Delphi Complete Works of Aristophanes (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) by Aristophanes Page A
Authors: Aristophanes
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could I express my thoughts with the pomp of
Euripides?
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! prithee, spare me! Do not pelt me with those vegetables, but find some way of leaving our master.
NICIAS. Well, then! Say “Let-us-bolt,” like this, in one breath.
DEMOSTHENES. I follow you— “Let-us-bolt.”
NICIAS. Now after “Let-us-bolt” say “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. “At-top-speed!”
NICIAS. Splendid! Just as if you were masturbating yourself; first slowly, “Let-us-bolt”; then quick and firmly, “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. Let-us-bolt, let-us-bolt-at-top-speed!
NICIAS. Hah! does that not please you?
DEMOSTHENES. I’ faith, yes! yet I fear me your omen bodes no good to my hide.
NICIAS. How so?
DEMOSTHENES. Because hard rubbing abrades the skin when folk masturbate themselves.
NICIAS. The best thing we can do for the moment is to throw ourselves at the feet of the statue of some god.
DEMOSTHENES. Of which statue? Any statue? Do you then believe there are gods?
NICIAS. Certainly.
DEMOSTHENES. What proof have you?
NICIAS. The proof that they have taken a grudge against me. Is that not enough?
DEMOSTHENES. I’m convinced it is. But to pass on. Do you consent to my telling the spectators of our troubles?
NICIAS. ’Twould not be amiss, and we might ask them to show us by their manner, whether our facts and actions are to their liking.
DEMOSTHENES. I will begin then. We have a very brutal master, a perfect glutton for beans, and most bad-tempered; ’tis Demos of the Pnyx, an intolerable old man and half deaf. The beginning of last month he bought a slave, a Paphlagonian tanner, an arrant rogue, the incarnation of calumny. This man of leather knows his old master thoroughly; he plays the fawning cur, flatters, cajoles; wheedles, and dupes him at will with little scraps of leavings, which he allows him to get. “Dear Demos,” he will say, “try a single case and you will have done enough; then take your bath, eat, swallow and devour; here are three obols.” Then the Paphlagonian filches from one of us what we have prepared and makes a present of it to our old man. T’other day I had just kneaded a Spartan cake at Pylos; the cunning rogue came behind my back, sneaked it and offered the cake, which was my invention, in his own name. He keeps us at a distance and suffers none but himself to wait upon the master; when Demos is dining, he keeps close to his side with a thong in his hand and puts the orators to flight. He keeps singing oracles to him, so that the old man now thinks of nothing but the Sibyl. Then, when he sees him thoroughly obfuscated, he uses all his cunning and piles up lies and calumnies against the household; then we are scourged and the Paphlagonian runs about among the slaves to demand contributions with threats and gathers ‘em in with both hands. He will say, “You see how I have had Hylas beaten! Either content me or die at once!” We are forced to give, for else the old man tramples on us and makes us spew forth all our body contains. There must be an end to it, friend. Let us see! what can be done? Who will get us out of this mess?
NICIAS. The best thing, chum, is our famous “Let-us-bolt!”
DEMOSTHENES. But none can escape the Paphlagonian, his eye is everywhere. And what a stride! He has one leg on Pylos and the other in the Assembly; his rump is exactly over the land of the Chaonians, his hands are with the Aetolians and his mind with the Clopidians.
NICIAS. ’Tis best then to die; but let us seek the most heroic death.
DEMOSTHENES. Let me bethink me, what is the most heroic?
NICIAS. Let us drink the blood of a bull; ’tis the death which
Themistocles chose.
DEMOSTHENES. No, not that, but a bumper of good unmixed wine in honour of the Good Genius; perchance we may stumble on a happy thought.
NICIAS. Look at him! “Unmixed wine!” Your mind is on drink intent? Can a man strike out a brilliant thought when drunk?
DEMOSTHENES. Without question. Go, ninny, blow yourself
Euripides?
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! prithee, spare me! Do not pelt me with those vegetables, but find some way of leaving our master.
NICIAS. Well, then! Say “Let-us-bolt,” like this, in one breath.
DEMOSTHENES. I follow you— “Let-us-bolt.”
NICIAS. Now after “Let-us-bolt” say “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. “At-top-speed!”
NICIAS. Splendid! Just as if you were masturbating yourself; first slowly, “Let-us-bolt”; then quick and firmly, “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. Let-us-bolt, let-us-bolt-at-top-speed!
NICIAS. Hah! does that not please you?
DEMOSTHENES. I’ faith, yes! yet I fear me your omen bodes no good to my hide.
NICIAS. How so?
DEMOSTHENES. Because hard rubbing abrades the skin when folk masturbate themselves.
NICIAS. The best thing we can do for the moment is to throw ourselves at the feet of the statue of some god.
DEMOSTHENES. Of which statue? Any statue? Do you then believe there are gods?
NICIAS. Certainly.
DEMOSTHENES. What proof have you?
NICIAS. The proof that they have taken a grudge against me. Is that not enough?
DEMOSTHENES. I’m convinced it is. But to pass on. Do you consent to my telling the spectators of our troubles?
NICIAS. ’Twould not be amiss, and we might ask them to show us by their manner, whether our facts and actions are to their liking.
DEMOSTHENES. I will begin then. We have a very brutal master, a perfect glutton for beans, and most bad-tempered; ’tis Demos of the Pnyx, an intolerable old man and half deaf. The beginning of last month he bought a slave, a Paphlagonian tanner, an arrant rogue, the incarnation of calumny. This man of leather knows his old master thoroughly; he plays the fawning cur, flatters, cajoles; wheedles, and dupes him at will with little scraps of leavings, which he allows him to get. “Dear Demos,” he will say, “try a single case and you will have done enough; then take your bath, eat, swallow and devour; here are three obols.” Then the Paphlagonian filches from one of us what we have prepared and makes a present of it to our old man. T’other day I had just kneaded a Spartan cake at Pylos; the cunning rogue came behind my back, sneaked it and offered the cake, which was my invention, in his own name. He keeps us at a distance and suffers none but himself to wait upon the master; when Demos is dining, he keeps close to his side with a thong in his hand and puts the orators to flight. He keeps singing oracles to him, so that the old man now thinks of nothing but the Sibyl. Then, when he sees him thoroughly obfuscated, he uses all his cunning and piles up lies and calumnies against the household; then we are scourged and the Paphlagonian runs about among the slaves to demand contributions with threats and gathers ‘em in with both hands. He will say, “You see how I have had Hylas beaten! Either content me or die at once!” We are forced to give, for else the old man tramples on us and makes us spew forth all our body contains. There must be an end to it, friend. Let us see! what can be done? Who will get us out of this mess?
NICIAS. The best thing, chum, is our famous “Let-us-bolt!”
DEMOSTHENES. But none can escape the Paphlagonian, his eye is everywhere. And what a stride! He has one leg on Pylos and the other in the Assembly; his rump is exactly over the land of the Chaonians, his hands are with the Aetolians and his mind with the Clopidians.
NICIAS. ’Tis best then to die; but let us seek the most heroic death.
DEMOSTHENES. Let me bethink me, what is the most heroic?
NICIAS. Let us drink the blood of a bull; ’tis the death which
Themistocles chose.
DEMOSTHENES. No, not that, but a bumper of good unmixed wine in honour of the Good Genius; perchance we may stumble on a happy thought.
NICIAS. Look at him! “Unmixed wine!” Your mind is on drink intent? Can a man strike out a brilliant thought when drunk?
DEMOSTHENES. Without question. Go, ninny, blow yourself
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