DICAEOPOLIS Now must my heart be strong, and I depart To find Euripides. Boy! Ho there, boy!
CEPHISOPHON Who calls me?
DICAEOPOLIS Is Euripides within?
CEPHISOPHON Within and not within,’ if you conceive me.
DICAEOPOLIS Within and not within?
CEPHISOPHON ’Tis even so. His mind, without, is culling flowers of song, But he, within, is sitting up aloft Writing a play.
DICAEOPOLIS O lucky, lucky poet, Whose very servant says such clever things! But call him.
CEPHISOPHON But it can’t be done.
DICAEOPOLIS But still...! For go I won’t. I’ll hammer at the door. Euripides, my sweet one! O if you ever hearkened, hearken now. ’Tis I, Cholleidian Dicaeopolis.
EURIPIDES But I’ve no time.
DICAEOPOLIS But pivot.
EURIPIDES But it can’t be done.
DICAEOPOLIS But still...!
EURIPIDES Well then, I’ll pivot, but I can’t come down.
DICAEOPOLIS Euripides!
EURIPIDES Aye.
DICAEOPOLIS Why do you write up there, And not down here? That’s why you make lame heroes. And wherefore sit you robed in tragic rags, A pitiful garb? That’s why you make them beggars. But by your knees, Euripides, I pray, Lend me some rags from that old play of yours; For to the Chorus I to-day must speak A lengthy speech; and if I fail, ’tis pear.
EURIPIDES Rags! Rags! what rags? Mean you the rags wherein This poor old Oeneus came upon the stage?
DICAEOPOLIS Not Oeneus, no; a wretcheder man than he.
EURIPIDES Those that blind Phoenix wore?
DICAEOPOLIS Not Phoenix, no;
DICAEOPOLIS Some other man still wretcheder than Phoenix.
EURIPIDES What shreds of raiment can the fellow mean? Can it be those of beggarly Philoctetes?
DICAEOPOLIS One far, far, far, more beggarly than he.
EURIPIDES Can it be then the loathly gaberdine Wherein the lame Bellerophon was clad?
DICAEOPOLIS Bellerophon? no; yet mine too limped and begged, A terrible chap to talk.
EURIPIDES I know the man. The Mysian Telephus.
DICAEOPOLIS Telephus it is! Lend me, I pray, that hero’s swaddling-clothes.
EURIPIDES Boy, fetch him out the rags of Telephus. They lie above the Thyesteian rags, "Twixt those and Ino’s. (To Di.) Take them; here they are. (Holding up the tattered garment against the light) Lord Zeus, whose eyes can pierce through everywhere, Let me be dressed the loathliest way I can. Euripides, you have freely given the rags, Now give, I pray you, what pertains to these, The Mysian cap to set upon my head. For I’ve to-day to act a beggar’s part, To be myself, yet not to seem myself; The audience there will know me who I am, Whilst all the Chorus stand like idiots by, The while I fillip them with cunning words.
EURIPIDES Take it; you subtly plan ingenious schemes.
DICAEOPOLIS To thee, good luck; to Telephus—what I wish him!
DICAEOPOLIS Yah! why I’m full of cunning words already. But now, methinks, I need a beggar’s staff.
EURIPIDES Take this, and get thee from the marble halls.
DICAEOPOLIS O Soul, thou seest me from the mansion thrust, Still wanting many a boon. Now in thy prayer Be close and instant. Give, Euripides, A little basket with a hole burnt through it.
EURIPIDES What need you, hapless one, of this poor wicker?
DICAEOPOLIS No need perchance; but O I want it so.
EURIPIDES Know that you’re wearisome, and get you one.
DICAEOPOLIS Alas! Heaven bless you, as it blessed your mother.
EURIPIDES Leave me in peace.
DICAEOPOLIS Just one thing more, but one, A little tankard with a broken rim.
EURIPIDES Here. Now be off. You trouble us; begone.
DICAEOPOLIS You know not yet what ill you do yourself. Sweet, dear Euripides, but one thing more, Give me a little pitcher, plugged with sponge.
EURIPIDES Fellow, you’re taking the whole tragedy. Here, take it and begone.
DICAEOPOLIS I’m going now. And yet! there’s one thing more, which if I get not; I’m ruined. Sweetest, best Euripides, With this I’ll go, and never come again; Give me some withered leaves to fill my basket.
EURIPIDES You’ll slay me! Here! My plays are disappearing.
DICAEOPOLIS Enough! I go. Too troublesome by far Am I, not witting that the chieftains hate me! Good Heavens! I’m ruined. I had clean forgotten The thing whereon my whole success depends. My own Euripides, my best and sweetest, Perdition seize me if I ask aught else Save this one thing, this only, only this, Give me some chervil, borrowing from your mother.
EURIPIDES The man insults us. Shut the palace up.
DICAEOPOLIS O Soul, without our chervil we must go. Knowest thou the perilous strife thou hast to strive, Speaking in favour of Laconian men? On, on, my Soul! Here is the line. How? What? Swallow Euripides, and yet not budge? Oh, good! Advance, O long-enduring heart, Go thither, lay thine head upon the block, And say whatever to thyself seems good. Take courage! Forward! March! O well done, heart!
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