I don't know what prevents me from
roasting
you with
this torch.
this torch.
Aristophanes
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Ah! accursed harlot, what do you mean to do here with
your water?
CHORUS OF WOMEN. And you, old death-in-life, with your fire? Is it to
cremate yourself?
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. I am going to build you a pyre to roast your female
friends upon.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. And I,--I am going to put out your fire.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. You put out my fire--you!
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Yes, you shall soon see.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN.
I don't know what prevents me from roasting you with
this torch.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. I am getting you a bath ready to clean off the filth.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. A bath for me, you dirty slut, you!
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Yes, indeed, a nuptial bath--he, he!
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Do you hear that? What insolence!
CHORUS OF WOMEN. I am a free woman, I tell you.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. I will make you hold your tongue, never fear!
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Ah, ha!
