Pisthetaerus
Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged gods.
A Poet enters.
Poet
905
Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns.
Pisthetaerus
What have we here? Where did you come from, tell me? Who are you?
Poet
I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of the Muses,
910
as Homer has it.
Pisthetaerus
You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long?
Poet
No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves of the Muses, according to Homer.
Pisthetaerus
915
In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal! But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?
Poet
I have composed verses in honor of your Nephelococcygia, a host of splendid dithyrambs and parthenia worthy of Simonides himself.
Pisthetaerus
920
And when did you compose them? How long since?
Poet
Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honor of this city.
Pisthetaerus
But I am only celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice; I have only just named it, as is done with little babies.
Poet
925
“Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou noble founder of the town of
Aetna
thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,
930
make us such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest.”
He puts out his hand.
Pisthetaerus
He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some present.
To the Priest's acolyte. Here! you, who have a fur as well as your tunic, take it off and give it to this clever poet. Come,
935
take this fur; you look to me to be shivering with cold.
Poet
My Muse will gladly accept this gift; but engrave these verses of Pindar's on your mind.
Pisthetaerus
940
Oh! what a pest! It's impossible then to get rid of him!
Birds. Aristophanes. ed. Eugene O'Neill, Jr.. New York. 1938.
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