TRYGAEUS. Groanings! ah! by Bacchus! look out for yourself, you cursed
squaller, if you start wearying us again with your groanings and hollow
bucklers.
SON OF LAMACHUS. Then what should I sing? Tell me what pleases you.
TRYGAEUS. "'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen," or something
similar, as, for instance, "Everything that could tickle the palate was
placed on the table."
SON OF LAMACHUS. "'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen and, tired
of warfare, unharnessed their foaming steeds."
TRYGAEUS. That's splendid; tired of warfare, they seat themselves at
table; sing, sing to us how they still go on eating after they are
satiated.