Aristophanes, Birds 723–797: Parabasis: the birds invite the audience to a bird's life

And we won’t run away from your worship, and sit Up above in the clouds, very stately and grand, Like Zeus in his tempers: but always at hand Health and wealth we’ll bestow, as the formula runs, ON YOURSELVES, AND YOUR SONS, AND THE SONS OF YOUR SONS; And happiness, plenty, and peace shall belong To you all; and the revel, the dance, and the song, And laughter, and youth, and the milk of the birds We’ll supply, and we’ll never forsake you. Ye’ll be quite overburdened with pleasures and joys, So happy and blest we will make you. O woodland Muse, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, Of varied plume, with whose dear aid On the mountain top, and the sylvan glade, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, I, sitting up aloft on a leafy ash, full oft, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, Pour forth a warbling note from my little tawny throat, Pour festive choral dances to the mountain mother’s praise, And to Pan the holy music of his own immortal lays;

totótotótotótotótotinx, Whence Phrynichus of old, Sipping the fruit of our ambrosial lay, Bore, like a bee, the honied store away, His own sweet songs to mould. tio, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx. Is there any one amongst you, O spectators, who would lead With the birds a life of pleasure, let him come to us with speed. All that here is reckoned shameful, all that here the laws condemn, With the birds is right and proper, you may do it all with them. Is it here by law forbidden for a son to beat his sire? That a chick should strike his father, strutting up with youthful ire, Crowing Raise your spur and fight me, that is what the birds admire.

Come you runaway deserter, spotted o’er with marks of shame, Spotted Francolin we’ll call you, that, with us, shall be your name. You who style yourself a tribesman, Phrygian pure as Spintharus, Come and be a Phrygian linnet, of Philemon’s breed, with us. Come along, you slave and Carian, Execestides to wit, Breed with us your Cuckoo-rearers, they’ll be guildsmen apt and fit. Son of Peisias, who to outlaws would the city gates betray, Come to us, and be a partridge (cockerel like the cock, they say), We esteem it no dishonour knavish partridge-tricks to play.

Even thus the Swans, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, Their clamorous cry were erst up-raising, With clatter of wings Apollo praising, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, As they sat in serried ranks on the river Hebrus’ banks. tío, tio, tío, tiotinx, Right upward went the cry through the cloud and through the sky. Quailed the wild-beast in his covert, and the bird within her nest, And the still and windless Ether lulled the ocean-waves to rest. totótotótotótotótotinx. Loudly Olympus rang! Amazement seized the kings; and every Grace And every Muse within that heavenly place.

Took up the strain, and sang. tio, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx. Truly to be clad in feather is the very best of things. Only fancy, dear spectators, had you each a brace of wings, Never need you, tired and hungry, at a Tragic Chorus stay, You would lightly, when it bored you, spread your wings and fly away, Back returning, after luncheon, to enjoy our Comic Play. Never need a Patrocleides, sitting here, his garment stain; When the dire occasion seized him, he would off with might and main Flying home, then flying hither, lightened and relieved, again. If a gallant should the husband on the Council-bench behold Of a gay and charming lady, one whom he had loved of old, Off at once he’d fly to greet her, have a little converse sweet, Then be back, or e’er ye missed him, calm and smiling in his seat. Is not then a suit of feathers quite the very best of things? Why, Diitrephes was chosen, though he had but wicker wings,