The Frogs | Page 7

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, that blear-eyed Archedemus.
XAN. That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.
CHOR. Now that at last you appear once more, Wearing the garb that at first you wore, Wielding the club and the tawny skin, Now it is yours to be up and doing, Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing, Mindful of him whose guise you are in. If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you Suffer a word of alarm to escape you, Showing yourself but a feckless knave, Then will your master at once undrape you, Then you'll again be the toiling slave.
XAN. There, I admit, you have given to me a Capital hint, and the like idea, Friends, had occurred to myself before. Truly if anything good befell He would be wanting, I know full well, Wanting to take to the togs once more. Nevertheless, while in these I'm vested, Ne'er shall you find me craven-crested, No, for a dittany look I'll wear, Aye and methinks it will soon be tested, Hark! how the portals are rustling there.
AEAC. Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him, Drag him to justice!
DIO. Somebody's going to catch it.
XAN. (Striking out.) Hands off! get away! stand back!
ABAC. Eh? You're for fighting. Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas, Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave.
DIO. Now isn't it a shame the man should strike And he a thief besides?
AEAC. A monstrous shame!
DIO. A regular burning shame!
XAN. By the Lord Zeus, If ever I was here before, if ever I stole one hair's-worth from you, let me die! And now I'll make you a right noble offer, Arrest my lad: torture him as you will, And if you find I'm guilty, take and kill me.
AEAC. Torture him, how?
XAN. In any mode you please. Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid: Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge Of prickly bristles: only not with this, A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek.
AEAC. A fair proposal. If I strike too hard And maim the boy, I'll make you compensation.
XAN. I shan't require it. Take him out and flog him.
ABAC. Nay, but I'll do it here before your eyes. Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak The truth,