Now ask the
husbandmen
to be off.
Aristophanes
.
.
.
of ivy, of straining-bags for wine, of bleating ewes, of
provision-laden women hastening to the kitchen, of the tipsy servant
wench, of the upturned wine-jar, and of a whole heap of other good
things.
HERMES. Then look how the reconciled towns chat pleasantly together, how
they laugh; and yet they are all cruelly mishandled; their wounds are
bleeding still.
TRYGAEUS. But let us also scan the mien of the spectators; we shall thus
find out the trade of each.
HERMES. Ah! good gods! look at that poor crest-maker, tearing at his
hair,[309] and at that pike-maker, who has just broken wind in yon
sword-cutler's face.
TRYGAEUS. And do you see with what pleasure this sickle-maker is making
long noses at the spear-maker?
HERMES.
Now ask the husbandmen to be off.
TRYGAEUS. Listen, good folk! Let the husbandmen take their farming tools
and return to their fields as quick as possible, but without either
sword, spear or javelin. All is as quiet as if Peace had been reigning
for a century. Come, let everyone go till the earth, singing the Paean.
CHORUS. Oh, thou, whom men of standing desired and who art good to
husbandmen, I have gazed upon thee with delight; and now I go to greet my
vines, to caress after so long an absence the fig trees I planted in my
youth.
TRYGAEUS. Friends, let us first adore the goddess, who has delivered us
from crests and Gorgons;[310] then let us hurry to our farms, having
first bought a nice little piece of salt fish to eat in the fields.
HERMES. By Posidon! what a fine crew they make and dense as the crust of
a cake; they are as nimble as guests on their way to a feast.
TRYGAEUS. See, how their iron spades glitter and how beautifully their
three-pronged mattocks glisten in the sun! How regularly they will align
the plants!
provision-laden women hastening to the kitchen, of the tipsy servant
wench, of the upturned wine-jar, and of a whole heap of other good
things.
HERMES. Then look how the reconciled towns chat pleasantly together, how
they laugh; and yet they are all cruelly mishandled; their wounds are
bleeding still.
TRYGAEUS. But let us also scan the mien of the spectators; we shall thus
find out the trade of each.
HERMES. Ah! good gods! look at that poor crest-maker, tearing at his
hair,[309] and at that pike-maker, who has just broken wind in yon
sword-cutler's face.
TRYGAEUS. And do you see with what pleasure this sickle-maker is making
long noses at the spear-maker?
HERMES.
Now ask the husbandmen to be off.
TRYGAEUS. Listen, good folk! Let the husbandmen take their farming tools
and return to their fields as quick as possible, but without either
sword, spear or javelin. All is as quiet as if Peace had been reigning
for a century. Come, let everyone go till the earth, singing the Paean.
CHORUS. Oh, thou, whom men of standing desired and who art good to
husbandmen, I have gazed upon thee with delight; and now I go to greet my
vines, to caress after so long an absence the fig trees I planted in my
youth.
TRYGAEUS. Friends, let us first adore the goddess, who has delivered us
from crests and Gorgons;[310] then let us hurry to our farms, having
first bought a nice little piece of salt fish to eat in the fields.
HERMES. By Posidon! what a fine crew they make and dense as the crust of
a cake; they are as nimble as guests on their way to a feast.
TRYGAEUS. See, how their iron spades glitter and how beautifully their
three-pronged mattocks glisten in the sun! How regularly they will align
the plants!
