No More Learning

A LACONIAN. No need for many words; you see what a state we are in.

CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Alas! the situation grows more and more strained! the
intensity of the thing is just frightful.

LACONIAN. 'Tis beyond belief. But to work! summon your Commissioners, and
let us patch up the best peace we may.

CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Ah! our men too, like wrestlers in the arena, cannot
endure a rag over their bellies; 'tis an athlete's malady, which only
exercise can remedy.

AN ATHENIAN. Can anybody tell us where Lysistrata is?
Surely she will
have some compassion on our condition.

CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Look! 'tis the very same complaint. (_Addressing the
Athenian. _) Don't you feel of mornings a strong nervous tension?

ATHENIAN. Yes, and a dreadful, dreadful torture it is! Unless peace is
made very soon, we shall find no resource but to fuck Clisthenes. [460]

CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Take my advice, and put on your clothes again; one of
the fellows who mutilated the Hermae[461] might see you.

ATHENIAN. You are right.

LACONIAN. Quite right. There, I will slip on my tunic.