PHILOCLEON
(Appearing above) Long my reins have been stirred, Long through chinks have I heard,
PHILOCLEON Heard your voices below. Vain my efforts to sing, These forbid me to go. Vainly my sad heart yearns, Yearns to be marching with you, On to the judgement urns, There some mischief to do. O change to smoke by a lightning stroke, Dread-thundering Zeus! this body of mine, Till I’m like Proxenides, like the son Of Sellus, that false tree-vine. O Sovereign, pity my woeful lot, Vouchsafe to grant me my heart’s desire, Fry me in dust with a glittering, hot, Red bolt of celestial fire, Then take me up with thy hand divine, And puff me, and plunge me in scalding brine. Or turn me into the stone, whereon They count the votes when the trial is done.
CHORUS Who is he that thus detains you? Who with bolted door restrains you? Tell us, you will speak to friends.
PHILOCLEON ’Tis my son, but don’t be bawling: for he’s slumbering now at ease There, upon the roof before you: drop your tone a little, please.
CHORUS What’s his object, idle trifler, that he does such things as these? What’s the motive he pretends?
PHILOCLEON He will let me do no mischief, and no more a lawsuit try. True it is he’ll feast and pet me, but with that I won’t comply.
CHORUS This the Demagogcleon blared Out against you, since you dared Truth about the fleet to show. He must be involved, I see, In some dark conspiracy, Else he durst not use you so. It is time some means of escape to find, some novel, ingenious plan, that so, Unseen of your son, you may get you down, alighting in safety here below.
PHILOCLEON O what shall it be? consider it ye! I’m ready to do whatever is planned: So sorely I’m longing a circuit to go, through the lists of the Court, with a vote in my hand.
CHORUS Can you find no cranny or secret run, through which, from within, your path to urge, And then like wily Odysseus, here, disguised in tatters and rags, emerge?
PHILOCLEON Each cranny is barred: there’s never a run, thro’ which though it were but a midge could squeeze. You must think, if you can, of a likelier plan: I can’t run out like a runnet cheese.
CHORUS O don’t you remember the old campaign, when you stole the spit, and let yourself down, And away by the side of the wall you hied? ’Twas when we had captured Naxos town.
PHILOCLEON Ah, well I remember! but what of that? it is quite another affair to-day. For then I was young, and then I could steal, and over myself I possessed full sway. And then none guarded my steps, but I
PHILOCLEON Was free, wherever I chose, to fly; Whilst now, in every alley and street, Armed men with arms are stationed about, Watching with care that I steal not out. And there at the gate you may see those two Waiting with spits to spit me through, Like a cat that is running away with the meat.
CHORUS Well but now be quickly shaping Some contrivance for escaping; Morning breaks, my honey-bee.
PHILOCLEON Then the best that I can think of, is to gnaw these meshes through. May Dictynna, queen of hunters, pardon me the deed I do.
CHORUS Spoken like a man whose efforts will salvation’s goal ensue. Ply your jaw then lustily.
PHILOCLEON There, I’ve gnawn them through completely—Ah! but do not raise a shout, We must use the greatest caution, lest Bdelycleon find us out.
CHORUS Fear not: fear not: if he speak, He shall gnaw his heart, and seek For his life to run amain. We will quickly make him learn Nevermore again to spurn Th’ holy statutes of the Twain.” So now to the window lash the cord, and twine it securely your limbs around. With all Diopeithes fill your soul, then let yourself cleverly down to the ground.
PHILOCLEON But suppose they catch me suspended here, and hoist me up by the line again, And angle me into the house once more, say what ye will do to deliver me then.
CHORUS Our hearts of oak we’ll summon to aid, and all give battle at once for you. ’Twere vain to attempt to detain you more: such wonderful feats we are going to do.
PHILOCLEON This then will I do, confiding in you: and if anything happens to me, I implore That you take me up and bewail my fate, and bury me under the court-house floor.
CHORUS O nothing, nothing will happen to you: keep up, old comrade, your heart and hope; First breathe a prayer to your father’s gods: then let yourself down by the trusty rope.
PHILOCLEON ’O Lycus, neighbour and hero and lord! thou lovest the selfsame pleasures as I; Day after day we both enjoy the suppliant’s tears and his wailing cry. Thou camest here thine abode to fix, on purpose to listen to sounds so sweet, The only hero of all that deigns by the mourner’s side to assume his seat: O pity thine old familiar friend: O save me and succour me, Power Divine! And never again will I do my needs by the osier matting that guards thy shrine.
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