CHORUS OF MEN
This is not a time for slumber; now let all the bold and free, Strip to meet the great occasion, vindicate our rights with me. I can smell a deep, surprising Tide of Revolution rising, Odour as of folk devising Hippias’s tyranny. And I feel a dire misgiving, Lest some false Laconians, meeting in the house of Cleisthenes, Have inspired these wretched women all our wealth and pay to seize, Pay from whence I get my living. Gods! to hear these shallow wenches taking citizens to task, Prattling of a brassy buckler, jabbering of a martial casque! Gods! to think that they have ventured with Laconian men to deal, Men of just the faith and honour that a ravening wolf might feel! Plots they’re hatching, plots contriving, plots of rampant Tyranny; But o’er us they shan’t be Tyrants, no, for on my guard I’ll be, And I’ll dress my sword in myrtle, and with firm and dauntless hand, Here beside Aristogeiton resolutely take my stand, Marketing in arms beside him. This the time and this the place
CHORUS OF MEN When my patriot arm must deal a—blow upon that woman’s face.
CHORUS OF WOMEN Ah, your mother shall not know you, impudent! when home you go. Strip, my sisters, strip for action, on the ground your garments throw. Right it is that I my slender Tribute to the state should render, I, who to her thoughtful tender care my happiest memories owe; Bore, at seven, the mystic casket; Was, at ten, our Lady’s miller; then the yellow Brauron bear; Next (a maiden tall and stately with a string of figs to wear) Bore in pomp the holy Basket. Well may such a gracious City all my filial duty claim. What though I was born a woman, comrades, count it not for blame If I bring the wiser counsels; I an equal share confer Towards the common stock of Athens, I contribute men to her. But the noble contribution, but the olden tribute-pay, Which your fathers’ fathers left you, relic of the Median fray,
CHORUS OF WOMEN Dotards, ye have lost and wasted! nothing in its stead ye bring. Nay ourselves ye’re like to ruin, spend and waste by blundering. Murmuring are ye? Let me hear you, only let me hear you speak, And from this unpolished slipper comes a—slap upon your cheek!
CHORUS OF MEN Is not this an outrage sore? And methinks it blows not o’er, But increases more and more. Come, my comrades, hale and hearty, on the ground your mantles throw, In the odour of their manhood men to meet the fight should go, Not in these ungodly wrappers swaddled up from top to toe. On, then on, my white-foot veterans, ye who thronged Leipsydrium’s height In the days when we were Men! Shake this chill old Age from off you, Spread the wings of youth again. O these women! give them once a handle howsoever small, And they’ll soon be nought behind us in the manliest feats of all. Yea, they’ll build them fleets and navies and they’ll come across the sea, Come like Carian Artemisia fighting in their ships with me. Or they’ll turn their first attention, haply, to equestrian fights,
CHORUS OF MEN If they do, I know the issue, there’s an end of all the knights! Well a woman sticks on horseback: look around you, see, behold, Where on Micon’s living frescoes fight the Amazons of old! Shall we let these wilful women, O my brothers, do the same? Rather first their necks we’ll rivet tightly in the pillory frame.
CHORUS OF WOMEN If our smouldering fires ye wake, Soon our wildbeast wrath will break Out against you, and we’ll make, Make you howl to all your neighbours, currycombed, poor soul, and tanned. Throw aside your mantles, sisters, come, a firm determined band, In the odour of your wrathful snappish womanhood to stand. Who’ll come forth and fight me? garlic, nevermore, nor beans for him. Nay, if one sour word ye say, I’ll be like the midwife beetle, Following till the eagle lay. Yea, for you and yours I reck not whilst my Lampito survives, And my noble, dear Ismenia, loveliest of the Theban wives. Keep decreeing seven times over, not a bit of good you’ll do, Wretch abhorred of all the people and of all our neighbours too.
CHORUS OF WOMEN
So that when in Hecate’s honour yesterday I sent to get From our neighbours in Boeotia such a dainty darling pet, Just a lovely, graceful, slender, white-fleshed eel divinely tender, Thanks to your decrees, confound them, one and all refused to send her. And you’ll never stop from making these absurd decrees I know, Till I catch your leg and toss you—Zeus-ha’-mercy, there you go!
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