INFORMER. I? Why, I am an accuser of the islands,[340] an informer ...
PISTHETAERUS. A fine trade, truly!
INFORMER. ... a hatcher of lawsuits. Hence I have great need of wings to
prowl round the cities and drag them before justice.
PISTHETAERUS. Would you do this better if you had wings?
INFORMER. No, but I should no longer fear the pirates; I should return
with the cranes, loaded with a supply of lawsuits by way of ballast.
PISTHETAERUS. So it seems, despite all your youthful vigour, you make it
your trade to denounce strangers?
INFORMER. Well, and why not? I don't know how to dig.
PISTHETAERUS. But, by Zeus! there are honest ways of gaining a living at
your age without all this infamous trickery.
INFORMER. My friend, I am asking you for wings, not for words.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis just my words that give you wings.
INFORMER. And how can you give a man wings with your words?
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis thus that all first start.
INFORMER. All?
PISTHETAERUS. Have you not often heard the father say to young men in the
barbers' shops, "It's astonishing how Diitrephes' advice has made my son
fly to horse-riding."--"Mine," says another, "has flown towards tragic
poetry on the wings of his imagination."
INFORMER. So that words give wings?
PISTHETAERUS. Undoubtedly; words give wings to the mind and make a man
soar to heaven. Thus I hope that my wise words will give you wings to fly
to some less degrading trade.
INFORMER. But I do not want to.
PISTHETAERUS. What do you reckon on doing then?
INFORMER. I won't belie my breeding; from generation to generation we
have lived by informing. Quick, therefore, give me quickly some light,
swift hawk or kestrel wings, so that I may summon the islanders, sustain
the accusation here, and haste back there again on flying pinions.
PISTHETAERUS. I see. In this way the stranger will be condemned even
before he appears.
INFORMER. That's just it.
PISTHETAERUS. And while he is on his way here by sea, you will be flying
to the islands to despoil him of his property.
INFORMER. You've hit it, precisely; I must whirl hither and thither like
a perfect humming-top.
PISTHETAERUS. I catch the idea. Wait, i' faith, I've got some fine
Corcyraean wings.[341] How do you like them?
INFORMER. Oh! woe is me! Why, 'tis a whip!
PISTHETAERUS. No, no; these are the wings, I tell you, that set the top
a-spinning.
INFORMER. Oh! oh! oh!
PISTHETAERUS. Take your flight, clear off, you miserable cur, or you will
soon see what comes of quibbling and lying. Come, let us gather up our
wings and withdraw.
CHORUS. In my ethereal nights I have seen many things new and strange and
wondrous beyond belief. There is a tree called Cleonymus belonging to an
unknown species; it has no heart, is good for nothing and is as tall as
it is cowardly. In springtime it shoots forth calumnies instead of buds
and in autumn it strews the ground with bucklers in place of leaves.[342]
Far away in the regions of darkness, where no ray of light ever enters,
there is a country, where men sit at the table of the heroes and dwell
with them always--save always in the evening. Should any mortal meet the
hero Orestes at night, he would soon be stripped and covered with blows
from head to foot.[343]
PROMETHEUS. Ah! by the gods! if only Zeus does not espy me! Where is
Pisthetaerus?
PISTHETAERUS. Ha! what is this? A masked man!
PROMETHEUS. Can you see any god behind me?
PISTHETAERUS. No, none. But who are you, pray?
PROMETHEUS. What's the time, please?
PISTHETAERUS. The time? Why, it's past noon. Who are you?