The Frogs | Page 7

If I'm a coward and a sneak like you.
DIO. Nay, you're the rogue from Melite's own self. And I'll pick up and
carry on the traps.
MAID. O welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart. My Lady, when
they told her, set to work, Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three
tureens Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole, Made rolls and
honey-cakes. So come along.
XAN. (Declining.) You are too kind.
MAID. I will not let you go. I will not LET you! Why, she's stewing
slices Of juicy bird's-flesh, and she's making comfits, And tempering
down her richest wine. Come, dear, Come along in.
XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her.
MAID. O you're jesting, I shall not let you off: there's such a lovely
Flute-girl all ready, and we've two or three Dancing-girls also.
XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls?
MAID. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed. Come, dear,
come in. The cook was dishing up The cutlets, and they are bringing in
the tables.
XAN. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls Of whom you spake,
I'm coming in Myself. Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me.

DIO. Hi! stop! you're not in earnest, just because I dressed you up, in
fun, as Heracles? Come, don't keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift And carry
in the traps yourself.
XAN. Why! what! You are never going to strip me of these togs You
gave me!
DIO. Going to? No, I'm doing it now. Off with that lion-skin.
XAN. Bear witness all The gods shall judge between us.
DIO. Gods indeed! Why how could you (the vain and foolish thought!)
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son?
XAN. All right then, take them; maybe, if God will, You'll soon require
my services again.
CHOR. This is the part of a dexterous clever Man with his wits about
him ever, One who has travelled the world to see; Always to shift, and
to keep through all Close to the sunny side of the wall; Not like a
pictured block to be, Standing always in one position; Nay but to veer,
with expedition, And ever to catch the favouring breeze, This is the part
of a shrewd tactician, This is to be a--THERAMENES! DIO. Truly an
exquisite joke 'twould be, Him with a dancing girl to see, Lolling at
ease on Milesian rugs; Me, like a slave, beside him standing, Aught
that he wants to his lordship handing; Then as the damsel fair he hugs,
Seeing me all on fire to embrace her, He would perchance (for there's
no man baser), Turning him round like a lazy lout, Straight on my
mouth deliver a facer, Knocking my ivory choirmen out.
HOSTESS. O Plathane! Plathane! Here's that naughty man, That's he
who got into our tavern once, And ate up sixteen loaves.
PLATHANE. O, so he is! The very man.
XAN. Bad luck for somebody!
HOS. O and, besides, those twenty bits of stew, Half-obol pieces.

XAN. Somebody's going to catch it!
HOS. That garlic too.
DIO. Woman, you're talking nonsense. You don't know what you're
saying.
HOS. O, you thought I shouldn't know you with your buskins on! Ah,
and I've not yet mentioned all that fish, No, nor the new-made cheese:
he gulped it down, Baskets and all, unlucky that we were. And when I
just alluded to the price, He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull.
XAN. Yes, that's his way: that's what he always does.
HOS. O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad.
PLA. O, that he did.
HOS. And terrified us so We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I. Then
out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.
XAN. That's his way too; but something must be done.
HOS. Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here!
PLA. O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus! We'll pay you out to-day.
HOS. O filthy throat, O how I'd like to take a stone, and hack Those
grinders out with which you chawed my wares.
PLA. I'd like to pitch you in the deadman's pit.
HOS. I'd like to get a reaping-hook and scoop That gullet out with
which you gorged my tripe. But I'll to Cleon: he'll soon serve his writs;
He'll twist it out of you to-day, he will.
DRO. Perdition seize me, if I don't love Xanthias.
XAN. Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking. I won't be

Heracles.
DRO. O, don't say so, Dear, darling Xanthias.
XAN. Why, how can I, A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son!
DRO. Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it, And if you
pummel me, I won't complain. But if I strip you of these togs again,
Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children, And, most of all,