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Part II
Part II
Chor. O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temples dwelling,
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Come to tread this verdant level,
Come to dance in mystic revel,
Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles
Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles,
Come with wild and saucy paces
Mingling in our joyous dance,
Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces,
When the mystic choirs advance.
Xan. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter`s daughter,
O, what a jolly whiff of pork breathed o`er me!
Dio. Hist! and perchance you`ll get some tripe. yourself.
(The welcome to Iacchus.)
Chor. Come, arise, from sleep awaking, come the fiery torches shaking,
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Morning Star that shinest nightly.
Lo, the mead is blazing brightly,
Age forgets its years and sadness,
Aged knees curvet for gladness,
Lift thy flashing torches o`er us,
Marshal all thy blameless train,
Lead, O, lead the way before us; lead the lovely youthful Chorus
To the marshy flowery plain.
(The warning-off of the profane.)
All evil thoughts and
profane be still: far hence, far hence from our choirs
depart,
Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of heart;
Who ne`er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the Muses
high;
Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus` word supply;
Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they make;
Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to slake,
But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to reap;
Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on the
stormy deep;
Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away
Forbidden stores from Aegina`s shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay
Transmitting oar-pads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five per
cents;
The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy`s armaments;
The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate`s wayside shrine;
The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feasts would, with heart
malign,
Keep nibbling away the Comedians` pay; - to these I utter my warning cry,
I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that they draw
not nigh
To the sacred dance of the mystic choir. But ye, my comrades, awake the song,
The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast
belong.
(The start of the procession.)
Advance, true hearts, advance!
On to the gladsome bowers,
On to the sward, with flowers
Embosomed bright!
March on with jest, and jeer, and dance,
Full well ye`ve supped to-night.
(The processional hymn to Persephone.)
March, chanting loud your lays,
Your hearts and voices raising,
The Saviour goddess praising
Who vows she`ll still
Our city save to endless days,
Whate`er Thorycion`s will.
Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and hymns
adorn
Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn.
(The processional hymn to Demeter.)
O Lady, over our rites presiding,
Preserve and succour thy choral throng,
And grant us all, in thy help confiding,
To dance and revel the whole day long;
And much in earnest, and much in jest,
Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein.
And when we have bantered and laughed our best,
The victor`s wreath be it ours to win.
Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay,
Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way.
(The processional hymn to Iacchus.)
O, come with the joy of thy festival song,
O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng
Untired, though the journey be never so long.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent,
Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent,
Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show,
Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo,
There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
Dio. Wouldn`t I like to follow on, and try
A little sport and dancing? Xan. Wouldn`t I?
(The banter at the bridge of Cephisus.)
Chor. Shall we all a merry joke
At Archedemus poke,
Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old;
Yet up among the dead
He is demagogue and head,
And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold?
And Cleisthenes, they say,
Is among the tombs all day,
Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine.
And Callias, I`m told,
Has become a sailor bold,
And casts a lion`s hide o`er his members feminine.
Dio. Can any of you tell
Where Pluto here may dwell?
For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before.
Chor. O, then no further stray,
Nor again inquire the way,
For know that ye have journeyed to his very entrance-door.
Dio. Take up the wraps, my lad.
Xan. Now is not this too bad?
Like "Zeus` Corinth," he "the wraps" keeps saying o`er and o`er.
Chor. Now wheel your sacred dances through the glade with
flowers bedight,
All ye who are partakers of the holy festal rite;
And I will with the women and the holy maidens go
Where they keep the nightly vigil, an auspicious light to show.
(The departure for the Thriasian Plain)
Now haste we to the roses,
And the meadows full of posies,
Now haste we to the meadows
In our own old way,
In choral dances blending,
In dances never ending,
Which only for the holy
The Destinies array.
O happy mystic chorus,
The blessed sunshine o`er us
On us alone is smiling,
In its soft sweet light:
On us who strove for ever
With holy, pure endeavour,
Alike by friend and stranger
To guide our steps aright.
Dio. What`s the right way to knock? I wonder how
The natives here are wont to knock at doors.
Xan. No dawdling: taste the door. You`ve got, remember,
The lion-hide and pride of Heracles.
Dio. Boy! Boy! Aeacus. Who`s there? Dio. I, Heracles the strong!
Aeac. O you most shameless desperate ruffian, you!
O villain, villain, arrant vilest villain!
Who seized our Cerberus by the throat, and fled,
And ran, and rushed, and bolted, haling off
The dog, my charge! But now I`ve got thee fast.
So close the Styx`s inky-hearted rock,
The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron
Shall hem thee in: the hell-hounds of Cocytus
Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp
Shall rive thy heartstrings: the Tartesian Lamprey
Prey on thy lungs: and those Tithrasian Gorgons
Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them,
Entrails and all, into one bloody mash.
I`ll speed a running foot to fetch them hither.
Xan. Hallo! what now? Dio. I`ve done it: call the god.
Xan. Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly,
Before you`re seen. Dio. What, I get up? I`m fainting.
Please dab a sponge of water on my heart.
Xan. Here! Dio. Dab it, you. Xan. Where? O ye golden gods,
Lies your heart there? Dio. It got so terrified
It fluttered down into my stomach`s pit.
Xan. Cowardliest of gods and men! Dio. The cowardliest? I?
What, I, who asked you for a sponge, a thing
A coward never would have done! Xan. What then?
Dio. A coward would have lain there wallowing;
But I stood up, and wiped myself withal.
Xan. Poseidon! quite heroic. Dio. `Deed I think so.
But weren`t you frightened at those dreadful threats
And shoutings? Xan. Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not.
Dio. Come then, if you`re so very brave a man,
Will you be I, and take the hero`s club
And lion`s skin, since you`re so monstrous plucky?
And I`ll be now the slave, and bear the luggage.
Xan. Hand them across. I cannot choose but take them.
And now observe the Xanthio-heracles
If I`m a coward and a sneak like you.
Dio. Nay, you`re the rogue from Melite`s own self.
And I`ll pick up and carry on the traps.
Maid. O, welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart.
My Lady, when they told her, set to work,
Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three tureens
Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole,
Made rolls and honey-cakes. So come along.
Xan. (Declining.) You are too kind. Maid. I will not let you go.
I will not let you! Why, she`s stewing slices
Of juicy bird`s-flesh, and she`s making comfits,
And tempering down her richest wine. Come, dear,
Come along in. Xan. (Still declining.) Pray thank her. Maid. O, you`re jesting
I shall not let you off: there`s such a lovely
Flute-girl all ready, and we`ve two or three
Dancing-girls also. Xan. Eh! what! Dancing-girls?
Maid. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed.
Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up
The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables.
Xan. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls
Of whom you spake, I`m coming in Myself.
Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me.
Dio. Hi! stop! you`re not in earnest, just because
I dressed you up, in fun, as Heracles?
Come, don`t keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift
And carry in the traps yourself. Xan. Why! what!
You are never going to strip me of these togs
You gave me! Dio. Going to? No, I`m doing it now.
Off with that lion-skin. Xan. Bear witness all,
The Gods shall judge between us. Dio. Gods, indeed!
Why, how could you (the vain and foolish thought!)
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena`s son?
Xan. All right, then, take them; maybe, if God will,
You`ll soon require my services again.
Chor. This is the part of a dexterous clever
Man with his wits about him ever,
One who has travelled the world to see;
Always to shift, and to keep through all
Close to the sunny side of the wall;
Not like a pictured block to be,
Standing always in one position;
Nay, but to veer, with expedition,
And ever to catch the favouring breeze,
This is the part of a shrewd tactician,
This is to be a-Theramenes!
Dio. Truly an exquisite joke `twould be,
Him with a dancing-girl to see,
Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs;
Me, like a slave, beside him standing,
Aught that he wants to his lordship handing;
Then as the damsel fair he hugs,
Seeing me all on fire to embrace her,
He would perchance (for there`s no man baser),
Turning him round like a lazy lout,
Straight on my mouth deliver a facer,`
Knocking my ivory choirmen out.
Hostess. O Plathane! Plathane! Here`s that naughty man,
That`s he who got into our tavern once,
And ate up sixteen loaves. Plathane. O, so he is!
The very man. Xan. Bad luck for somebody!
Hos. O, and, besides, those twenty bits of stew,
Half-obol pieces. Xan. Somebody`s going to catch it!
Hos. That garlic too. Dio. Woman, you`re talking nonsense.
You don`t know what you`re saying. Hos. O, you thought
I shouldn`t know you with your buskins on!
Ah, and I`ve not yet mentioned all that fish,
No, nor the new-made cheese: he gulped it down,
Baskets and all, unlucky that we were.
And when I just alluded to the price,
He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull.
Xan. Yes, that`s his way; that`s what he always does.
Hos. O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad.
Pla. O, that he did. Hos. And terrified us so
We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I.
Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.
Xan. That`s his way too; but something must be done.
Hos. Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here!
Pla. O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus!
We`ll pay you out to-day. Hos. O filthy throat,
O, how I`d like to take a stone, and hack
Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares.
Pla. I`d like to pitch you in the deadman`s pit.
Hos. I`d like to get a reaping-hook and scoop
That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe.
But I`ll to Cleon: he`ll soon serve his writs;
He`ll twist it out of you to-day, he will.
Dio. Perdition seize me, if I don`t love Xanthias.
Xan. Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking.
I won`t be Heracles. Dio. O, don`t say so,
Dear, darling Xanthias. Xan. Why, how can I,
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena`s son!
Dio. Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it,
And if you pummel me, I won`t complain.
But if I strip you of these togs again,
Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children,
And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus.
Xan. That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.
Chor. Now that at last you appear once more,
Wearing the garb that at first you wore,
Wielding the club and the tawny skin,
Now it is yours to be up and doing,
Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing,
Mindful of him whose guise you are in.
If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you
Suffer a word of alarm to escape you,
Showing yourself but a feckless knave,
Then will your master at once undrape you,
Then you`ll again be the toiling slave.
Xan. There, I admit, you have given to me a
Capital hint, and the like idea,
Friends, had occurred to myself before.
Truly if anything good befell
He would be wanting, I know full well,
Wanting to take to the togs once more.
Nevertheless, while in these I`m vested,
Ne`er shall you find me craven-crested,
No, for a dittany look I`ll wear,
Aye, and methinks it will soon be tested:
Hark! how the portals are rustling there.
Aeac. Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him,
Drag him to justice! Dio. Somebody`s going to catch it.
Xan. (Striking out.) Hands off! get away! stand back! Aeac. Eh?
You`re for fighting?
Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas,
Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave.
Dio. Now isn`t it a shame the man should strike,
And he a thief besides? Aeac. A monstrous shame!
Dio. A regular burning shame! Xan. By the Lord Zeus,
If ever I was here before, if ever
I stole one hair`s-worth from you, let me die!
And now I`ll make you a right noble offer:
Arrest my lad: torture him as you will,
And if you find I`m guilty, take and kill me.
Aeac. Torture him, how? Xan. In any mode you please.
Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid:
Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge
Of prickly bristles: only not with this,
A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek.
Aeac. A fair proposal. If I strike too hard
And maim the boy, I`ll make you compensation.
Xan. I shan`t require it. Take him out and flog him.
Aeac. Nay, but I`ll do it here before your eyes.
Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak
The truth, you fellow. Dio. (In agony.) Man! don`t torture me!
I am a god. You`ll blame yourself hereafter
If you touch me. Aeac. Hillo! What`s that you are saying?
Dio. I say I`m Bacchus, son of Zeus, a god,
And he`s the slave. Aeac. You hear him? Xan.
Hear him? Yes. All the more reason you should flog him well.
For if he is a god, he won`t perceive it.
Dio. Well, but you say that you`re a god yourself.
So why not you be flogged as well as I?
Xan. A fair proposal. And be this the test:
Whichever of us two you first behold
Flinching or crying out - he`s not the god.
Aeac. Upon my word you`re quite the gentleman,
You`re all for right and justice. Strip then, both.
Xan. How can you test us fairly? Aeac. Easily,
I`ll give you blow for blow. Xan. A good idea.
We`re ready! Now! (Aeacus strikes him) see if you catch me flinching.
Aeac. I struck you. Xan (Incredulously.) No! Aeac. Well, it seems "no,"
indeed.
Now then I`ll strike the other. (Strikes Dio.) Dio. Tell me when.
Aeac. I struck you. Dio. Struck me?nThen why didn`t I sneeze?
Aeac. Don`t know, I`m sure. I`ll try the other again.
Xan. And quickly too. Good gracious! Aeac. Why "good gracious"?
Not hurt you, did I? Xan. No, I merely thought of
The Diomeian feast of Heracles.
Aeac. A holy man! `Tis now the other`s turn.
Dio. Hi! Hi! Aeac. Hallo! Dio. Look at those horsemen, look!
Aeac. But why these tears? Dio. There`s such a smell of onions.
Aeac. Then you don`t mind it? Dio. (Cheerfully.) Mind it?
Not a bit.
Aeac. Well, I must go to the other one again.
Xan. O! O! Aeac. Hallo! Xan. Do, pray, pull out this thorn.
Aeac. What does it mean? `Tis this one`s turn again.
Dio. (Shrieking.) Apollo! Lord! (Calmly) of Delos and of Pytho.
Xan. He flinched! You heard him? Dio. Not at all; a jolly
Verse of Hipponax flashed across my mind.
Xan. You don`t half do it: cut his flanks to pieces.
Aeac. By Zeus, well thought on. Turn your belly here.
Dio. (Screaming.) Poseidon! Xan. There! he`s flinching. Dio.
(Singing) Who dost reign
Amongst the Aegean peaks and creeks
And o`er the deep blue main.
Aeac. No, by Demeter, still I can`t find out
Which is the god, but come ye both indoors;
My lord himself and Persephassa there,
Being gods themselves, will soon find out the truth.
Dio. Right! right! I only wish you had thought of that
Before you gave me those tremendous whacks.
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