And now I summon and
challenge
my rivals.
Aristophanes
XANTHIAS. Oh! oh! have a care he does not kick you.
PHILOCLEON. His leg kicks out sky-high, and his arse gapes open. [167]
XANTHIAS. Do have a care.
PHILOCLEON. Look how easily my leg-joints move.
BDELYCLEON. Great gods! What does all this mean? Is it actual, downright
madness?
PHILOCLEON.
And now I summon and challenge my rivals. If there be a
tragic poet who pretends to be a skilful dancer, let him come and contest
the matter with me. Is there one? Is there _not_ one?
BDELYCLEON. Here comes one, and one only.
PHILOCLEON. Who is the wretch?
BDELYCLEON. 'Tis the younger son of Carcinus. [168]
PHILOCLEON. I will crush him to nothing; in point of keeping time, I will
knock him out, for he knows nothing of rhythm.
BDELYCLEON. Ah! ah! here comes his brother too, another tragedian, and
another son of Carcinus.
