Pisthetaerus: Let us sacrifice and pray to the winged gods.
Poet: The Happy Cloud-Cuckoo-land.
Poet: Muse, close with your hymns' songs.
905
Pisthetaerus: What sort of a thing is this? Tell me, who are you?
Poet: I, a shooter of the song of honey-tongued verses,
Poet: diligent servant of the Muses,
Poet: according to Homer.
910
Pisthetaerus: And then, really, being a slave, do you have long hair?
Poet: No, but all of us are the teachers.
Poet: Attentive servants of the Muses,
Poet: according to Homer.
Pisthetaerus: You don't have a year of vigor and the little bag.
915
Pisthetaerus: But why, O poet, have you come here?
Poet: he has composed songs for the Cloudcuckooland.
Poet: your many and beautiful circles
Poet: both maidenly and in the manner of Simonides.
Pisthetaerus: Did you do this? When did you do it?
920
Poet: Long, long ago I have been calling this city.
Pisthetaerus: I am not just now sacrificing the tenth of this,
Pisthetaerus: And shall I even now give it a name just as to a child?
Poet: but a swift report of the Muses
Poet: just like the splendor of horses.
925
Poet: but you, father, builder of Etna,
Poet: you who share the name of the sacred groves,
Poet: Do you wish to behead her?
Poet: willingly give me the song.
930
Pisthetaerus: This will cause us trouble,
Pisthetaerus: unless, giving something to this man, we escape.
Pisthetaerus: You, however, have a tunic and a cloak,
Pisthetaerus: Take off your clothes and give them to the poet, the wise man.
Pisthetaerus: Take the spleen; you certainly seem to be shivering to me.
935
Poet: this, though, I do not love unwillingly.
Poet: the Muse accepts a gift;
Poet: But you, learn the Pindaric word with your mind—
Pisthetaerus: One of our men will not escape.
940
