No More Learning

MARKET-LOUNGER. I don't mean to budge.

SLAVE. Well, as you _must_ stop, and I don't want to offend you--but
you'll see some queer sights.

MARKET-LOUNGER. Well and good, I've no objection.

SLAVE. No, no, you must be off--or I'll tear your hair out, I will; be
off, I say, and don't annoy the Laconian Envoys; they're just coming out
from the banquet-hall.

AN ATHENIAN. Such a merry banquet I've never seen before! The Laconians
were simply charming. After the drink is in, why, we're all wise men,
all. It's only natural, to be sure, for sober, we're all fools. Take my
advice, my fellow-countrymen, our Envoys should always be drunk. We go to
Sparta; we enter the city sober; why, we must be picking a quarrel
directly.
We don't understand what they say to us, we imagine a lot they
don't say at all, and we report home all wrong, all topsy-turvy. But,
look you, to-day it's quite different; we're enchanted whatever happens;
instead of Clitagoras, they might sing us Telamon,[466] and we should
clap our hands just the same. A perjury or two into the bargain, la! what
does that matter to merry companions in their cups?

SLAVE. But here they are back again! Will you begone, you loafing
scoundrels.

MARKET-LOUNGER. Ah ha! here's the company coming out already.

A LACONIAN. My dear, sweet friend, come, take your flute in hand; I would
fain dance and sing my best in honour of the Athenians and our noble
selves.

AN ATHENIAN. Yes, take your flute, i' the gods' name. What a delight to
see him dance!

CHORUS OF LACONIANS.