CHORUS OF MEN
On, sure and slow, my Draces, go: though that great log you’re bringing Of olive green, is sore, I ween, your poor old shoulder wringing. O dear, how many things in life belie one’s expectations! Since who’d have thought, my Strymodore, that these abominations, Who would have thought that sluts like these, Our household pests, would have waxed so bold, As the Holy Image by fraud to seize,
CHORUS OF MEN
As the City Castle by force to hold, With block and bolt and barrier vast, Making the Propylaea fast. Press on, Philurgus, towards the heights; we’ll pile a great amazing Array of logs around the walls, and set them all a-blazing: And as for these conspirators, a bonfire huge we’ll make them, One vote shall doom the whole to death, one funeral pyre shall take them, And thus we’ll burn the brood accurst, but Lycon’s wife we’ll burn the first. No, never, never, whilst I live, shall woman-folk deride me: Not scatheless went Cleomenes, when he like this defied me, And dared my castle to seize: yet He, A Spartan breathing contempt and pride, Full soon surrendered his arms to me, And a scanty coat round his loins he tied, And with unwashed limbs, and with unkempt head, And with six years’ dirt, the intruder fled; So strict and stern a watch around my mates and I were keeping, In seventeen rows of serried shields before the fortress sleeping. And THESE, whom both Euripides and all the Powers on high Alike detest, shall these, shall these, my manly rage defy? Then never be my Trophy shown, on those red plains of Marathon! But over this snubby protruding steep
CHORUS OF MEN
Ere we reach our goal at the Castle keep, We’ve still, with our burdensome load, to creep. And how to manage that blunt incline Without a donkey, I can’t divine. Dear, how these two great firelogs make my wearied shoulders toil and ache. But still right onward we needs must go, And still the cinders we needs must blow, Else we’ll find the fire extinguished, ere we reach our journey’s end. Puff! Puff! Puff! O the smoke! the smoke! O royal Heracles! what a lot Of fire came raging out of the pot, And flew, like a dog, at my eyes, red hot. ’Twas a jet from the Lemnian mines, I ween, It came so fierce, and it bit so keen, And worried, with persistence sore, my two poor eyes, inflamed before. On, Laches, on! to the castle press, And aid the God in her dire distress; Surely, if we e’er would help her, now’s the very time, my friend. Puff! Puff! Puff! O the smoke! the smoke! Thank heaven the fire is still alight, and burning beautifully bright. So here we’ll lay our burdens down, with eager hearts delighted, And dip the vine-torch in the pot, and get it there ignited. Then all together at the gates like battering rams we’ll butt.
CHORUS OF MEN And if our summons they reject, and keep the barriers shut, We’ll burn the very doors with fire, and them with smoke we’ll smother. So lay the burdens down. Pheugh! Pheugh! O how this smoke does bother! What general from the Samian lines an active hand will lend us? Well, well, I’m glad my back is freed from all that weight tremendous. O pot, ’tis now your turn to help: O send a livelier jet Of flame this way, that I to-day the earliest light may get. O Victory, immortal Queen, assist us Thou in rearing A trophy o’er these woman-hosts, so bold and domineering.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Redly up in the sky the flames are beginning to flicker, Smoke and vapour of fire! come quicker, my friends, come quicker. Fly, Nicodice, fly, Else will Calyce burn, Else Critylla will die, Slain by the laws so stern, Slain by the old men’s hate. Ah, but I fear! I fear! can it chance that I come too late? Trouble it was, forsooth, before my jug I could fill, All in the dusk of the morn, at the spring by the side of the hill,
CHORUS OF WOMEN What with the clatter of pitchers, The noise and press of the throng, Jostling with knaves and slaves, Till at last I snatched it along, Abundance of water supplying To friends who are burning and dying. Yea, for hither, they state, Dotards are dragging, to burn us, Logs of enormous weight, Fit for a bath-room furnace, Vowing to roast and to slay Sternly the reprobate women. O Lady, O Goddess, I pray, Ne’er may I see them in flames! I hope to behold them with gladness, Hellas and Athens redeeming from battle and murder and madness. This is the cause why they venture, Lady, thy mansions to hold, Tritogeneia, Eternal Champion with helmet of gold! And O, if with fire men invade them, O help us with water to aid them. Stop! easy all! what have we here? (To the men) You vile, abandoned crew, No good and virtuous men, I’m sure, would act in the way you do.
CHORUS OF MEN Hey, here’s an unexpected sight! hey, here’s a demonstration! A swarm of women issuing out with warlike preparation!
CHORUS OF WOMEN Hallo, you seem a little moved! does this one troop affright you?
CHORUS OF WOMEN You see not yet the myriadth part of those prepared to fight you.
CHORUS OF MEN Now, really, Phaedrias, shall we stop to hear such odious treason? Let’s break our sticks about their backs, let’s beat the jades to reason.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Hi, sisters, set the pitchers down, and then they won’t embarrass Our nimble fingers, if the rogues attempt our ranks to harass.
CHORUS OF MEN I warrant, now, if twice or thrice we slap their faces neatly, That they will learn, like Bupalus, to hold their tongues discreetly.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Well, here’s my face: I won’t draw back: now slap it if you dare, And I won’t leave one ounce of you for other dogs to tear.
CHORUS OF MEN Keep still, or else your musty Age to very shreds I’ll batter.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Now only touch Stratyllis, sir; just lift one finger at her!
CHORUS OF MEN And what if with these fists, my love, I pound the wench to shivers?
CHORUS OF WOMEN By Heaven, we’ll gnaw your entrails out, and rip away your livers.
CHORUS OF MEN There is not, than Euripides, a bard more wise and knowing, For women ARE a shameless set, the vilest creatures going.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Pick up again, Rhodippe dear, your jug with water brimming.
CHORUS OF MEN What made you bring that water here, you God-detested women?
CHORUS OF WOMEN What made you bring that light, old Tomb? to set yourselves afire?
CHORUS OF MEN No, but to kindle for your friends a mighty funeral pyre.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Well, then, we brought this water here to put your bonfire out, sirs.
CHORUS OF MEN You put our bonfire out, indeed!
CHORUS OF WOMEN You’ll see, beyond a doubt, sirs.
CHORUS OF MEN I swear that with this torch, offhand, I’ve half a mind to fry you.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Got any soap, my lad? if so, a bath I’ll soon supply you.
CHORUS OF MEN A bath for me, you mouldy hag!
CHORUS OF WOMEN And that a bride-bath, too.
CHORUS OF MEN Zounds, did you hear her impudence?
CHORUS OF WOMEN Ain’t I freeborn as you?
CHORUS OF MEN I’ll quickly put a stop to this.
CHORUS OF WOMEN You’ll judge no more, I vow!
CHORUS OF MEN Hi! set the vixen’s hair on fire.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Now, Achelous, now!
CHORUS OF MEN Good gracious!
CHORUS OF WOMEN What! you find it hot?
CHORUS OF MEN Hot? murder! stop! be quiet!
CHORUS OF WOMEN I’m watering you, to make you grow.
CHORUS OF MEN I wither up from shivering so.
CHORUS OF WOMEN I tell you what: a fire you’ve got, So warm your members by it.
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