WAR O mortals! mortals! wondrous-woeful mortals! How ye will suffer in your jaws directly!
TRYGAEUS O King Apollo, what a great big mortar! Oh the mere look of War how bad it is! Is this the actual War from whom we flee, The dread tough War, the War upon the legs?
WAR (Throwing in leeks.) O Prasiae! O thrice wretched, five times wretched, And tens of times, how you’ll be crushed to-day!
TRYGAEUS Friends, this as yet is no concern of ours, This is a blow for the Laconian side.
WAR (Throwing in garlic.) O Megara! Megara! in another moment, How you’ll be worn, and torn, and ground to salad!
TRYGAEUS Good gracious! O what heavy, bitter tears He has thrown in to mix for Megara.
WAR (Throwing in cheese.) O Sicily! and you’ll be ruined too.
TRYGAEUS Ah, how that hapless state will soon be grated!
WAR And now I’ll pour some Attic honey in.
TRYGAEUS Hey, there, I warn you, use some other honey: Be sparing of the Attic; that costs sixpence.
WAR Ho, boy! boy! Riot!
RIOT What’s your will?
WAR You’ll catch it, You rascal, standing idle there! take that!
RIOT Ugh how it stings. O me! O me! why, master, Sure you’ve not primed your knuckles with the garlic?
WAR Run in and get a pestle.
RIOT We’ve not got one; We only moved in yesterday, you know.
WAR Then run at once and borrow one from Athens.
RIOT I’ll run by Zeus; or else I’m sure to catch it.
TRYGAEUS What’s to be done, my poor dear mortals, now? Just see how terrible our danger is: For if that varlet bring a pestle back, War will sit down and pulverize our cities. Heavens! may he perish, and not bring one back.
RIOT You there!
WAR What! Don’t you bring it?
RIOT Just look here, sir: The pestle the Athenians had is lost, The tanner fellow that disturbed all Hellas.
TRYGAEUS O well done he, Athené, mighty mistress; Well is he lost, and for the state’s advantage, Before they’ve mixed us up this bitter salad.
WAR Then run away and fetch from Lacedaemon Another pestle.
RIOT Yes, sir.
WAR Don’t be long.
TRYGAEUS Now is the crisis of our fate, my friends. And if there’s here a man initiate In Samothrace, ’tis now the hour to pray
TRYGAEUS For the averting of—the varlet’s feet.
RIOT Alas! alas! and yet again, alas!
WAR What ails you? don’t you bring one now?
RIOT Oh Sir, The Spartans too have lost their pestle now.
WAR How so, you rascal?
RIOT Why, they lent it out To friends up Thraceward, and they lost it there.
TRYGAEUS And well done they! well done! Twin sons of Zeus! Take courage, mortals: all may yet be well.
WAR Pick up the things, and carry them away; I’ll go within and make myself a pestle.
TRYGAEUS Now may I sing the ode that Datis made, The ode he sang in ecstasy at noon, “Eh, sirs, I’m pleased, and joyed, and comforted.” Now, men of Hellas, now the hour has come To throw away our troubles and our wars, And, ere another pestle rise to stop us, To pull out Peace, the joy of all mankind.
TRYGAEUS
O all ye farmers, merchants, artisans, O all ye craftsmen, aliens, sojourners, O all ye islanders, O all ye peoples, Come with ropes, and spades, and crowbars, come in eager hurrying haste,
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