CHORUS. Oh! sovereign ostrich, Cybele, the mother of Cleocritus,[282]

grant health and safety to the Nephelococcygians as well as to the dwellers in Chios....

PISTHETAERUS. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be thus mentioned on all occasions.[283]

CHORUS. ... to the heroes, the birds, to the sons of heroes, to the porphyrion, the pelican, the spoon-bill, the redbreast, the grouse, the peac.o.c.k, the horned-owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy petrel, the fig-p.e.c.k.e.r, the t.i.tmouse....

PISTHETAERUS. Stop! stop! you drive me crazy with your endless list. Why, wretch, to what sacred feast are you inviting the vultures and the sea-eagles? Don't you see that a single kite could easily carry off the lot at once? Begone, you and your fillets and all; I shall know how to complete the sacrifice by myself.

PRIEST. It is imperative that I sing another sacred chant for the rite of the l.u.s.tral water, and that I invoke the immortals, or at least one of them, provided always that you have some suitable food to offer him; from what I see here, in the shape of gifts, there is naught whatever but horn and hair.

PISTHETAERUS. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged G.o.ds.

A POET. Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns.

PISTHETAERUS. What have we here? Where do you come from, tell me? Who are you?

POET. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of the Muses, as Homer has it.

PISTHETAERUS. You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long?

POET. No, but the fact is all we poets are the a.s.siduous slaves of the Muses according to Homer.

PISTHETAERUS. In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal!

But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?

POET. I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host of splendid dithyrambs and parthenians,[284] worthy of Simonides himself.

PISTHETAERUS. And when did you compose them? How long since?

POET. Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of this city.

PISTHETAERUS. But I am only celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice;[285] I have only just named it, as is done with little babies.

POET. "Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou n.o.ble founder of the town of Aetna,[286] thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,[287] make us such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest."

PISTHETAERUS. He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some present. Here! you, who have a fur as well as your tunic, take it off and give it to this clever poet. Come, take this fur; you look to me to be shivering with cold.

POET. My Muse will gladly accept this gift; but engrave these verses of Pindar's on your mind.

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! what a pest! 'Tis impossible then to be rid of him.

POET. "Straton wanders among the Scythian nomads, but has no linen garment. He is sad at only wearing an animal's pelt and no tunic." Do you conceive my bent?

PISTHETAERUS. I understand that you want me to offer you a tunic. Hi! you (_to Euelpides_), take off yours; we must help the poet.... Come, you, take it and begone.

POET. I am going, and these are the verses that I address to this city: "Phoebus of the golden throne, celebrate this shivery, freezing city; I have travelled through fruitful and snow-covered plains. Tralala!

Tralala!"[288]

PISTHETAERUS. What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic, you no longer fear them. Ah! by Zeus! I could not have believed this cursed fellow could so soon have learnt the way to our city. Come, priest, take the l.u.s.tral water and circle the altar.

PRIEST. Let all keep silence!

A PROPHET. Let not the goat be sacrificed.[289]

PISTHETAERUS. Who are you?

PROPHET. Who am I? A prophet.

PISTHETAERUS. Get you gone.

PROPHET. Wretched man, insult not sacred things. For there is an oracle of Bacis, which exactly applies to Nephelococcygia.

PISTHETAERUS. Why did you not reveal it to me before I founded my city?

PROPHET. The divine spirit was against it.

PISTHETAERUS. Well, 'tis best to know the terms of the oracle.

PROPHET. "But when the wolves and the white crows shall dwell together between Corinth and Sicyon...."[290]

PISTHETAERUS. But how do the Corinthians concern me?

PROPHET. 'Tis the regions of the air that Bacis indicated in this manner.

"They must first sacrifice a white-fleeced goat to Pandora, and give the prophet, who first reveals my words, a good cloak and new sandals."

PISTHETAERUS. Are the sandals there?

PROPHET.

Read. "And besides this a goblet of wine and a good share of the entrails of the victim."

PISTHETAERUS. Of the entrails--is it so written?

PROPHET. Read. "If you do as I command, divine youth, you shall be an eagle among the clouds; if not, you shall be neither turtle-dove, nor eagle, nor woodp.e.c.k.e.r."

PISTHETAERUS. Is all that there?

PROPHET. Read.

PISTHETAERUS. This oracle in no sort of way resembles the one Apollo dictated to me: "If an impostor comes without invitation to annoy you during the sacrifice and to demand a share of the victim, apply a stout stick to his ribs."

PROPHET. You are drivelling.

PISTHETAERUS. "And don't spare him, were he an eagle from out of the clouds, were it Lampon himself[291] or the great Diopithes."[292]

PROPHET. Is all that there?

PISTHETAERUS. Here, read it yourself, and go and hang yourself.