CHORUS O sent to all the nation a blessing and a boon! O wondrous flow of language! Fight thus, and you’ll be soon The greatest man in Hellas, and all the State command, And rule our faithful true allies, a trident in your hand, Wherewith you’ll gather stores of wealth, by shaking all the land. And if he lend you once a hold, then never let him go; With ribs like these you ought with ease to subjugate the foe.
PAPHLAGON O matters have not come to that, my very worthy friends! I’ve done a deed, a noble deed, a deed which so transcends All other deeds, that all my foes of speech are quite bereft, While any shred of any shield, from Pylus brought, is left.
SAUSAGE-SELLER Halt at those Pylian shields of yours! a lovely hold you’re lending. For if you really Demus love, what meant you by suspending Those shields with all their handles on, for action ready strapped? O Demus, there’s a dark design within those handles wrapped, And if to punish him you seek, those shields will bar the way.
SAUSAGE-SELLER You see the throng of tanner-lads he always keeps in pay, And round them dwell the folk who sell their honey and their cheeses; And these are all combined in one, to do whate’er he pleases. And if the oyster-shelling game you seem inclined to play, They’ll come by night with all their might and snatch those shields away, And then with ease will run and seize the passes of—your wheat.
DEMUS Oh, are the handles really there? You rascal, what deceit Have you so long been practising that Demus you may cheat?
PAPHLAGON Pray don’t be every speaker’s gull, nor dream you’ll ever get A better friend than I, who all conspiracies upset. Alone I crushed them all, and now, if any plots are brewing Within the town, I scent them down, and raise a grand hallooing.
SAUSAGE-SELLER O ay, you’re like the fisher-folk, the men who hunt for eels, Who when the mere is still and clear catch nothing for their creels, But when they rout the mud about and stir it up and down, ’Tis then they do; and so do you, when you perturb the town. But answer me this single thing: you sell a lot of leather,
SAUSAGE-SELLER You say you’re passionately fond of Demus,—tell me whether You’ve given a clout to patch his shoes.
DEMUS No never, I declare.
SAUSAGE-SELLER You see the sort of man he is! but I, I’ve bought a pair Of good stout shoes, and here they are, I give them you to wear.
DEMUS O worthy, patriotic gift! I really don’t suppose There ever lived a man so kind to Demus and his toes.
PAPHLAGON ’Tis shameful that a pair of shoes should have the power and might To put the favours I’ve conferred entirely out of sight, I who struck Gryttus from the lists, and stopped the boy-loves quite.
SAUSAGE-SELLER ’Tis shameful, I with truth retort, that you should love to pry Into such vile degrading crimes as that you name. And why? Because you fear ’twill make the boys for public speaking fit. But Demus, at his age, you see without a tunic sit, In winter too; and nought from you his poverty relieves, But here’s a tunic I have brought, well-lined, with double sleeves.
DEMUS O, why Themistocles himself ne’er thought of such a vest! Peiraeus was a clever thing, but yet, I do protest,
DEMUS That on the whole, between the two, I like the tunic best.
PAPHLAGON (To S.S.) Pah! would you circumvent me thus, with such an apish jest?
SAUSAGE-SELLER Nay as one guest, at supper-time, will take another’s shoes, When dire occasion calls him out, so I your methods use.
PAPHLAGON Fawn on: you won’t outdo me there, I’ll wrap him round about With this of mine. Now go and whine, you rascal.
DEMUS Pheugh! get out! (To P.’s wrapper) Go to the crows, you brute, with that disgusting smell of leather.
SAUSAGE-SELLER He did it for the purpose, Sir; to choke you altogether. He tried to do it once before: don’t you remember when A stalk of silphium sold so cheap?
DEMUS Remember? yes: what then?
SAUSAGE-SELLER Why that was his contrivance too: he managed there should be a Supply for all to buy and eat; and in the Heliaea The dicasts one and all were seized with violent diarrhoea.
DEMUS O ay, a Coprolitish man described the sad affair.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And worse and worse and worse you grew, till yellow-tailed you were.
DEMUS It must have been Pyrrhander’s trick, the fool with yellow hair.
PAPHLAGON (To S.S.) With what tomfooleries, you rogue, you harass and torment me.
SAUSAGE-SELLER Yes, ’tis with humbug I’m to win; for that the Goddess sent me.
PAPHLAGON You shall not win! O Demus dear, be idle all the day, And I’ll provide you free, to swill, a foaming bowl of—pay.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And I’ll this gallipot provide, and healing cream within it; Whereby the sores upon your shins you’ll doctor in a minute.
PAPHLAGON I’ll pick these grey hairs neatly out, and make you young and fair.
SAUSAGE-SELLER See here; this hare-scut take to wipe your darling eyes with care.
PAPHLAGON Vouchsafe to blow your nose, and clean your fingers on my hair,
SAUSAGE-SELLER No, no; on mine, on mine, on mine!
PAPHLAGON A trierarch’s office you shall fill, And by my influence I’ll prevail That you shall get, to test your skill, A battered hull with tattered sail. Your outlay and your building too On such a ship will never end; No end of work you’ll have to do, No end of cash you’ll have to spend.
CHORUS O see how foamy-full he gets. Good Heavens, he’s boiling over; stay! Some sticks beneath him draw away, Bale out a ladleful of threats.
PAPHLAGON Rare punishment for this you’ll taste; I’ll make the taxes weigh you down; Amongst the wealthiest of the town I’ll manage that your name is placed.
SAUSAGE-SELLER I will not use a single threat; I only most devoutly wish That on your brazier may be set A hissing pan of cuttle-fish; And you the Assembly must address About Miletus,—’tis a job Which, if it meets entire success, Will put a talent in your fob,— And O that ere your feast begin, The Assembly waits your friend may cry, And you, afire the fee to win And very loth to lose the fry, May strive in greedy haste to swallow The cuttles and be choked thereby.
CHORUS Good! Good! by Zeus, Demeter, and Apollo.
DEMUS Aye, and in all respects he seems to me A worthy citizen. When lived a man So good to the Many (the Many for a penny)? You, Paphlagon, pretending that you loved me, Primed me with garlic. Give me back my ring; You shall no more be steward.
PAPHLAGON Take the ring; And be you sure, if I’m no more your guardian, You’ll get, instead, a greater rogue than I.
DEMUS Bless me, this can’t be mine, this signet-ring. It’s not the same device, it seems to me; Or can’t I see?
SAUSAGE-SELLER What’s the device on yours?
DEMUS A leaf of beef-fat stuffing, roasted well.
SAUSAGE-SELLER No, that’s not here.
DEMUS What then?
SAUSAGE-SELLER A cormorant With open mouth haranguing on a rock.
DEMUS Pheugh!
SAUSAGE-SELLER What’s the matter?
DEMUS Throw the thing away. He’s got Cleonymus’s ring, not mine. Take this from me, and you be steward now.
PAPHLAGON O not yet, master, I beseech, not yet; Wait till you’ve heard my oracles, I pray.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And mine as well.
PAPHLAGON And if to his you listen, You’ll be a liquor-skin.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And if to his, You’ll find yourself severely circumcised.
PAPHLAGON Nay mine foretell that over all the land Thyself shalt rule, with roses garlanded.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And mine that crowned, in spangled purple robe, Thou in thy golden chariot shalt pursue; And sue the lady Smicythe and her lord
PAPHLAGON Well, go and fetch them hither, so that he May hear them.
SAUSAGE-SELLER Certainly; and you fetch yours.
PAPHLAGON Here goes.
SAUSAGE-SELLER Here goes, by Zeus. There’s nought to stop us,
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