Lines 1204–1408

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
’Twas I that cooked it!

DEMUS.
Be off: the credit’s his that served it up.

PAPHLAGON.
Unhappy me! I’m over-impudenced.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why not give judgement, Demus, of us two
Which is the better towards your paunch and you?

DEMUS.
Well, what’s the test will make the audience think
I give my judgement cleverly and well?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
I’ll tell you what; steal softly up, and search
My hamper first, then Paphlagon’s, and note
What’s in them; then you’ll surely judge aright.

DEMUS.
Well, what does yours contain?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
See here, it’s empty.
Dear Father mine, I served up all for you.

DEMUS.
A Demus-loving hamper, sure enough.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Now come along, and look at Paphlagon’s.

DEMUS.
Hey! only see!
Why here’s a store of dainties!
Why, here’s a splendid cheesecake he put by!
And me he gave the tiniest slice, so big.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And, Demus, that is what he always does;
Gives you the pettiest morsel of his gains,
And keeps by far the largest share himself.

DEMUS.
O miscreant, did you steal and gull me so,
The while I crowned thy pow and gied thee gifties.

PAPHLAGON.
And if I stole ’twas for the public good.

DEMUS.
Off with your crown this instant, and I’ll place it On him instead.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Off with it, filth, this instant.

PAPHLAGON.
Not so; a Pythian oracle I’ve got
Describing him who only can defeat me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Describing me, without the slightest doubt.

PAPHLAGON.
Well then I’ll test and prove you, to discern
How far you tally with the God’s predictions.
And first I ask this question,—when a boy
Tell me the teacher to whose school you went.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Hard knuckles drilled me in the singeing pits.

PAPHLAGON.
How say you? Heavens, the oracle’s word strikes home!
Well!
What at the trainer’s did you learn to do?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Forswear my thefts, and stare the accuser down.

PAPHLAGON.
Phoebus Apollo! Lycius! what means this?
Tell me what trade you practised when a man.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
I sold sausages—

PAPHLAGON.
Well?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And sold myself.

PAPHLAGON.
Unhappy me! I’m done for. There remains
One slender hope whereon to anchor yet.
Where did you sell your sausages? Did you stand
Within the Agora, or beside the Gates?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Beside the Gates, where the salt-fish is sold.

PAPHLAGON.
O me, the oracle has all come true!
Roll in, roll in, this most unhappy man.
O crown, farewell. Unwillingly I leave thee.
Begone, but thee some other will obtain,
A luckier man perchance, but not more thievish.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Hellanian Zeus, the victory-prize is thine!

DEMOSTHENES.
Hail, mighty Victor, nor forget ’twas I
Made you a Man; and grant this small request,
Make me your Phanus, signer of your writs.

DEMUS.
Your name, what is it?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Agoracritus.
An Agora-life I lived, and thrived by wrangling.

DEMUS.
To Agoracritus I commit myself,
And to his charge consign this Paphlagon.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And, Demus, I will always tend you well,
And you shall own there never lived a man
Kinder than I to the Evergaping City.

CHORUS.
O what is a nobler thing,
Beginning or ending a song,
For horsemen who joy in driving
Their fleet-foot coursers along,
Than—Never to launch a lampoon
at Lysistratus, scurvy buffoon;
Or at heartless Thumantis to gird,
Who
And,
poor starveling, in lightness of heart;
is weeping hot tears at thy shrine,
Apollo, in Pytho divine,
clutching thy quiver, implores
to be healed of his poverty’s smart!
For lampooning worthless wretches,
none should bear the bard a grudge;
’Tis a sound and wholesome practice,
if the case you rightly judge.
Now if he whose evil-doings
I must needs expose to blame
Were himself a noted person,
never had I named the name
Of a man I love and honour.
Is there one who knows not well
Arignotus, prince of harpers?
None, believe me, who can tell
How the whitest colour differs
from the stirring tune he plays.
Arignotus has a brother
(not a brother in his ways)
Named Ariphrades, a rascal—
nay, but that’s the fellow’s whim—
Not an ordinary rascal,
or I had not noticed him.
Not a thorough rascal merely;
he’s invented something more,
Novel forms of self-pollution,
bestial tricks unknown before.
Yea, to nameless filth and horrors
does the loathsome wretch descend,
Works the work of Polymnestus,
calls Oeonichus his friend.
Whoso loathes not such a monster
never shall be a friend of mine,
Never from the selfsame goblet
quaff, with us, the rosy wine.
And oft in the watches of night
My spirit within me is thrilled,
To think of Cleonymus eating
As though he would never be filled.
O whence could the fellow acquire
that appetite deadly and dire?
They say when he grazes with those
whose table with plenty is stored
That they never can get him away
from the trencher, though humbly they pray
Have mercy, O King, and depart!
O spare, we beseech thee, the board!
Recently, ’tis said, our galleys
met their prospects to discuss,
And an old experienced trireme
introduced the subject thus;
“Have ye heard the news, my sisters?
’tis the talk in every street,
That Hyperbolus the worthless,
a vapid townsman, would a fleet
Of a hundred lovely galleys
lead to Carthage far away.”
Over every prow there mantled
deep resentment and dismay.
Up and spoke a little galley,
yet from man’s pollution free,
“Save us! such a scurvy fellow
never shall be lord of me.
Here I’d liefer rot and moulder,
and be eaten up of worms.”
“Nor Nauphante, Nauson’s daughter,
shall he board on any terms;
I, like you, can feel the insult;
I’m of pine and timber knit.
Wherefore, if the measure passes,
I propose we sail and sit
Suppliant at the shrine of Theseus,
or the Dread Avenging Powers.
He shall ne’er, as our commander,
fool it o’er this land of ours.
If he wants a little voyage,
let him launch his sale-trays, those
Whereupon he sold his lanterns,
steering to the kites and crows.”

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
O let not a word of ill omen be heard;
away with all proof and citation,
And close for to-day the Law Courts, though they
are the joy and delight of our nation.
At the news which I bring let the theatre ring
with Paeans of loud acclamation.

CHORUS.
O Light of the City, O Helper and friend
of the islands we guard with our fleets,
What news have you got? O tell me for what
shall the sacrifice blaze in our streets?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Old Demus I’ve stewed till his youth is renewed,
and his aspect most charming and nice is.

CHORUS.
O where have you left him, and where is he now,
you inventor of wondrous devices?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
He dwells in the City of ancient renown,
which the violet chaplet is wearing.

CHORUS.
O would I could see him! O what is his garb,
and what his demeanour and bearing?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
As when, for his mess-mates, Miltiades bold
and just Aristeides he chose.
But now ye shall see him, for, listen, the bars
of the great Propylaea unclose.
Shout, shout to behold, as the portals unfold,
fair Athens in splendour excelling,
The wondrous, the ancient, the famous in song,
where the noble Demus is dwelling!

CHORUS.
O shining old town of the violet crown,
O Athens the envied, display
The Sovereign of Hellas himself to our gaze,
the monarch of all we survey.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
See, see where he stands, no vote in his hands,
but the golden cicala his hair in,
All splendid and fragrant with peace and with myrrh,
and the grand old apparel he’s wearing!

CHORUS.
Hail, Sovereign of Hellas! with thee we rejoice,
right glad to behold thee again
Enjoying a fate that is worthy the State
and the trophy on Marathon’s plain.

DEMUS.
O Agoracritus, my dearest friend,
What good your stewing did me!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Say you so?
Why, if you knew the sort of man you were,
And what you did, you’d reckon me a god.

DEMUS.
What was I like? What did I do? Inform me.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
First, if a speaker in the Assembly said
O Demus, I’m your lover, I alone
Care for you, scheme for you, tend and love you well,
I say if anyone began like that
You clapped your wings and tossed your horns.

DEMUS.
What, I?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Then in return he cheated you and left.

DEMUS.
O did they treat me so, and I not know it!

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Because, by Zeus, your ears would open wide
And close again, like any parasol.

DEMUS.
Had I so old and witless grown as that?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
And if, by Zeus, two orators proposed,
One to build ships of war, one to increase
Official salaries, the salary man
Would beat the ships-of-war man in a canter.
Hallo! why hang your head and shift your ground?

DEMUS.
I am ashamed of all my former faults.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
You’re not to blame; pray don’t imagine that.
’Twas they who tricked you so. But answer this;
If any scurvy advocate should say,
Now please remember, justices, ye’ll have
No barley, if the prisoner gets off free,
How would you treat that scurvy advocate?

DEMUS.
I’d tie Hyperbolus about his neck,
And hurl him down into the Deadman’s Pit.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why now you are speaking sensibly and well.
How else, in public business, will you act?

DEMUS.
First, when the sailors from my ships of war
Come home, I’ll pay them all arrears in full.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
For that, full many a well-worn rump will bless you.

DEMUS.
Next, when a hoplite’s placed in any list,’
There shall he stay, and not for love or money
Shall he be shifted to some other list.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
That bit the shield-strap of Cleonymus.

DEMUS.
No beardless boy shall haunt the agora now.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
That’s rough on Straton and on Cleisthenes.

DEMUS.
I mean those striplings in the perfume-mart,
Who sit them down and chatter stuff like this,
Sharp fellow, Phaeax; wonderful defence;
Coercive speaker; most conclusive speaker;
Effective; argumentative; incisive;
Superlative against the combative.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
You’re quite derisive of these talkatives.

DEMUS.
I’ll make them all give up their politics,
And go a-hunting with their hounds instead.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Then on these terms accept this folding-stool;
And here’s a boy to carry it behind you.

DEMUS.
No eunuch he!
O, I shall be once more
A happy Demus as in days gone by.

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
I think you’ll think so when you get the sweet
Thirty-year treaties. Treaties dear, come here.

DEMUS.
Worshipful Zeus! how beautiful they are.
Wouldn’t I like to solemnize them all.
Whence got you these?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Why, had not Paphlagon
Bottled them up that you might never see them?
Now then I freely give you them to take
Back to your farms, with you.

DEMUS.
But Paphlagon
Who wrought all this, how will you punish him?

SAUSAGE-SELLER.
Not much: this only: he shall ply my trade,
Sole sausage-seller at the City gates.
There let him dogs’-meat mix with asses’ flesh,
There let him, tipsy, with the harlots wrangle,
And drink the filthy scouring of the bath.

DEMUS.
A happy thought; and very fit he is
To brawl with harlots and with bathmen there.
But you I ask to dinner in the Hall,
To take the place that scullion held before.
Put on this frog-green robe and follow me.
Whilst him they carry out to ply his trade,
That so the strangers, whom he wronged, may see him.