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Part V
Part V
Chor. What, O, what will be done!
Strange to think that he dare
Blame the bard who has won,
More than all in our days,
Fame and praise for his lays,
Lays so many and fair.
Much I marvel to hear
What the charge he will bring
`Gainst our tragedy king;
Yea, for himself do I fear.
Eur. Wonderful lays! O, yes, you`ll see directly.
I`ll cut down all his metrical strains to one.
Dio. And I, I`ll take some pebbles, and keep count.
(A slight pause, during which the music of a flute is heard. The music
continues to the end of line 1277 as an accompaniment to the recitative.)
Eur. Lord of Phthia, Achilles, why, hearing the voice of the
herodividing,
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?
We, by the lake who abide, are adoring our ancestor Hermes.
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?
Dio. O Aeschylus, twice art thou smitten!
Eur. Hearken to me, great king; yea, hearken, Atreides, thou noblest of
all the Achaeans. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?
Dio. Thrice, Aeschylus, thrice art thou smitten!
Eur. Hush! the bee-wardens are here: they will quickly the Temple of
Artemis open.
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?
I will expound (for I know it) the omen the chieftains encountered.
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?
Dio. O Zeus and King, the terrible lot of smitings!
I`ll to the bath: I`m very sure my kidneys
Are quite inflamed and swoln with all these smitings.
Eur. Wait till you`ve heard another batch of lays
Culled from his lyre-accompanied melodies.
Dio. Go on then, go: but no more smitings, please.
Eur. How the twin-throned powers of Achaea, the lords of the mighty
Hellenes.
O phlattothrattophlattothrat!
Sendeth The Sphinx, the unchancy, the chieftainess bloodhound.
O phlattothrattophlattothrat!
Launcheth fierce with brand and hand the avengers the terrible eagle.
O phlattothrattophlattothrat!
So for the swift-winged hounds of the air he provided a booty.
O phlattothrattophlattothrat!
The throng down-bearing on Aias.
O phlattothrattophlattothrat!
Dio. Whence comes that phlattothrat? From Marathon, or
Where picked you up these cable-twister`s strains?
Aesch. From noblest source for noblest ends I brought them,
Unwilling in the Muses` holy field
The selfsame flowers as Phrynichus to cull.
But he from all things rotten draws his lays,
From Carian flutings, catches of Meletus,
Dance-music, dirges. You shall hear directly.
Bring me the lyre. Yet wherefore need a lyre
For songs like these? Where`s she that bangs and jangles
Her castanets? Euripides` Muse,
Present yourself: fit goddess for fit verse.
Dio. The Muse herself can`t be a wanton? No!
Aesch. Halcyons, who by the ever-rippling
Waves of the sea are babbling,
Dewing your plumes with the drops that fall
From wings in the salt spray dabbling.
Spiders, ever with twir-r-r-r-r-rling fingers
Weaving the warp and the woof,
Little, brittle, network, fretwork,
Under the coigns of the roof.
The minstrel shuttle`s care.
Where in the front of the dark-prowed ships
Yarely the flute-loving dolphin skips.
Races here and oracles there.
And the joy of the young vines smiling,
And the tendril of grapes, care-beguiling.
O, embrace me, my child O, embrace me.
(To Dio.) You see this foot?
Dio. I do.
Aesch. And this?
Dio. And that one too.
Aesch. (To Eur.) You, such stuff who compile,
Dare my songs to upbraid;
You, whose songs in the style
Of Cyrene`s embraces are made.
So much for them: but still I`d like to show
The way in which your monodies are framed.
"O darkly-light mysterious Night,
What may this Vision mean,
Sent from the world unseen
With baleful omens rife;
A thing of lifeless life,
A child of sable night,
A ghastly curdling sight,
In black funereal veils,
With murder, murder in its eyes,
And great enormous nails?
Light ye the lanterns, my maidens, and dipping your jugs in the stream,
Draw me the dew of the water, and heat it to boiling and steam;
So will I wash me away the ill effects of my dream.
God of the sea!
My dream`s come true.
Ho, lodgers, ho,
This portent view.
Glyce has vanished, carrying off my cock,
My cock that crew!
O Mania, help! O Oreads of the rock,
Pursue! pursue!
For I, poor girl, was working within,
Holding my distaff heavy and full,
Twir-r-r-r-r-rling my hand as the threads I spin,
Weaving an excellent bobbin of wool;
Thinking, `To-morrow I`ll go to the fair,
In the dusk of the morn, and be selling it there.`
But he to the blue upflew, upflew,
On the lightliest tips of his wings outspread;
To me he bequeathed but woe, but woe,
And tears, sad tears, from my eyes o`erflow,
Which I, the bereaved, must shed, must shed.
O children of Ida, sons of Crete,
Grasping your bows, to the rescue come;
Twinkle about on your restless feet,
Stand in a circle around her home.
O Artemis, thou maid divine,
Dictynna, huntress, fair to see,
O, bring that keen-nosed pack of thine,
And hunt through all the house with me.
O Hecate, with flameful brands,
O Zeus` daughter, arm thine hands
Those swiftliest hands, both right and left;
Thy rays on Glyce`s cottage throw
That I serenely there may go
And search by moonlight for the theft."
Dio. Enough of both your odes. Aesch. Enough for me.
Now would I bring the fellow to the scales.
That, that alone,shall test our poetry now,
And prove whose words are weightiest, his or mine.
Dio. Then both come hither, since I needs must weigh
The art poetic like a pound of cheese.
Chor. O, the labour these wits go through!
O, the wild, extravagant, new,
Wonderful things they are going to do!
Who but they would ever have thought of it?
Why, if a man had happened to meet me
Out in the street, and intelligence brought of it,
I should have thought he was trying to cheat me;
Thought that his story was false and deceiving.
That were a tale I could never believe in.
Dio. Each of you stand beside his scale,
Aesch. We`re here
Eur. We`re here
Dio. And grasp it firmly whilst ye speak your lines,
And don`t let go until I cry "Cuckoo."
Aesch. Ready!
Eur. Ready!
Dio. Now speal your lines into the scale.
Eur. O, that the Argo had not winged her way -
Aesch. River Spercheius, cattle-grazing haunts -
Dio. Cuckoo! let go. O, look by far the lowest
His scale sinks down. Eur. Why, how came that about?
Dio. He threw a river in, like some wool-seller
Wetting his wool, to make it weight the more.
But you threw in a light and winged word.
Eur. Come, let him match another verse with mine.
Dio. Each to his scale.
Aesch. We`re ready.
Eur. We`re ready.
Dio. Speak your lines.
Eur. Persuasion`s only shrine is eloquent speech.
Aesch. Death loves not gifts, alone amongst the gods.
Dio. Let go, let go. Down goes his scale again.
He threw in Death, the heaviest ill of all.
Eur. And I Persuasion, the most lovely word.
Dio. A vain and empty sound, devoid of sense.
Think of some heavier-weighted line of yours,
To drag your scale down: something strong and big.
Eur. Where have I got one? Where? Let`s see. Dio I`ll tell you.
"Achilles threw two singles and a four."
Come, speak your lines: this is your last set-to.
Eur. In his right hand he grasped an iron-clamped mace.
Aesch. Chariot on chariot, corpse on corpse was hurled.
Dio. There now! again he has done you. Eur. Done me? How?
Dio. He threw tow chariots and two corpses in;
Fivescore Egyptians could not lift that weight.
Aesch. No more of "line for line"; let him - himself,
His children, wife, Cephisophon - get in,
With all his books collected in his arms,
Two lines of mine shall overweigh the lot.
Dio. Both are my friends; I can`t decide between them:
I don`t desire to be at odds with either:
One is so clever, one delights me so.
Pluto. Then you`ll effect nothing for which you came?
Dio. And how, if I decide? Pluto. Then take the winner;
So will your journey not be made in vain.
Dio. Heaven bless your Highness! Listen, I came down
After a paet. Eur. To what end? Dio. That so
The city, saved, may keep her choral games.
Now then, whichever of you two shall best
Advise the city, he shall come with me.
And first of Alcibiades, let each
Say what he thinks; the city travails sore.
Eur. What does she think herself about him? Dio. What?
She loves, and hates, and longs to have him back.
But give me your advice about the man.
Eur. I loathe a townsman who is slow to aid,
And swift to hurt, his town; who ways and means
Finds for himself, but finds not for the state.
Dio. Poseidon, but that`s smart! (To Aesch.) And what say you?
Aesch. `Twere best to rear no lion in the state:
But having reared, `tis best to humour him.
Dio. By Zeus the Saviour, still I can`t decide.
One is so clever, and so clear the other.
But once again. Let each in turn declare
What plan of safety for the state ye`ve got.
Eur. [First with Cinesias wing Cleocritus,
Then zephyrs waft them o`er the watery plain.
Dio. As funny sight, I own: but where`s the sense?
Eur. If, when the fleets engage, they, holding cruets,
Should rain down vinegar in the foemen`s eyes,]
I know, and I can tell you. Dio. Tell away.
Eur. When things, mistrusted now, shall trusted be,
And trusted things, mistrusted. Dio. How! I don`t
Quite comprehend. Be clear, and not so clever.
Eur. If we mistrust those citizens of ours
Whom now we trust, and those employ whom now
We don`t employ, the city will be saved.
If on our present tack we fail, we surely
Shall find salvation in the opposite course.
Dio. Good, O Palamedes! Good, you genius you.
[Is this your cleverness or Cephisophon`s?
Eur. This is my own: the cruet-plan was his.]
Dio. (To Aesch.) Now, you, Aesch. But tell me whom the city uses.
The good and useful? Dio. What are you dreaming of?
She hates and loathes them. Aesch. Does she love the bad?
Dio. Not love them, no: she uses them perforce.
Aesch. How can one save a city such as this,
Whom neither frieze nor woollen tunic suits?
Dio. O, if to earth you rise, find out some way.
Aesch. There will I speak: I cannot answer here.
Dio. Nay, nay; send up your guerdon from below.
Aesch. When they shall count the enemy`s soil their own,
And theirs the enemy`s: "when they know that ships
Are their true wealth, their so-called wealth delusion.
Dio. Aye, but the justices suck that down, you know.
Pluto. Now then, decide. Dio. I will; and thus I`ll do it:
I`ll choose the man in whom my soul delights.
Eur. O, recollect the gods by whom you swore
You`d take me home again; and choose your friends.
Dio. `Twas my tounge swore; my choice is - Aeschylus.
Eur. Hah! what have you done? Dio. Done? Given the victor`s prize
To Aeschylus; why not? Eur. And do you dare
Look in my face, after that shameful deed?
Dio. What`s shameful, if the audience think not so?
Eur. Have you no heart? Wretch, would you leave me dead?
Dio. Who knows if death be life, and life be death,
And breath be mutton broth, and sleep a sheepskin?
Pluto. Now, Dionysus, come ye in, Dio. What for?
Pluto. And sup before ye go. Dio. A bright idea.
I` faith, I`m nowise indisposed for that.
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