CHORUS
Often have I deemed myself exceeding bright, acute, and clever, Dull, obtuse, and awkward never. That is what Amynias is, of Curling-borough, Sellus’ son;
CHORUS
Him who now upon an apple and pomegranate dines, I saw At Leogoras’s table Eat as hard as he was able, Goodness, what a hungry maw! Pinched and keen as Antiphon. Once he travelled to Pharsalus, our ambassador to be, There a solitary guest, he Stayed with only the Penestae, Coming from the tribe himself, the kindred tribe, of Penury. Fortunate Automenes, we envy your felicity; Every son of yours is of an infinite dexterity: First the Harper, known to all, and loved of all excessively, Grace and wit attend his steps, and elegant festivity, Next the Actor, shrewd of wit beyond all credibility: Last of all Ariphrades, that soul of ingenuity, He who of his native wit, with rare originality, Hit upon an undiscovered trick of bestiality: All alone, the father tells us, striking out a novel line. Some there are who said that I was reconciled in amity, When upon me Cleon pressed, and made me smart with injury, Currying and tanning me: then as the stripes fell heavily Th’ outsiders laughed to see the sport, and hear me squalling lustily, Caring not a whit for me, but only looking merrily, To know if squeezed and pressed I chanced to drop some small buffoonery.
CHORUS Seeing this, I played the ape a little bit undoubtedly. So then, after all, the Vine-pole proved unfaithful to the Vine.
XANTHIAS O lucky tortoises, to have such skins, Thrice lucky for the case upon your ribs: How well and cunningly your backs are roofed With tiling strong enough to keep out blows: Whilst I, I’m cudgelled and tattooed to death.
CHORUS How now, my boy? for though a man be old, Still, if he’s beaten, we may call him boy.
XANTHIAS Was not the old man the most outrageous nuisance, Much the most drunk and riotous of all? And yet we’d Lycon, Antiphon, Hippyllus, Lysistratus, Theophrastus, Phrynichus; But he was far the noisiest of the lot. Soon as he’d gorged his fill of the good cheer, He skipped, he leapt, and laughed, and frisked, and whinnied, Just like a donkey on a feed of corn: And slapped me youthfully, calling Boy! Boy! So then Lysistratus compared him thus: Old man, says he, you’re like new wine fermenting, Or like a sompnour, scampering to its bran. But he shrieked back, And you, you’re like a locust That has just shed the lappets of its cloak, Or Sthenelus, shorn of his goods and chattels. At this all clapped, save Theophrast; but he Made a wry face, being forsooth a wit.
XANTHIAS
And pray, the old man asked him, what makes you Give yourself airs, and think yourself so grand, You grinning flatterer of the well-to-do? Thus he kept bantering every guest in turn, Making rude jokes, and telling idle tales, In clownish fashion, relevant to nothing. At last, well drunk, homeward he turns once more, Aiming a blow at every one he meets. Ah! here he’s coming; stumbling, staggering on. Methinks I’ll vanish ere I’m slapped again.
Cite This Text