AESCH. Not so, by Zeus; he never ceased to be. No sooner born, than they exposed the babe (And that in winter), in an earthen crock, lest he should grow a man, and slay his father. Then with both ankles pierced and swoln, he limped away to Polybus: still young, he married an ancient crone, and her his mother too. Then scratched out both his eyes.

DIO. Happy indeed had he been Erasinides's colleague!

EUR. Nonsense; I say my prologues are first rate.

AESCH. Nay then, by Zeus, no longer line by line I'll maul your phrases: but with heaven to aid I'll smash your prologues with a bottle of oil.

EUR. You mine with a bottle of oil?

AESCH. With only one. You frame your prologues so that each and all Fit in with a "bottle of oil," or "coverlet-skin," Or "reticule-bag."

I'll prove it here, and now.

EUR. You'll prove it? You?

AESCH. I will.

DIO. Well then, begin.

EUR. 'Aegyptus, sailing with his fifty sons, As ancient legends mostly tell the tale, Touching at Argos,

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

EUR. Hang it, what's that? Confound that bottle of oil!

DIO. Give him another: let him try again.

EUR. Bacchus, who, clad in fawnskins, leaps and bounds With torch and thyrsus in the choral dance Along Parna.s.sus.

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

DIO. Ah me, we are stricken-with that bottle again!

EUR. Pooh, pooh, that's nothing. I've a prologue here, He'll never tack his bottle of oil to this: No man is blest in every single thing. One is of n.o.ble birth, but lacking means. Another, baseborn,

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

DIO. Euripides!

EUR. Well?

DIO. Lower your sails, my boy; This bottle of oil is going to blow a gale.

EUR. O, by Demeter, I don't care one bit; Now from his hands I'll strike that bottle of oil.

DIO. Go on then, go; but ware the bottle of oil.

EUR. Once Cadmus, quitting the Sidonian town, Agenor's offspring

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

DIO. O pray, my man, buy off that bottle of oil, Or else he'll smash our prologues all to bits.

EUR. I buy of him?

DIO. If my advice you'll take.

EUR. No, no, I've many a prologue yet to say, To which he can't tack on his bottle of oil. Pelops, the son of Tantalus, while driving His mares to Pisa

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

DIO. There! he tacked on the bottle of oil again. O for heaven's sake, pay him its price, dear boy; You'll get it for an obol, spick and span.

EUR. Not yet, by Zeus; I've plenty of prologues left. Oeneus once reaping

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

EUR. Pray let me finish one entire line first. Oeneus once reaping an abundant harvest, Offering the firstfruits

AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil.

DIO. What in the act of offering? Fie! Who stole it?

EUR. O don't keep bothering! Let him try with this! Zeus, as by Truth's own voice the tale is told, DIO. No, he'll cut in with "Lost his bottle of oil!"

Those bottles of oil on all your prologues seem To gather and grow, like styes upon the eye.

Turn to his melodies now for goodness' sake.

EUR. O I can easily show that he's a poor Melody-maker; makes them all alike.

CHOR. What, O what will be done!

Strange to think that he dare Blame the bard who has won, More than all in our days, Fame and praise for his lays, Lays so many and fair.

Much I marvel to hear What the charge he will bring 'Gainst our tragedy king; Yea for himself do I fear.

EUR. Wonderful lays! O yes, you'll see directly. I'll cut down all his metrical strains to one.

DIO. And I, I'll take some pebbles, and keep count.

(A slight pause, during which the music of a flute is heard. The music continues to the end of line 1277 as an accompaniment to the recitative.)

EUR. Lord of Phthia, Achilles, why hearing the voice of the hero-dividing. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? We, by the lake who abide, are adoring our ancestor Hermes. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?

DIO. O Aeschylus, twice art thou smitten!

EUR. Hearken to me, great king; yea, hearken Atreides, thou n.o.blest of all the Achaeans. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?

DIO. Thrice, Aeschylus, thrice art thou smitten!

EUR. Hush! the bee-wardens are here: they will quickly the Temple of Artemis open. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? I will expound (for I know it) the omen the chieftains encountered. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?

DIO. O Zeus and King, the terrible lot of smitings! I'll to the bath: I'm very sure my kidneys Are quite inflamed and swoln with all these smitings.

EUR. Wait till you've heard another batch of lays Culled from his lyre-accompanied melodies.

DIO. Go on then, go: but no more smitings, please.

EUR. How the twin-throned powers of Achaea, the lords of the mighty h.e.l.lenes.

O phlattothrattophlattothrat!