XANTHIAS. They don't say ever a word of poor me, whose shoulder is quite
shattered.
HERACLES. Is there not a crowd of other little lads, who produce
tragedies by the thousand and are a thousand times more loquacious than
Euripides?
DIONYSUS. They are little sapless twigs, chatterboxes, who twitter like
the swallows, destroyers of the art, whose aptitude is withered with a
single piece and who sputter forth all their talent to the tragic Muse at
their first attempt. But look where you will, you will not find a
creative poet who gives vent to a noble thought.
HERACLES. How creative?
DIONYSUS. Aye, creative, who dares to risk "the ethereal dwellings of
Zeus," or "the wing of Time," or "a heart that is above swearing by the
sacred emblems," and "a tongue that takes an oath, while yet the soul is
unpledged."[400]
HERACLES. Is that the kind of thing that pleases you?
DIONYSUS. I'm more than madly fond of it.
HERACLES. But such things are simply idiotic, you feel it yourself.
DIONYSUS. "Don't come trespassing on my mind; you have a brain of your
own to keep thoughts in."[401]
HERACLES. But nothing could be more detestable.