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ill-used, but that is how the husbandmen are treated by these men of

war, the hated of the gods and of men, who know nothing but how to
throw away their shield. For this reason, if it please heaven, I

propose to call these rascals to account, for they are lions in
times of peace, but sneaking foxes when it comes to fighting.

TRYGAEUS (coming out of his house, followed by the SERVANT)
Oh! oh! what a crowd for the nuptial feast! Here! dust the

tables with this crest, which is good for nothing else now. Halloa!
produce the cakes, the thrushes, plenty of good jugged hare and the

little loaves.
(A SICKLE-MAKER enters with a comrade; one carries sickles, the

other casks.)
SICKLE-MAKER

Trygaeus, where is Trygaeus?
TRYGAEUS

I am cooking the thrushes.
SICKLE-MAKER

Trygaeus, my best of friends, what a fine stroke of business you
have done for me by bringing back Peace! Formerly my sickles would not

have sold at an obolus apiece, to-day I am being paid fifty drachmae
for every one. And here is a neighbour who is selling his casks for

the country at three drachmae each. So come, Trygaeus, take as many
sickles and casks as you will for nothing. Accept them for nothing;

it's because of our handsome profits on our sales that we offer you
these wedding presents.

TRYGAEUS
Thanks. Put them all down inside there, and come along quick to

the banquet. Ah! do you see that armourer yonder coming with a wry
face?

(Enter an armourer, followed by other personages who represent the
various specialized trades which have profited by the war, a

crest-maker, a manufacturer of breastplates, a trumpet-maker, a
helmet-maker, a polisher of lances; each carries a sample of his

products. The armourer is the only one who speaks.)
ARMOURER

Alas! alas! Trygaeus, you have ruined me utterly.
TRYGAEUS

What! won't the crests go any more, friend?
ARMOURER

You have killed my business, my livelihood, and that of this
poor lance maker too.

TRYGAEUS
Come, come, what are you asking for these two crests?

ARMOURER
What do you bid for them?

TRYGAEUS
What do I bid? Oh! I am ashamed to say. Still, as the clasp is

of good workmanship, I would give two, even three measures of dried
figs; I could use them for dusting the table.

ARMOURER
All right, tell them to bring me the dried figs. (To the

crest-maker) That's better than nothing, my friend.
TRYGAEUS

Take them away, be off with your crests and get you gone; they are
moulting, they are losing all their hair; I would not give a single

fig for them.
ARMOURER

Good gods, what am I going to do with this fine ten-mina
breastplate, which is so splendidly made?

TRYGAEUS
Oh, you will lose nothing over it. Sell it to me at cost price. It

would be very useful as a thunder-mug...
ARMOURER

Cease your insults, both to me and my wares.
TRYGAEUS

...if propped on three stones. (He sits on it.) Look, it's
admirable

ARMOURER
But how can you wipe yourself, idiot?

TRYGAEUS (with appropriate gestures)
I can put one hand through here, and the other there, and so...

ARMOURER
What! do you wipe yourself with both hands?

TRYGAEUS
Aye, so that I may not be accused of robbing the State, by

blocking up an oar-hole in the galley.
ARMOURER

Would you crap in a thunder-mug that cost ten minae?
TRYGAEUS

Undoubtedly, you rascal. Do you think I would sell my arse for a
thousand drachmae?

ARMOURER
Come, have the money paid over to me.

TRYGAEUS
No, friend; I find it pinches my bottom. Take it away, I won't buy

it.
ARMOURER

What is to be done with this trumpet, for which I gave sixty
drachmae the other day?

TRYGAEUS
Pour lead into the hollow and fit a good, long stick to the top;

and you will have a balanced cottabus.
ARMOURER

Don't mock me.
TRYGAEUS

Well, here's another idea. Pour in lead as I said, add here a dish
hung on strings, and you will have a balance for weighing the figs

which you give your slaves in the fields.
ARMOURER

Cursed fate! I am ruined. Here are helmets, for which I gave a
mina each. What I to do with them? who will buy them?

TRYGAEUS
Go and sell them to the Egyptians; they will do for measuring

laxatives.
ARMOURER

Ah! poor helmet-maker, things are indeed in a bad way.
TRYGAEUS

He has no cause for complaint.
ARMOURER

But helmets will be no more used.
TRYGAEUS

Let him learn to fit a handle to them and he can sell them for
more money.

ARMOURER
Let us be off, comrade.

TRYGAEUS
No, I want to buy these spears.

ARMOURER
What will you give?

TRYGAEUS
If they could be split in two, I would take them at a drachma

per hundred to use as vine-props.
ARMOURER

The insolent dog! Let us go, friend.
(The munitions-makers all depart.)

TRYGAEUS (as some young boys enter)
Ah I here come the guests, young folks from the table to take a

pee; I fancy they also want to hum over what they will be singing
presently. Hi! child! what do you reckon to sing? Stand there and give

me the opening line.
BOY

"Glory to the young warriors..."
TRYGAEUS

Oh! leave off about your young warriors, you little wretch; we are
at peace and you are an idiot and a rascal.

BOY
"The skirmish begins, the hollow bucklers clash against each

other."
TRYGAEUS

Bucklers! Leave me in peace with your bucklers.
BOY

"And then there came groanings and shouts of victory."
TRYGAEUS

Groanings! ah! by Bacchus! look out for yourself, you cursed
squaller, if you start wearying us again with your groanings and

hollow bucklers.
BOY

Then what should I sing? Tell me what pleases you.
TRYGAEUS

"'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen," or something
similar, as, for instance, "Everything that could tickle the palate

was placed on the table."
BOY

"'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen and, tired of
warfare, unharnessed their foaming steeds."

TRYGAEUS
That's splendid; tired of warfare, they seat themselves at

table; sing to us how they still go on eating after they are satiated.
BOY

"The meal over, they girded themselves..."
TRYGAEUS

With good wine, no doubt?
BOY

"...with armour and rushed forth from the towers, and a terrible
shout arose."

TRYGAEUS
Get you gone, you little scapegrace, you and your battles! You

sing of nothing but warfare. Who is your father then?
BOY

My father?
TRYGAEUS

Why yes, your father.
BOY

I am Lamachus' son.
TRYGAEUS

Oh! oh! I could indeed have sworn, when I was listening to you,
that you were the son of some warrior, who dreams of nothing but

wounds and bruises, of some Bulomachus or Clausimachus; go and sing
your plaguey songs to the spearmen....Where is the son of Cleonymus?

Sing me something before going back to the feast. I am at least
certain he will not sing of battles, for his father is far too careful

a man.
SON OF CLEONYMUS

"A Saian is parading with the spotless shield which I regret to
say I have thrown into a thicket."

TRYGAEUS
Tell me, you little good-for-nothing, are you singing that for

your father?
SON OF CLEONYMUS

"But I saved my life."
TRYGAEUS

And dishonoured your family. But let us go in; I am very
certain, that being the son of such a father, you will never forget

this song of the buckler. (To the CHORUS) You, who remain to the
feast, it's your duty to devour dish after dish and not to ply empty

jaws. Come, put heart into the work and eat with your mouths full.
For, believe me, poor friends, white teeth are useless furniture if

they chew nothing.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS (to TRYGAEUS, who is going into the house)

Never fear; thanks all the same for your good advice. (To the
CHORUS) And all of you, who yesterday were dying of hunger, come,



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