CHORUS
You see, citizens, you see the good fortune which this man owes to
his prudence, to his profound wisdom. You see how, since he has
concluded peace, he buys what is useful in the household and good to
eat hot. All good things flow towards him unsought. Never will I welcome
the god of war in my house; never shall he chant the "Harmodius" at
my table;[1] he is a sot, who comes feasting with those who are
overflowing with good things and brings all manner of mischief at his
heels. He overthrows, ruins, rips open; 'tis vain to make him a
thousand offers, "be seated, pray, drink this cup, proffered in all
friendship," he burns our vine-stocks and brutally pours out the wine
from our vineyards
on the ground. This man, on the other hand, covers his table with
a thousand dishes; proud of his good fortunes, he has had these feathers
cast before his door to show us how he lives.
f[1] A feasting song in honour of Harmodius, the assassin of Hipparchus
the Tyrant, son of Pisistratus.
DICAEOPOLIS
Oh, Peace! companion of fair Aphrodite and of the sweet Graces,
how charming are thy features and yet I never knew it! Would that Eros
might join me to thee, Eros, crowned with roses as Zeuxis[1] shows him to
us! Perhaps I seem somewhat old to you, but I am yet able to make you a
threefold offering; despite my age I could plant a long row of vines for you;
then beside these some tender cuttings from the fig; finally a young
vine-stock, loaded with fruit and all around the field olive trees, which
would furnish us with oil, wherewith to anoint us both at the New Moons.
f[1] The celebrated painter, born in Heraclea, a contemporary
of Aristophanes.
HERALD
List, ye people! As was the custom of your forebears, empty a full
pitcher of wine at the call of the trumpet; he, who first sees the
bottom, shall get a wine-skin as round and plump as Ctesiphon's belly.
DICAEOPOLIS
Women, children, have you not heard? Faith! do you not heed the
herald? Quick! let the hares boil and roast merrily; keep them
a-turning; withdraw them from the flame; prepare the chaplets;
reach me the skewers that I may spit the thrushes.
CHORUS
I envy you your wisdom and even more your good cheer.
DICAEOPOLIS
What then will you say when you see the thrushes roasting?
CHORUS
Ah! true indeed!
DICAEOPOLIS
Slave! stir up the fire.
CHORUS
See, how he knows his business, what a perfect cook! How well
he understands the way to prepare a good dinner!
A HUSBANDMAN
Ah! woe is me!
DICAEOPOLIS
Heracles! What have we here?
HUSBANDMAN
A most miserable man.
DICAEOPOLIS
Keep your misery for yourself.
HUSBANDMAN
Ah! friend! since you alone are enjoying peace, grant me a part
of your truce, were it but five years.
DICAEOPOLIS
What has happened to you?
HUSBANDMAN
I am ruined; I have lost a pair of steers.
DICAEOPOLIS
How?
HUSBANDMAN
The Boeotians seized them at Phyle.[1]
f[1] A deme and frontier fortress of Attica, near the Boeotian border.
DICAEOPOLIS
Ah! poor wretch! and yet you have not left off white?
HUSBANDMAN
Their dung made my wealth.
DICAEOPOLIS
What can I do in the matter?
HUSBANDMAN
Crying for my beasts has lost me my eyesight. Ah! if you care for poor
Dercetes of Phyle, anoint mine eyes quickly with your balm of peace.
DICAEOPOLIS
But, my poor fellow, I do not practise medicine.
HUSBANDMAN
Come, I adjure you; perhaps I shall recover my steers.
DICAEOPOLIS
'Tis impossible; away, go and whine to the disciples of Pittalus.[1]
f[1] An Athenian physician of the day.
HUSBANDMAN
Grant me but one drop of peace; pour it into this reedlet.
DICAEOPOLIS
No, not a particle; go a-weeping elsewhere.
HUSBANDMAN
Oh! oh! oh! my poor beasts!
CHORUS
This man has discovered the sweetest enjoyment in peace; he will share it
with none.
DICAEOPOLIS
Pour honey over this tripe; set it before the fire to dry.
CHORUS
What lofty tones he uses! Did you hear him?
DICAEOPOLIS
Get the eels on the gridiron!
CHORUS
You are killing me with hunger; your smoke is choking your
neighbours, and you split our ears with your bawling.
DICAEOPOLIS
Have this fried and let it be nicely browned.
A BRIDESMAID
Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis!
DICAEOPOLIS
Who are you?
BRIDESMAID
A young bridegroom sends you these viands from the marriage feast.
DICAEOPOLIS
Whoever he be, I thank him.
BRIDESMAID
And in return, he prays you to pour a glass of peace into this vase,
that he may not have to go to the front and may stay at home
to do his duty to his young wife.
DICAEOPOLIS
Take back, take back your viands; for a thousand drachmae I
would not give a drop of peace; but who are you, pray?
BRIDESMAID
I am the bridesmaid; she wants to say something to you
from the bride privately.
DICAEOPOLIS
Come, what do you wish to say? (THE BRIDESMAID WHISPERS IN
HIS EAR.) Ah! what a ridiculous demand! The bride burns with longing
to keep by her her husband's weapon. Come! \bring hither my truce; to
her alone will I give some of it, for she is a woman, and, as such,
should not suffer under the war. Here, friend, reach hither your vial.
And as to the manner of applying this balm, tell the bride, when a
levy of soldiers is made to rub some in bed on her husband, where
most needed. There, slave, take away my truce! Now, quick, bring me
the wine-flagon, that I may fill up the drinking bowls!
CHORUS
I see a man, striding along apace, with knitted brows; he seems
to us the bearer of terrible tidings.
HERALD
Oh! toils and battles, 'tis Lamachus!
LAMACHUS
What noise resounds around my dwelling, where shines the glint
of arms.
HERALD
The Generals order you forthwith to take your battalions and
your plumes, and, despite the snow, to go and guard our borders.
They have learnt that a band of Boeotians intend taking advantage
of the Feast of Cups to invade our country.
LAMACHUS
Ah! the Generals! they are numerous, but not good for much!
It's cruel, not to be able to enjoy the feast!
DICAEOPOLIS
Oh! warlike host of Lamachus!
LAMACHUS
Wretch! do you dare to jeer me?
DICAEOPOLIS
Do you want to fight this four-winged Geryon?
LAMACHUS
Oh! oh! what fearful tidings!
DICAEOPOLIS
Ah! ah! I see another herald running up; what news does he bring me?
HERALD
Dicaeopolis!
DICAEOPOLIS
What is the matter?
HERALD
Come quickly to the feast and bring your basket and your cup;
'tis the priest of Bacchus who invites you. But hasten, the guests
have been waiting for you a long while. All is ready--couches,
tables, cushions, chaplets, perfumes, dainties and courtesans to boot;
biscuits, cakes, sesame-bread, tarts, lovely dancing women, the sweetest
charm of the festivity. But come with all haste.
LAMACHUS
Oh! hostile gods!
DICAEOPOLIS
This is not astounding; you have chosen this huge, great ugly Gorgon's head
for your patron. You, shut the door, and let someone get ready the meal.
LAMACHUS
Slave! slave! my knapsack!
DICAEOPOLIS
Slave! slave! a basket!
LAMACHUS
Take salt and thyme, slave, and don't forget the onions.
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