Lines 221–396

BDELYCLEON.
Wherewith they call him out.

SOSIAS.
And if they come,
Had we not better pelt them with some stones?

BDELYCLEON.
Pelt them, you rogue! you might as well provoke
A nest of wasps as anger these old men.
Each wears beside his loins a deadly sting,
Wherewith they smite, and on with yells and cries
They leap, and strike at you, like sparks of fire.

SOSIAS.
Tut, never trouble, give me but some stones,
I’ll chase the biggest wasps-nest of them all.

CHORUS.
Step out, step out, my comrades stout:
no loitering, Comias, pound along,
You’re shirking now, you used, I vow,
to pull as tough as leathern thong,
Yet now, with ease, Charinades
can walk a brisker pace than you.
Ho! Strymodore of Conthyle,
the best of all our dicast crew,
Has old Euergides appeared,
and Chabes too from Phlya, pray?
Ah! here it strains, the poor remains,
alas! alas! alack the day,
Of that mad set, I mind it yet,
when once we paced our nightly round,
In years gone by, both you and I,
along Byzantium’s wall, and found
And stole away the baker’s tray,
and sliced it up, and chopped it well,
A merry blaze therewith to raise,
and so we cooked our pimpernel.
On, on again, with might and main:
for Laches’ turn is come to-day:
Quick, look alive, a splendid hive
of wealth the fellow’s got, they say.
And Cleon too, our patron true, -
enjoined us each betimes to bring
Of anger sore an ample store,
a good three days’ provisioning:
On all the man’s unrighteous plans
a vengeance well-deserved to take.
Come, every dear and tried compeer,
come, quickly come, ere morning break,
And as you go, be sure you throw
the light around on every side;
Lest somewhere nigh a stone may lie,
and we therefrom be damnified.

BOY.
O father, father, here’s some mud!
look sharp or in you’ll go.

CHORUS.
Pick up a stick, and trim the wick,
a better light to show.

BOY.
Nay, father, with my finger, thus,
I choose to trim the lamp.

CHORUS.
How dare you rout the wick about,
you little wasteful scamp,
And that with oil so scarce? but no,
it don’t disturb your quiet,
However dear the oil may be,
when I have got to buy it.

BOY.
If with your knuckles once again
you ’monish us, I swear
We’ll douse the light, and take to flight,
and leave you floundering there.
Then wading on without the lamp
in darkness, I’ll be bound
You’ll stir and splash the mud about,
like snipes in marshy ground.

CHORUS.
Ah, greater men than you, my boy,
tis often mine to beat.
But, bless me, this is filth indeed
I feel beneath my feet:
Ay, and within four days from this,
or sooner, it is plain,
God will send down upon our town
a fresh supply of rain:
So dense and thick around the wick
these thieves collect and gather,
And that’s, as everybody knows,
a sign of heavy weather.
Well, well, ’tis useful for the fruits,
and all the backward trees,
To have a timely fall of rain,
and eke a good North breeze.
But how is this? Our friend not here!
how comes it he’s so slack?
By Zeus, he never used to be
at all a hanger-back.
He always marched before us all,
on legal cares intent,
And some old tune of Phrynichus
he warbled as he went.
O he’s a wonder for the songs!
Come, comrades, one and all,
Come stand around the house, and sing,
its master forth to call.
If once he hears me tuning up,
I know it won’t be long
Before he comes creep, creeping out,
from pleasure at the song.
How is it our friend is not here to receive us?
Why comes he not forth from his dwelling?
Can it be that he’s had the misfortune to lose
His one pair of shoes;
Or striking his toe in the dark, by the grievous
Contusion is lamed, and his ankle inflamed?
Or his groin has, it may be, a swelling.
He of us all, I ween,
Was evermore the austerest, and most keen.
Alone no prayers he heeded:
Whene’er for grace they pleaded,
He bent (like this) his head,
You cook a stone, he said.
Is it all of that yesterday’s man who cajoled us,
And slipped through our hands, the deceiver,
Pretending a lover of Athens to be,
Pretending that he
Was the first, of the Samian rebellion that told us?
Our friend may be sick with disgust at the trick,
And be now lying ill of a fever.
That would be like him quite.
But now up, up, nor gnaw your soul with spite
There comes a traitor base,
A wealthy rogue from Thrace.
Safe in our toils we’ve got him,
Up, up, old friend, and pot him!
On with you, boy, on with you.

BOY.
Father, if a boon I pray,
Will you grant it, father, eh?

CHORUS.
Certainly I will, my son.
Tell me what you’d have me buy.
Dibs, my son? Hey, my son?
Dibs it is, undoubtedly.

BOY.
Dibs, my father! No, my father!
! for they are sweeter far.

CHORUS.
You be hanged first: yet you shall not
Have them, monkey, when you are.

BOY.
Then, my father, woe betide you!
Not another step I’ll guide you.

CHORUS.
Is it not enough that I
With this paltry pay must buy
Fuel, bread, and sauce for three?
Must I needs buy figs for thee!

BOY.
Father, if the Archon say
That the Court won’t sit to-day.
Tell me truly, father mine,
Have we wherewithal to dine?
O my father, should not we
Then in “Straits of Helle” be?

CHORUS.
Out upon it! out upon it!
Then, indeed, I should not know
For a little bit of supper
Whither in this world to go.

BOY.
Why, my mother, didst thou breed me,
giving nothing else to feed me,
But a store of legal woe?

CHORUS.
Empty scrip! O empty show,
Bootless, fruitless ornament!

BOY.
O! O! woe! woe!
Ours to sorrow and lament.

PHILOCLEON.
[Appearing above] Long my reins have been stirred,
Long through chinks have I heard,
Heard your voices below.
Vain my efforts to sing,
These forbid me to go.
Vainly my sad heart yearns,
Yearns to be marching with you,
On to the judgement urns,
There some mischief to do.
O change to smoke by a lightning stroke,
Dread-thundering Zeus! this body of mine,
Till I’m like Proxenides, like the son
Of Sellus, that false tree-vine.
O Sovereign, pity my woeful lot,
Vouchsafe to grant me my heart’s desire,
Fry me in dust with a glittering, hot,
Red bolt of celestial fire,
Then take me up with thy hand divine,
And puff me, and plunge me in scalding brine.
Or turn me into the stone, whereon
They count the votes when the trial is done.

CHORUS.
Who is he that thus detains you?
Who with bolted door restrains you?
Tell us, you will speak to friends.

PHILOCLEON.
’Tis my son, but don’t be bawling:
for he’s slumbering now at ease
There, upon the roof before you:
drop your tone a little, please.

CHORUS.
What’s his object, idle trifler,
that he does such things as these?
What’s the motive he pretends?

PHILOCLEON.
He will let me do no mischief,
and no more a lawsuit try.
True it is he’ll feast and pet me,
but with that I won’t comply.

CHORUS.
This the Demagogcleon blared
Out against you, since you dared
Truth about the fleet to show.
He must be involved, I see,
In some dark conspiracy,
Else he durst not use you so.
It is time some means of escape to find,
some novel, ingenious plan, that so,
Unseen of your son, you may get you down,
alighting in safety here below.

PHILOCLEON.
O what shall it be? consider it ye!
I’m ready to do whatever is planned:
So sorely I’m longing a circuit to go,
through the lists of the Court, with a vote in my hand.

CHORUS.
Can you find no cranny or secret run,
through which, from within, your path to urge,
And then like wily Odysseus, here,
disguised in tatters and rags, emerge?

PHILOCLEON.
Each cranny is barred: there’s never a run,
thro’ which though it were but a midge could squeeze.
You must think, if you can, of a likelier plan:
I can’t run out like a runnet cheese.

CHORUS.
O don’t you remember the old campaign,
when you stole the spit, and let yourself down,
And away by the side of the wall you hied?
’Twas when we had captured Naxos town.

PHILOCLEON.
Ah, well I remember! but what of that?
it is quite another affair to-day.
For then I was young, and then I could steal,
and over myself I possessed full sway.
And then none guarded my steps, but I
Was free, wherever I chose, to fly;
Whilst now, in every alley and street,
Armed men with arms are stationed about,
Watching with care that I steal not out.
And there at the gate you may see those two
Waiting with spits to spit me through,
Like a cat that is running away with the meat.

CHORUS.
Well but now be quickly shaping
Some contrivance for escaping;
Morning breaks, my honey-bee.

PHILOCLEON.
Then the best that I can think of,
is to gnaw these meshes through.
May Dictynna, queen of hunters,
pardon me the deed I do.

CHORUS.
Spoken like a man whose efforts
will salvation’s goal ensue.
Ply your jaw then lustily.

PHILOCLEON.
There, I’ve gnawn them through completely
—Ah! but do not raise a shout,
We must use the greatest caution,
lest Bdelycleon find us out.

CHORUS.
Fear not: fear not: if he speak,
He shall gnaw his heart, and seek
For his life to run amain.
We will quickly make him learn
Nevermore again to spurn
Th’ holy statutes of the Twain.
So now to the window lash the cord,
and twine it securely your limbs around.
With all Diopeithes fill your soul,
then let yourself cleverly down to the ground.

PHILOCLEON.
But suppose they catch me suspended here,
and hoist me up by the line again,
And angle me into the house once more,
say what ye will do to deliver me then.

CHORUS.
Our hearts of oak we’ll summon to aid,
and all give battle at once for you.
’Twere vain to attempt to detain you more:
such wonderful feats we are going to do.

PHILOCLEON.
This then will I do, confiding in you:
and if anything happens to me, I implore
That you take me up and bewail my fate,
and bury me under the court-house floor.

CHORUS.
O nothing, nothing will happen to you:
keep up, old comrade, your heart and hope;
First breathe a prayer to your father’s gods:
then let yourself down by the trusty rope.

PHILOCLEON.
O Lycus, neighbour and hero and lord!
thou lovest the selfsame pleasures as I;
Day after day we both enjoy
the suppliant’s tears and his wailing cry.
Thou camest here thine abode to fix,
on purpose to listen to sounds so sweet,
The only hero of all that deigns
by the mourner’s side to assume his seat:
O pity thine old familiar friend:
O save me and succour me, Power Divine!
And never again will I do my needs
by the osier matting that guards thy shrine.

BDELYCLEON.
Get up, get up.

SOSIAS.
Why, what’s in the wind?

BDELYCLEON.
Some voice seems circling me round and round.

SOSIAS.
Is the old man slipping away thro’ a hole?