I am beloved by the Muses with
the
melodious
lyre, by the goat-footed Pan, who draws soft tones out of
his reed; I am the delight of Apollo, the god of the lyre, because I make
the rushes, which are used for the bridge of the lyre, grow in my
marshes.
Aristophanes
Slimy offspring of the
marshland, let our harmonious voices mingle with the sounds of the flute,
coax, coax! let us repeat the songs that we sing in honour of the Nysaean
Dionysus[414] on the day of the feast of pots,[415] when the drunken
throng reels towards our temple in the Limnae.[416] Brekekekex, coax,
coax.
DIONYSUS. I am beginning to feel my bottom getting very sore, my dear
little coax, coax.
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. But doubtless you don't care.
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. May you perish with your coax, your endless coax!
FROGS. And why change it, you great fool?
I am beloved by the Muses with
the
melodious
lyre, by the goat-footed Pan, who draws soft tones out of
his reed; I am the delight of Apollo, the god of the lyre, because I make
the rushes, which are used for the bridge of the lyre, grow in my
marshes.
Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. I have got blisters and my behind is all of a sweat; by dint of
constant movement, it will soon be saying....
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. Come, race of croakers, be quiet.
FROGS. Not we; we shall only cry the louder. On fine sunny days, it
pleases us to hop through galingale and sedge and to sing while we swim;
and when Zeus is pouring down his rain, we join our lively voices to the
rustle of the drops. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
