Lines 790–998

PAPHLAGON.
Was there ever a man since the City began
who for Demus has done such a lot,
Or fought for his welfare so stoutly as I?
I will wager my head there is not.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
You love him right well who permit him to dwell
eight years in the clefts of the City,
In the nests of the vulture, in turrets and casks,
nor ever assist him or pity,
But keep him in durance to rifle his hive;
and that is the reason, no doubt,
Why the peace which, unsought, Archeptolemus brought,
you were quick from the city to scout
And as for the embassies coming to treat,
you spanked them and chivied them out.

PAPHLAGON.
That over all Hellas our Demus may rule;
for do not the oracles say,
He will surely his verdicts in Arcady give,
receiving five obols a day,
If he grow not aweary of fighting? Meanwhile,
it is I who will nourish and pet him,
And always the daily triobol he earns,
unjustly or justly I’ll get him.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
No not that o’er Arcady Demus may rule,
but rather that you might essay
To harry and plunder the cities at will,
while Demus is looking away,
And the war with the haze and the dust that you raise
is obscuring your actions from view,
And Demus, constrained by his wants and his pay,
is a gaping dependent on you.
But if once to the country in peace he returns,
away from all fighting and fusses,
And strengthens his system with furmety there,
and a confect of olive discusses,
He will know to your cost what a deal he has lost,
while the pay you allowed him he drew,
And then, like a hunter, irate he will come
on the trail of a vote against you.
You know it; and Demus you swindle with dreams,
crammed full of yourself and your praises.

PAPHLAGON.
It is really distressing to hear you presume
to arraign with such scurrilous phrases
Before the Athenians and Demus a man
who more for the city has done
Than e’er by Demeter Themistocles did
who glory undying has won.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O city of Argos! yourself would you match
with mighty Themistocles, him
Who made of our city a bumper indeed,
though he found her scarce filled to the brim,
Who, while she was lunching, Peiraeus threw in,
as a dainty additional dish,
Who secured her the old, while providing untold
and novel assortments of fish;
Whilst you, with your walls of partition forsooth,
and the oracle-chants which you hatch,
Would dwarf and belittle the city again,
who yourself with Themistocles match!
And he was an exile, but you upon crumbs
Achilléan your fingers are cleaning.

PAPHLAGON.
Now is it not monstrous that I must endure
accusations so coarse and unmeaning,
And all for the love that I bear you?

DEMUS.
Forbear! no more of your wrangle and row!
Too long have your light-fingered tricks with my bread
my notice escaped until now.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
He’s the vilest of miscreants, Demus, and works
more mischief than any, I vow.
While you’re gaping about, he is picking from out
Of the juiciest audit the juiciest sprout,
And devours it with zest; while deep in the chest
Of the public exchequer both hands are addressed
To ladling out cash for himself, I protest.

PAPHLAGON.
All this you’ll deplore when it comes to the fore
That of drachmas you stole thirty thousand or more.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why make such a dash with your oar-blades, and thrash
The waves into foam with your impotent splash?
’Tis but fury and sound; and you’ll shortly be found
The worst of the toadies who Demus surround.
And proof I will give, or I ask not to live,
That a bribe by the Mitylenaeans was sent,
Forty minas and more; to your pockets it went.

CHORUS.
O sent to all the nation
a blessing and a boon!
O wondrous flow of language!
Fight thus, and you’ll be soon
The greatest man in Hellas,
and all the State command,
And rule our faithful true allies,
a trident in your hand,
Wherewith you’ll gather stores of wealth,
by shaking all the land.
And if he lend you once a hold,
then never let him go;
With ribs like these you ought with ease
to subjugate the foe.

PAPHLAGON.
O matters have not come to that,
my very worthy friends!
I’ve done a deed, a noble deed,
a deed which so transcends
All other deeds, that all my foes
of speech are quite bereft,
While any shred of any shield,
from Pylus brought, is left.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Halt at those Pylian shields of yours!
a lovely hold you’re lending.
For if you really Demus love,
what meant you by suspending
Those shields with all their handles on,
for action ready strapped?
O Demus, there’s a dark design
within those handles wrapped,
And if to punish him you seek,
those shields will bar the way.
You see the throng of tanner-lads
he always keeps in pay,
And round them dwell the folk who sell
their honey and their cheeses;
And these are all combined in one,
to do whate’er he pleases.
And if the oyster-shelling game
you seem inclined to play,
They’ll come by night with all their might
and snatch those shields away,
And then with ease will run and seize
the passes of—your wheat.

DEMUS.
Oh, are the handles really there?
You rascal, what deceit
Have you so long been practising
that Demus you may cheat?

PAPHLAGON.
Pray don’t be every speaker’s gull,
nor dream you’ll ever get
A better friend than I, who all
conspiracies upset.
Alone I crushed them all, and now,
if any plots are brewing
Within the town, I scent them down,
and raise a grand hallooing.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O ay, you’re like the fisher-folk,
the men who hunt for eels,
Who when the mere is still and clear
catch nothing for their creels,
But when they rout the mud about
and stir it up and down,
’Tis then they do; and so do you,
when you perturb the town.
But answer me this single thing:
you sell a lot of leather,
You say you’re passionately fond
of Demus,—tell me whether
You’ve given a clout to patch his shoes.

DEMUS.
No never, I declare.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
You see the sort of man he is!
but I, I’ve bought a pair
Of good stout shoes, and here they are,
I give them you to wear.

DEMUS.
O worthy, patriotic gift!
I really don’t suppose
There ever lived a man so kind
to Demus and his toes.

PAPHLAGON.
’Tis shameful that a pair of shoes
should have the power and might
To put the favours I’ve conferred
entirely out of sight,
I who struck Gryttus from the lists,
and stopped the boy-loves quite.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
’Tis shameful, I with truth retort,
that you should love to pry
Into such vile degrading crimes
as that you name. And why?
Because you fear ’twill make the boys
for public speaking fit.
But Demus, at his age, you see
without a tunic sit,
In winter too; and nought from you
his poverty relieves,
But here’s a tunic I have brought,
well-lined, with double sleeves.

DEMUS.
O, why Themistocles himself
ne’er thought of such a vest!
Peiraeus was a clever thing,
but yet, I do protest,
That on the whole, between the two,
I like the tunic best.

PAPHLAGON.
[To the Sausage-seller]
Pah! would you circumvent me thus,
with such an apish jest?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Nay as one guest, at supper-time,
will take another’s shoes,
When dire occasion calls him out,
so I your methods use.

PAPHLAGON.
Fawn on: you won’t outdo me there.
I’ll wrap him round about
With this of mine. Now go and whine, you rascal.

DEMUS.
Pheugh! get out!
Go to the crows, you brute, with that
disgusting smell of leather.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
He did it for the purpose, Sir;
to choke you altogether.
He tried to do it once before:
don’t you remember when
A stalk of silphium sold so cheap?

DEMUS.
Remember? yes: what then?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why that was his contrivance too:
he managed there should be a
Supply for all to buy and eat;
and in the Heliaea
The dicasts one and all were seized
with violent diarrhoea.

DEMUS.
O ay, a Coprolitish man
described the sad affair.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And worse and worse and worse you grew,
till yellow-tailed you were.

DEMUS.
It must have been Pyrrhander’s trick,
the fool with yellow hair.

PAPHLAGON.
[To the Sausage-seller]
With what tomfooleries, you rogue,
you harass and torment me,

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Yes, ’tis with humbug I’m to win;
for that the Goddess sent me

PAPHLAGON.
You shall not win! O Demus dear,
be idle all the day,
And I’ll provide you free, to swill,
a foaming bowl of—pay.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And I’ll this gallipot provide,
and healing cream within it;
Whereby the sores upon your shins
you’ll doctor in a minute.
I’ll pick these grey hairs neatly out,
and make you young and fair.
See here; this hare-scut take to wipe
your darling eyes with care.
Vouchsafe to blow your nose, and clean
your fingers on my hair,

PAPHLAGON.
No, no; on mine, on mine, on mine!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
A trierarch’s office you shall fill,
And by my influence I’ll prevail
That you shall get, to test your skill,
A battered hull with tattered sail.
Your outlay and your building too
On such a ship will never end;
No end of work you’ll have to do,
No end of cash you’ll have to spend.

CHORUS.
O see how foamy-full he gets.
Good Heavens, he’s boiling over; stay!
Some sticks beneath him draw away,
Bale out a ladleful of threats.

PAPHLAGON.
Rare punishment for this you’ll taste;
I’ll make the taxes weigh you down;
Amongst the wealthiest of the town
I’ll manage that your name is placed.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
I will not use a single threat;
I only most devoutly wish
That on your brazier may be set
A hissing pan of cuttle-fish;
And you the Assembly must address
About Miletus,—’tis a job
Which, if it meets entire success,
Will put a talent in your fob,—
And O that ere your feast begin,
The Assembly waits your friend may cry,
And you, afire the fee to win
And very loth to lose the fry,
May strive in greedy haste to swallow
The cuttles and be choked thereby.

CHORUS.
Good! Good! by Zeus, Demeter, and Apollo.

DEMUS.
Aye, and in all respects he seems to me
A worthy citizen. When lived a man
So good to the Many (the Many for a penny)?
You, Paphlagon, pretending that you loved me,
Primed me with garlic. Give me back my ring;
You shall no more be steward.

PAPHLAGON.
Take the ring;
And be you sure, if I’m no more your guardian,
You’ll get, instead, a greater rogue than I.

DEMUS.
Bless me, this can’t be mine, this signet-ring.
It’s not the same device, it seems to me;
Or can’t I see?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
What’s the device on yours?

DEMUS.
A leaf of beef-fat stuffing, roasted well.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
No, that’s not here.

DEMUS.
What then?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
A cormorant
With open mouth haranguing on a rock.

DEMUS.
Pheugh!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
What’s the matter?

DEMUS.
Throw the thing away.
He’s got Cleonymus’s ring, not mine.
Take this from me, and you be steward now.

PAPHLAGON.
O not yet, master, I beseech, not yet;
Wait till you’ve heard my oracles, I pray.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And mine as well.

PAPHLAGON.
And if to his you listen,
You’ll be a liquor-skin.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And if to his,
You’ll find yourself severely circumcised.

PAPHLAGON.
Nay mine foretell that over all the land
Thyself shalt rule, with roses garlanded.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And mine that crowned, in spangled purple robe,
Thou in thy golden chariot shalt pursue
And sue the lady Smicythe and her lord

DEMUS.
Well, go and fetch them hither, so that he May hear them.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Certainly; and you fetch yours.

PAPHLAGON.
Here goes.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Here goes, by Zeus. There’s nought to stop us,

CHORUS.
O bright and joyous day,
O day most sweet to all
Both near and far away,
The day of Cleon’s fall.
Yet in our Action-mart
I overheard by chance
Some ancient sires and tart
This counter-plea advance,
That but for him the State
Two things had ne’er possessed:—
A STIRRER-up of hate,
A PESTLE of unrest.
His swine-bred music we
With wondering hearts admire;
At school, his mates agree,
He always tuned his lyre
In Dorian style to play.
His master wrathful grew;
He sent the boy away,
And this conclusion drew,
This boy from all his friends
Donations seeks to wile,
His art begins and ends
In Dono-do-rian style.

PAPHLAGON.
Look at them, see! and there are more behind.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O what a weight! and there are more behind.