E'en from to-day we hail you as the
deliverer
of mankind.
Aristophanes
He would soon have her done for,
licking up all her life juice. [348] Come, Theoria, put down all this
gear. [349]--Senate, Prytanes, look upon Theoria and see what precious
blessings I place in your hands. [350] Hasten to raise its limbs and to
immolate the victim. Admire the fine chimney,[351] it is quite black with
smoke, for 'twas here that the Senate did their cooking before the War.
Now that you have found Theoria again, you can start the most charming
games from to-morrow, wrestling with her on the ground, either on your
hands and feet, or you can lay her on her side, or stand before her with
bent knees, or, well rubbed with oil, you can boldly enter the lists, as
in the Pancratium, belabouring your foe with blows from your fist or
otherwise. [352] The next day you will celebrate equestrian games, in
which the riders will ride side by side, or else the chariot teams,
thrown one on top of another, panting and whinnying, will roll and knock
against each other on the ground, while other rivals, thrown out of their
seats, will fall before reaching the goal, utterly exhausted by their
efforts. --Come, Prytanes, take Theoria. Oh! look how graciously yonder
fellow has received her; you would not have been in such a hurry to
introduce her to the Senate, if nothing were coming to you through
it;[353] you would not have failed to plead some holiday as an excuse.
CHORUS. Such a man as you assures the happiness of all his
fellow-citizens.
TRYGAEUS. When you are gathering your vintages you will prize me even
better.
CHORUS.
E'en from to-day we hail you as the deliverer of mankind.
TRYGAEUS. Wait until you have drunk a beaker of new wine, before you
appraise my true merits.
CHORUS. Excepting the gods, there is none greater than yourself, and that
will ever be our opinion.
TRYGAEUS. Yea, Trygaeus of Athmonia has deserved well of you, he has
freed both husbandman and craftsman from the most cruel ills; he has
vanquished Hyperbolus.
CHORUS. Well then, what must we do now?
TRYGAEUS. You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate
her altars.
CHORUS. Pots of green-stuff[354] as we do to poor Hermes--and even he
thinks the fare but mean?
TRYGAEUS. What will you offer then? A fatted bull?
licking up all her life juice. [348] Come, Theoria, put down all this
gear. [349]--Senate, Prytanes, look upon Theoria and see what precious
blessings I place in your hands. [350] Hasten to raise its limbs and to
immolate the victim. Admire the fine chimney,[351] it is quite black with
smoke, for 'twas here that the Senate did their cooking before the War.
Now that you have found Theoria again, you can start the most charming
games from to-morrow, wrestling with her on the ground, either on your
hands and feet, or you can lay her on her side, or stand before her with
bent knees, or, well rubbed with oil, you can boldly enter the lists, as
in the Pancratium, belabouring your foe with blows from your fist or
otherwise. [352] The next day you will celebrate equestrian games, in
which the riders will ride side by side, or else the chariot teams,
thrown one on top of another, panting and whinnying, will roll and knock
against each other on the ground, while other rivals, thrown out of their
seats, will fall before reaching the goal, utterly exhausted by their
efforts. --Come, Prytanes, take Theoria. Oh! look how graciously yonder
fellow has received her; you would not have been in such a hurry to
introduce her to the Senate, if nothing were coming to you through
it;[353] you would not have failed to plead some holiday as an excuse.
CHORUS. Such a man as you assures the happiness of all his
fellow-citizens.
TRYGAEUS. When you are gathering your vintages you will prize me even
better.
CHORUS.
E'en from to-day we hail you as the deliverer of mankind.
TRYGAEUS. Wait until you have drunk a beaker of new wine, before you
appraise my true merits.
CHORUS. Excepting the gods, there is none greater than yourself, and that
will ever be our opinion.
TRYGAEUS. Yea, Trygaeus of Athmonia has deserved well of you, he has
freed both husbandman and craftsman from the most cruel ills; he has
vanquished Hyperbolus.
CHORUS. Well then, what must we do now?
TRYGAEUS. You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate
her altars.
CHORUS. Pots of green-stuff[354] as we do to poor Hermes--and even he
thinks the fare but mean?
TRYGAEUS. What will you offer then? A fatted bull?
