Lines 627–819

CARIO.
Here’s joy, here’s happiness, old friends, for you
Who, at the feast of Theseus, many a time
Have ladled up small sops of barley-broth!
Here’s joy for you and all good folk besides.

CHORUS.
How now, you best of all your fellow-knaves?
You seem to come a messenger of good.

CARIO.
With happiest fortune has my master sped,
Or rather Wealth himself; no longer blind,
He hath relumed the brightness of his eyes,
So kind a Healer hath Asclepius proved.

CHORUS.
[Singing] Joy for the news you bring.
Joy! Joy! with shouts I sing.

CARIO.
Aye, will you, nill you, it is joy indeed.

CHORUS.
[Singing] Sing we with all our might Asclepius first
and best,
To men a glorious light, Sire in his offspring blest.

WIFE.
What means this shouting? Has good news
arrived?
For I’ve been sitting till I’m tired within
Waiting for him, and longing for good news.

CARIO.
Bring wine, bring wine, my mistress; quaff yourself
The flowing bowl; (you like it passing well).
I bring you here all blessings in a lump.

WIFE.
Where?

CARIO.
That you’ll learn from what I am going to say.

WIFE.
Be pleased to tell me with what speed you can.

CARIO.
Listen. I’ll tell you all this striking business
Up from the foot on to the very head.

WIFE.
Not on my head, I pray you.

CARIO.
Not the blessings
We have all got?

WIFE.
Not all that striking business.

CARIO.
Soon as we reached the Temple of the God
Bringing the man, most miserable then,
But who so happy, who so prosperous now?
Without delay we took him to the sea
And bathed him there.

WIFE.
O what a happy man,
The poor old fellow bathed in the cold sea!

CARIO.
Then to the precincts of the God we went.
There on the altar honey-cakes and bakemeats
Were offered, food for the Hephaestian flame.
There laid we Wealth as custom bids; and we
Each for himself stitched up a pallet near.

WIFE.
Were there no others waiting to be healed?

CARIO.
Neocleides was, for one; the purblind man,
Who in his thefts out-shoots the keenest-eyed.
And many others, sick with every form
Of ailment. Soon the Temple servitor
Put out the lights, and bade us fall asleep,
Nor stir, nor speak, whatever noise we heard.
So down we lay in orderly repose.
And I could catch no slumber, not one wink,
Struck by a nice tureen of broth which stood
A little distance from an old wife’s head,
Whereto I marvellously longed to creep.
Then, glancing upwards, I behold the priest
Whipping the cheese-cakes and the figs from off
The holy table; thence he coasted round
To every altar, spying what was left.
And everything he found he consecrated
Into a sort of sack; so I, concluding
This was the right and proper thing to do,
Arose at once to tackle that tureen.

WIFE.
Unhappy man! Did you not fear the God?

CARIO.
Indeed I did, lest he should cut in first,
Garlands and all, and capture my tureen.
For so the priest forewarned me he might do,
Then the old lady when my steps she heard
Reached out a stealthy hand; I gave a hiss,
And mouthed it gently like a sacred snake.
Back flies her hand; she draws her coverlets
More tightly round her, and, beneath them, lies
In deadly terror like a frightened cat.
Then of the broth I gobbled down a lot
Till I could eat no more, and then I stopped.

WIFE.
Did not the God approach you?

CARIO.
Not till later.
And then I did a thing will make you laugh.
For as he neared me, by some dire mishap
My wind exploded like a thunder-clap.

WIFE.
I guess the God was awfully disgusted.

CARIO.
No, but Iaso blushed a rosy red
And Panacea turned away her head
Holding her nose: my wind’s not frankincense.

WIFE.
But he himself?

CARIO.
Observed it not, nor cared.

WIFE.
O why, you’re making out the God a clown!

CARIO.
No, no; an ordure-taster.

WIFE.
Oh! you wretch.

CARIO.
So then, alarmed, I muffled up my head,
Whilst he went round, with calm and quiet tread,
To every patient, scanning each disease.
Then by his side a servant placed a stone
Pestle and mortar; and a medicine chest.

WIFE.
A stone one?

CARIO.
Hang it, not the medicine chest.

WIFE.
How saw you this, you villain, when your head,
You said just now, was muffled?

CARIO.
Through my cloak.
Full many a peep-hole has that cloak, I trow.
Well, first he set himself to mix a plaster
For Neocleides, throwing in three cloves
Of Tenian garlic; and with these he mingled
Verjuice and squills; and brayed them up together
Then drenched the mass with Sphettian vinegar,
And turning up the eyelids of the man
Plastered their inner sides, to make the smart
More painful. Up he springs with yells and roars
In act to flee; then laughed the God, and said,
Nay, sit thou there, beplastered; I’ll restrain thee,
Thou reckless swearer, from the Assembly now.

WIFE.
O what a clever, patriotic God!

CARIO.
Then, after this, he sat him down by Wealth,
And first he felt the patient’s head, and next
Taking a linen napkin, clean and white,
Wiped both his lips, and all around them, dry.
Then Panacea with a scarlet cloth
Covered his face and head; then the God clucked,
And out there issued from the holy shrine
Two great enormous serpents.

WIFE.
O good heavens!

CARIO.
And underneath the scarlet cloth they crept
And licked his eyelids, as it seemed to me;
And, mistress dear, before you could have drunk
Of wine ten goblets, Wealth arose and saw.
O then for joy I clapped my hands together
And woke my master, and, hey presto! both
The God and serpents vanished in the shrine.
And those who lay by Wealth, imagine how
They blessed and greeted him, nor closed their eyes
The whole night long till daylight did appear.
And I could never praise the God enough
For both his deeds, enabling Wealth to see,
And making Neocleides still more blind.

WIFE.
O Lord and King, what mighty power is thine!
But prithee where is Wealth?

CARIO.
He’s coming here,
With such a crowd collected at his heels.
For all the honest fellows, who before
Had scanty means of living, flocking round,
Welcomed the God and clasped his hand for joy.
—Though others, wealthy rascals, who had gained
Their pile of money by unrighteous means,
Wore scowling faces, knitted up in frowns,—
But those went following on, begarlanded,
With smiles and blessings; and the old men’s shoes
Rang out in rhythmic progress as they marched.
Now therefore all, arise with one accord,
And skip, and bound, and dance the choral dance,
For nevermore, returning home, ye’ll hear
Those fatal words No barley in the bin!

WIFE.
By Hecate, for this good news you bring
I’ve half a mind to crown you with a wreath
Of barley loaves.

CARIO.
Well, don’t be loitering now.
The men, by this, are nearly at your gates.

WIFE.
Then I will in, and fetch the welcoming-gifts
Wherewith to greet these newly-purchased—eyes.

CARIO.
And I will out, and meet them as they come.

WEALTH.
And first I make obeisance to yon sun;
Then to august Athene’s famous plain,
And all this hospitable land of Cecrops.
Shame on my past career! I blush to think
With whom I long consorted, unawares,
Whilst those who my companionship deserved
I shunned, not knowing. O unhappy me!
In neither this nor that I acted rightly.
But now, reversing all my former ways,
I’ll show mankind ’twas through no wish of mine
I used to give myself to rogues and knaves.

CHREMYLUS.
Hang you, be off! The nuisance these friends are,
Emerging suddenly when fortune smiles.
Tcha! How they nudge your ribs, and punch your shins,
Displaying each some token of goodwill.
What man addressed me not? What agéd group
Failed to enwreathe me in the market-place?

WIFE.
Dearest of men, O welcome you and you.
Come now, I’ll take these welcoming-gifts and pour them
O’er you, as custom bids.

WEALTH.
Excuse me, no.
When first I’m entering with my sight restored
Into a house, ’twere meeter far that I
Confer a largess rather than receive.

WIFE.
Then won’t you take the welcoming-gifts I bring?

WEALTH.
Aye, by the hearth within, as custom bids.
So too we ’scape the vulgar tricks of farce.
It is not meet, with such a Bard as ours,
To fling a shower of figs and comfits out
Amongst the audience, just to make them laugh.

WIFE.
Well said indeed: for Dexinicus there
Is rising up, to scramble for the figs.

CARIO.
How pleasant ’tis to lead a prosperous life,
And that, expending nothing of one’s own.
Into this house a heap of golden joys
Has hurled itself though nothing wrong we’ve done.
Truly a sweet and pleasant thing is wealth.
With good white barley is our garner filled
And all our casks with red and fragrant wine.
And every vessel in the house is crammed
With gold and silver, wonderful to see.
The tank o’erflows with oil; the oil-flasks teem
With precious unguents; and the loft with figs.
And every cruet, pitcher, pannikin,
Is turned to bronze; the mouldy trencherlets
That held the fish are all of silver now.
Our lantern, all at once, is ivory-framed.
And we the servants, play at odd-or-even
With golden staters; and to cleanse us, use
Not stones, but garlic-leaves, so nice we are.
And master now, with garlands round his brow,
Is offering up hog, goat, and ram within.
But me the smoke drove out. I could not bear
To stay within; it bit my eyelids so.