here,
Receive the wingless travellers as they come.

CHORUS.
Very soon “fully-manned” will this City be called,
If men in such numbers invade us.

PEISTHETAERUS.
So fortune continue to aid us.

CHORUS.
O, the love of my City the world has enthralled!

PEISTHETAERUS.
(to Manes) Bring quicker the baskets they’re packing

CHORUS.
For in what is it lacking
That a man for his home can require?
Here is Wisdom, and Wit, and each exquisite Grace,
And here the unruffled, benevolent face
Of Quiet, and loving Desire.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Why, what a lazy loon are you!
Come, move a little faster, do.

CHORUS.
O see that he brings me a basket of wings.
Rush out in a whirlwind of passion,
And wallop him, after this fashion.
For the rogue is as slow as a donkey to go.

PEISTHETAERUS.
No pluck has your Manes, ’tis true.

CHORUS.
But now ’tis for you
The wings in due order to set;
Both the musical wings, and the wings of the seers,
And the wings of the sea, that as each one appears,
The wings that he wants you can get.

PEISTHETAERUS.
O, by the kestrels, I can’t keep my hands
From banging you, you lazy, crazy oaf.

SIRE-STRIKER.
(singing) O that I might as an eagle be,
Flying, flying, flying, flying
Over the surge of the untilled sea!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Not false, methinks, the tale our envoy told us.
For here comes one whose song is all of eagles.

SIRE-STRIKER.
Fie on it!
There’s nothing in this world so sweet as flying;
I’ve quite a passion for these same bird-laws.
In fact I’m gone bird-mad, and fly, and long
To dwell with you, and hunger for your laws.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Which of our laws? for birds have many laws.

SIRE-STRIKER.
All! All! but most of all that jolly law
Which lets a youngster throttle and beat his father.

PEISTHETAERUS.
Aye, if a cockerel beat his father here,
We do indeed account him quite a—Man.

SIRE-STRIKER.
That’s why I moved up hither and would fain
Throttle my father and get all he has.

PEISTHETAERUS.
But there’s an ancient law among the birds,
You’ll find it in the tablets of the storks;
When the old stork has brought his storklings up,
And all are fully fledged for flight, then they
Must in their turn maintain the stork their father.

SIRE-STRIKER.
A jolly lot of good I’ve gained by coming,
If now I’ve got to feed my father too!

PEISTHETAERUS.
Nay, my poor boy, you came here well-disposed,
And so I’ll rig you like an orphan bird.
And here’s a new suggestion, not a bad one,
But what I learnt myself when I was young.
Don’t beat your father, lad; but take this wing,
And grasp this spur of battle in your hand,
And think this crest a game-cock’s martial comb.
Now march, keep guard, live on your soldier’s pay,
And let your father be. If you want fighting,
Fly off to Thraceward regions, and fight there.

SIRE-STRIKER.
By Dionysus, I believe you’re right.
I’ll do it too.

PEISTHETAERUS.
You’ll show your sense, by Zeus!

CINESIAS.
(singing) On the lightest of wings I am soaring on high,
Lightly from measure to measure I fly;

PEISTHETAERUS.
Bless me, this creature wants a pack of wings!

CINESIAS.
(singing) And ever the new I am flitting to find,
With timorless body, and timorless mind.

PEISTHETAERUS.
We clasp Cinesias, man of linden-wyth.
Why in the world have you whirled your splay foot hither?

CINESIAS.
(singing) To be a bird, a bird, I long,
A nightingale of thrilling song.

PEISTHETAERUS.
O stop that singing; prithee speak in prose.

CINESIAS.
O give me wings, that I may soar on high,
And pluck poetic fancies from the clouds,
Wild as the whirling winds, and driving snows.

PEISTHETAERUS.
What, do you pluck your fancies from the clouds?

CINESIAS.
Why our whole trade depends upon the clouds;
What are our noblest dithyrambs but things
Of air, and mist, and purple-gleaming depths,
And feathery whirlwings? You shall hear, and judge.

PEISTHETAERUS.
No, no, I won’t.

CINESIAS.
By Heracles you shall.
I’ll go through all the air, dear friend, for you.
(Singing) Shadowy visions of
Wing-spreading, air-treading,
Taper-necked birds.