I know how to punish other
offenders
bigger than you.
Aristophanes
BOY. Ah! here is mud! Father, take care!
CHORUS. Pick up a blade of straw and trim the lamp of your lantern.
BOY. No, I can trim it quite well with my finger.
CHORUS. Why do you pull out the wick, you little dolt? Oil is scarce,
and 'tis not you who suffer when it has to be paid for. (_Strikes him. _)
BOY. If you teach us again with your fists, we shall put out the lamps
and go home; then you will have no light and will squatter about in the
mud like ducks in the dark.
CHORUS.
I know how to punish other offenders bigger than you. But I think
I am treading in some mud. Oh! 'tis certain it will rain in torrents for
four days at least; look, what thieves are in our lamps; that is always
a sign of heavy rain; but the rain and the north wind will be good for
the crops that are still standing. . . . Why, what can have happened to our
mate, who lives here? Why does he not come to join our party? There
used to be no need to haul him in our wake, for he would march at our
head singing the verses of Phrynichus; he was a lover of singing. Should
we not, friends, make a halt here and sign to call him out? The charm of
my voice will fetch him out, if he hears it.
Why does the old man not show himself before the door? why does he not
answer? Has he lost his shoes? has he stubbed his toe in the dark and
thus got a swollen ankle?
