EURIPIDES. "You are not mistaken, 'tis that unfortunate mortal who stands
before you."
MNESILOCHUS. "Ah! how you have delayed coming to your wife's arms! Press
me to your heart, throw your arms about me, for I wish to cover you with
kisses. Carry me away, carry me away, quick, quick, far, very far from
here."
SEVENTH WOMAN. By the goddesses, woe to him who would carry you away! I
should thrash him with my torch.
EURIPIDES. "Do you propose to prevent me from taking my wife, the
daughter of Tyndareus, to Sparta?"
SEVENTH WOMAN You seem to me to be a cunning rascal too; you are in
collusion with this man, and 'twas not for nothing that you kept babbling
about Egypt. But the hour for punishment has come; here is the magistrate
come with his archer.
EURIPIDES. This grows awkward. Let me hide myself.
MNESILOCHUS. And what is to become of me, poor unfortunate man?
EURIPIDES. Be at ease. I shall never abandon you, as long as I draw
breath and one of my numberless artifices remains untried.
MNESILOCHUS. The fish has not bitten this time.
THE PRYTANIS. Is this the rascal of whom Clisthenes told us? Why are you
trying to make yourself so small? Archer, arrest him, fasten him to the
post, then take up your position there and keep guard over him. Let none
approach him. A sound lash with your whip for him who attempts to break
the order.
SEVENTH WOMAN. Excellent, for just now a rogue almost took him from me.
MNESILOCHUS. Prytanis, in the name of that hand which you know so well
how to bend, when money is placed in it, grant me a slight favour before
I die.
PRYTANIS. What favour?
MNESILOCHUS. Order the archer to strip me before lashing me to the post;
the crows, when they make their meal on the poor old man, would laugh too
much at this robe and head-dress.
PRYTANIS. 'Tis in that gear that you must be exposed by order of the
Senate, so that your crime may be patent to the passers-by.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! cursed robe, the cause of all my misfortune! My last
hope is thus destroyed!
CHORUS. Let us now devote ourselves to the sports which the women are
accustomed to celebrate here, when time has again brought round the
mighty Mysteries of the great goddesses, the sacred days which
Pauson[634] himself honours by fasting and would wish feast to succeed
feast, that he might keep them all holy. Spring forward with a light
step, whirling in mazy circles; let your hands interlace, let the eager
and rapid dancers sway to the music and glance on every side as they
move. Let the chorus sing likewise and praise the Olympian gods in their
pious transport.
'Tis wrong to suppose that, because I am a woman and in this Temple, I am
going to speak ill of men; but since we want something fresh, we are
going through the rhythmic steps of the round dance for the first time.
Start off while you sing to the god of the lyre and to the chaste goddess
armed with the bow. Hail! thou god who flingest thy darts so far,[635]
grant us the victory! The homage of our song is also due to Heré, the
goddess of marriage, who interests herself in every chorus and guards the
approach to the nuptial couch. I also pray Hermes, the god of the
shepherds, and Pan and the beloved Graces to bestow a benevolent smile
upon our songs.
Let us lead off anew, let us double our zeal during our solemn days, and
especially let us observe a close fast; let us form fresh measures that
keep good time, and may our songs resound to the very heavens. Do thou,
oh divine Bacchus, who art crowned with ivy, direct our chorus; 'tis to
thee that both my hymns and my dances are dedicated; oh, Evius, oh,
Bromius,[636] oh, thou son of Semelé, oh, Bacchus, who delightest to
mingle with the dear choruses of the nymphs upon the mountains, and who
repeatest, while dancing with them, the sacred hymn, Evius, Evius, Evoe.
Echo, the nymph of Cithaeron returns thy words, which resound beneath the
dark vaults of the thick foliage and in the midst of the rocks of the
forest; the ivy enlaces thy brow with its tendrils charged with flowers.
SCYTHIAN ARCHER.[637] You shall stay here in the open air to wail.
MNESILOCHUS. Archer, I adjure you.
SCYTHIAN. 'Tis labour lost.