No More Learning

EPOPS. You must yourself. Before I came they were quite ignorant, but
since I have lived with them I have taught them to speak.

PISTHETAERUS. But how can they be gathered together?

EPOPS. Easily. I will hasten down to the coppice to waken my dear
Procne;[201] as soon as they hear our voices, they will come to us hot
wing.

PISTHETAERUS. My dear bird, lose no time, I beg. Fly at once into the
coppice and awaken Procne.

EPOPS. Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn gush
from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft cadence
your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[202] which has been
the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise through the
thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus, where
Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair.
And his ivory lyre
responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers the choir of the gods and
from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant of blessed voices. (_The
flute is played behind the scene. _)

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by Zeus! what a throat that little bird possesses. He
has filled the whole coppice with honey-sweet melody!

EUELPIDES. Hush!

PISTHETAERUS. What's the matter?

EUELPIDES. Will you keep silence?

PISTHETAERUS. What for?

EUELPIDES.