Lines 999–1203

DEMUS.
What are they?

PAPHLAGON.
Oracles!

DEMUS.
F All?

PAPHLAGON.
You seem surprised;
By Zeus, I’ve got a chestful more at home.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And I a garret and two cellars full.

DEMUS.
Come, let me see. Whose oracles are these?

PAPHLAGON.
Mine are by Bakis.

DEMUS.
[To the Sausage-seller]
And by whom are yours?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Mine are by Glanis, Bakis’s elder brother,

DEMUS.
What do they treat of?

PAPHLAGON.
Mine? Of Athens, Pylus,
Of you, of me, of every blessed thing.

DEMUS.
[To the Sausage-seller]
And you; of what treat yours?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Of Athens, pottage,
Of Lacedaemon, mackerel freshly caught,
Of swindling barley-measurers in the mart,
Of you, of me. That nincompoop be hanged.

DEMUS.
Well read them out; and prithee don’t forget
The one I love to hear about myself,
That I’m to soar, an Eagle, in the clouds.

PAPHLAGON.
Now then give ear, and hearken to my words.
KEEP THOU WELL, ERECHTHEIDES,
THE ORACLE’S DRIFT, WHICH APOLLO
OUT OF HIS SECRET SHRINE
THROUGH PRICELESS TRIPODS DELIVERED.
KEEP THOU SAFELY THE DOG,
THY JAG-TOOTHED HOLY PROTECTOR.
O thou fortunate town
Of Athene, the Bringer of spoil,
Much shalt thou see, and much
Shalt thou suffer, and much shalt thou toil,
Then in the clouds thou shalt soar, as an Eagle, for ever and ever.
YAPPING BEFORE THY FEET,
AND TERRIBLY ROARING TO GUARD THEE,
HE THY PAY WILL PROVIDE:
IF HE FAIL TO PROVIDE IT, HE’LL PERISH
YEA, FOR MANY THE DAWS
THAT ARE HATING AND CAWING AGAINST HIM.

DEMUS.
This, by Demeter, beats me altogether.
What does Erechtheus want with daws and dog?

PAPHLAGON.
I am the dog: I bark aloud for you.
And Phoebus bids you guard the dog; that’s me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
It says not that; but this confounded dog
Has gnawn the oracle, as he gnaws the door.
I’ve the right reading here about the dog.

DEMUS.
Let’s hear; but first I’ll pick me up a stone
Lest this dog-oracle take to gnawing me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
KEEP THOU WELL, ERECHTHEIDES,
THE KIDNAPPING CERBERUS BAN-DOG
WAGGING HIS TAIL HE STANDS,
AND FAWNING UPON THEE AT DINNER,
WAITING THY SLICE TO DEVOUR
WHEN AUGHT DISTRACT THINE ATTENTION.
SOON AS THE NIGHT COMES ROUND
HE STEALS UNSEEN TO THE KITCHEN
DOG-WISE; THEN WILL HIS TONGUE
CLEAN OUT THE PLATES AND THE—ISLANDS,

DEMUS.
Aye, by Poseidon, Glanis, that’s far better.

PAPHLAGON.
Nay, listen first, my friend, and then decide.
WOMAN SHE IS, BUT A LION
SHE’LL BEAR US IN ATHENS THE HOLY
ONE WHO FOR DEMUS WILL FIGHT
WITH AN ARMY OF STINGING MOSQUITOES,
FIGHT, AS IF SHIELDING HIS WHELPS;
WHOM SEE THOU GUARD WITH DEVOTION
BUILDING A WOODEN WALL
AND AN IRON FORT TO SECURE HIM,
Do you understand?

DEMUS.
By Apollo, no, not I,

PAPHLAGON.
The God, ’tis plain, would have you keep me safely,
For I’m a valiant lion, for your sake.

DEMUS.
What, you Antileon and I never knew it!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
One thing he purposely informs you not,
What that oracular wall of wood and iron,
Where Loxias bids you keep him safely, is.

DEMUS.
What means the God?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
He means that you’re to clap
Paphlagon in the five-holed pillory-stocks.

DEMUS.
I shouldn’t be surprised if that came true.

PAPHLAGON.
HEED NOT THE WORDS; FOR JEALOUS
THE CROWS THAT ARE CROAKING AGAINST ME,
CHERISH THE LORDLY FALCON,
NOR EVER FORGET THAT HE BROUGHT THEE,
BROUGHT THEE IN FETTERS AND CHAINS
THE YOUNG LACONIAN MINNOWS.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
THIS DID PAPHLAGON DARE
IN A MOMENT OF DRUNKEN BRAVADO.
WHY THINK MUCH OF THE DEED,
CECROPIDES FOOLISH IN COUNSEL?
WEIGHT A WOMAN WILL BEAR,
IF A MAN IMPOSE IT UPON HER,
FIGHT SHE WON’T AND SHE CAN’T:
IN FIGHTING SHE’S ALWAYS A FRIGHT IN,

PAPHLAGON.
NAY, BUT REMEMBER THE WORD,
HOW PYLUS, HE SAID, BEFORE PYLUS;
PYLUS THERE IS BEFORE PYLUS.

DEMUS.
What mean you by that “before Pylus”?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Truly your pile of baths
will he capture before you can take them.

DEMUS.
O dear, then bathless must I go to-day

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Because he has carried off our pile of baths.
But here’s an oracle about the fleet
Your best attention is required to this,

DEMUS.
I’ll give it too; but prithee, first of all,
Read how my sailors are to get their pay.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O AEGEIDES, BEWARE
OF THE HOUND-FOX, LEST HE DECEIVE THEE,
STEALTHILY SNAPPING, THE CRAFTY,
THE SWIFT, THE TRICKY MARAUDER.
Know you the meaning of this?

DEMUS.
Philostratus, plainly, the hound-fox.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Not so; but Paphlagon is evermore
Asking swift triremes to collect the silver,
So Loxias bids you not to give him these.

DEMUS.
Why is a trireme called a hound-fox?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why?
A trireme’s fleet; a hound is also fleet.

DEMUS.
But for what reason adds he “fox” to “hound”?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
The troops, he means, resemble little foxes,
Because they scour the farms and eat the grapes.

DEMUS.
Good.
But where’s the cash to pay these little foxes?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
That I’ll provide: within three days I’ll do it.
LIST THOU FURTHER THE REDE
BY THE SON OF LETO DELIVERED
KEEP THOU ALOOF, SAID HE,
FROM THE WILES OF HOLLOW CYLLENE.

DEMUS.
Hollow Cyllene! what’s that?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
’Tis Paphlagon’s hand he’s describing.
Paphlagon’s outstretched hand,
with his Drop me a coin in the hollow.

PAPHLAGON.
There this fellow is wrong.
When he spake of the hollow Cyllene,
Phoebus was hinting, I ween,
at the hand of the maimed Diopeithes.
Nay, but I’ve got me, for you,
a wingéd oracular message,
THOU SHALT AN EAGLE BECOME,
AND RULE ALL LANDS AS A MONARCH.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Nay, but I’ve got me the same:—
AND THE RED SEA TOO THOU SHALT GOVERN,
YEA IN ECBATANA JUDGE,
RICH CAKES AS THOU JUDGEST DEVOURING.

PAPHLAGON.
Nay, but I dreamed me a dream,
and methought the Goddess Athene
Health and wealth was ladling
in plentiful streams upon Demus.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Nay, but I dreamed one myself;
and methought of the Goddess Athene
Down from the Citadel stepped,
and an owl sat perched on her shoulder
Then from a bucket she poured
ambrosia down upon Demus,
Sweetest of scents upon you,
upon Paphlagon sourest of pickles.

DEMUS.
Good! Good!
There never was a cleverer chap than Glanis.
So now, my friend, I yield myself to you;
Be you the tutor of my thoughtless Age.

PAPHLAGON.
Not yet! pray wait awhile, and I’ll provide
Your barley-grain, and daily sustenance.

DEMUS.
I can’t abide your barley-talk; too often
Have I been duped by you and Thuphanes.

PAPHLAGON.
I’ll give you barley-meal, all ready-made.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
I’ll give you barley-cakes, all ready-baked,
And well-broiled fish. Do nothing else but eat.

DEMUS.
Make haste and do it then, remembering this,
Whichever brings me most titbits to-day,
To him alone I’ll give the Pnyx’s reins.

PAPHLAGON.
O then I’ll run in first.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Not you, but I.

CHORUS.
Proud, O Demus, thy sway.
Thee, as Tyrant and King,
All men fear and obey,
Yet, O yet, ’tis a thing
Easy, to lead thee astray.
Empty fawning and praise
Pleased thou art to receive;
All each orator says
Sure at once to believe;
Wit thou hast, but ’tis roaming;
Ne’er we find it its home in.

DEMUS.
Wit there’s none in your hair.
What, you think me a fool!
What, you know not I wear,
Wear my motley by rule!
Well all day do I fare,
Nursed and cockered by all;
Pleased to fatten and train
One prime thief in my stall.
When full gorged with his gain,
Up that instant I snatch him,
Strike one blow and dispatch him.

CHORUS.
Art thou really so deep?
Is such artfulness thine?
Well for all if thou keep
Firm to this thy design.
Well for all if, as sheep
Marked for victims, thou feed
These thy knaves in the Pnyx,
Then, if dainties thou need,
Haste on a victim to fix;
Slay the fattest and finest;
There’s thy meal when thou dinest.

DEMUS.
Ah! they know not that I
Watch them plunder and thieve.
Ah! ’tis easy, they cry,
Him to gull and deceive.
Comes my turn by and by!
Down their gullet, full quick,
Lo, my verdict-tube coils,
Turns them giddy and sick,
Up they vomit their spoils:
Such, with rogues, is my dealing,
’Tis for MYSELF they are stealing.

PAPHLAGON.
Go and be blest!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Be blest yourself, you filth.

PAPHLAGON.
O Demus, I’ve been sitting here prepared
Three ages past, longing to do you good.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And I ten ages, aye twelve ages, aye
A thousand ages, ages, ages, ages.

DEMUS.
And I’ve been waiting, till I loathe you both,
For thirty thousand ages, ages, ages.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Do know you what?

DEMUS.
And if I don’t, you’ll tell me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Do start us from the signal-post, us two,
All fair, no favour.

DEMUS.
Right you are; move off.

PAPHLAGON AND SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Ready!

DEMUS.
Away!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
No “cutting in” allowed.

DEMUS.
Zeus! if I don’t, with these two lovers, have
A rare good time, ’tis dainty I must be.

PAPHLAGON.
See, I’m the first to bring you out a chair.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
But not a table; I’m the firstlier there.

PAPHLAGON.
Look, here’s a jolly little cake I bring,
Cooked from the barley-grain I brought from Pylus.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And here I’m bringing splendid scoops of bread,
Scooped by the Goddess with her ivory hand.

DEMUS.
A mighty finger you must have, dread lady!

PAPHLAGON.
And here’s pease-porridge, beautiful and brown.
Pallas Pylaemachus it was that stirred it.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O Demus, plain it is the Goddess guards you,
Holding above your head this—soup-tureen.

DEMUS.
Why, think you Athens had survived, unless
She plainly o’er us held her soup-tureen?

PAPHLAGON.
This slice of fish the Army-frightener sends you.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
This boiled broth-meat the Nobly-fathered gives you,
And this good cut of tripe and guts and paunch.

DEMUS.
And well done she, to recollect the peplus.

PAPHLAGON.
The Terror-crested bids you taste this cake
With roe of fish, that we may row the better.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And now take these.

DEMUS.
Whatever shall I do
With these insides?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
The Goddess sends you these
To serve as planks inside your ships of war.

DEMUS.
Plainly she looks with favour on our fleet.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Here, drink this also, mingled three and two.’

DEMUS.
Zeus! but it’s sweet and bears the three parts well.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Tritogeneia ’twas that three’d and two’d it.

PAPHLAGON.
Accept from me this slice of luscious cake.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And this whole luscious cake accept from me.

PAPHLAGON.
Ah, you’ve no hare to give him; that give I.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O me, wherever can I get some hare?
Now for some mountebank device, my soul.

PAPHLAGON.
Yah, see you this, poor Witless?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
What care I?

PAPHLAGON.
For there they are! Yes, there they are coming!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Who?

PAPHLAGON.
Envoys with bags of silver, all for me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Where? Where?

PAPHLAGON.
What’s that to you? Let be the strangers.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
My darling Demus, take the hare I bring.

PAPHLAGON.
You thief, you’ve given what wasn’t yours to give!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Poseidon, yes; you did the same at Pylus.

DEMUS.
Ha! Ha! what made you think of filching that?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
The thought’s Athene’s, but the theft was mine.

PAPHLAGON.
’Twas I that ran the risk!