Lysistrata Part 8

MEN

To build a pyre and make your comrades ready for the urn.

WOMEN

And I've the water to put out your fire immediately.

MEN

What, you put out my fire?

WOMEN

Yes, sirrah, as you soon will see.

MEN

I don't know why I hesitate to roast you with this flame.

WOMEN

If you have any soap you'll go off cleaner than you came.

MEN

Cleaner, you dirty s.l.u.t?

WOMEN

A nuptial-bath in which to lie!

MEN

Did you hear that insolence?

WOMEN

I'm a free woman, I.

MEN

I'll make you hold your tongue.

WOMEN

Henceforth you'll serve in no more juries.

MEN

Burn off her hair for her.

WOMEN

Now forward, water, quench their furies!

MEN

O dear, O dear!

WOMEN

So ... was it hot?

MEN

Hot! ... Enough, O hold.

WOMEN

Watered, perhaps you'll bloom again--why not?

MEN

Brrr, I'm wrinkled up from s.h.i.+vering with cold.

WOMEN

Next time you've fire you'll warm yourself and leave us to our lot.

MAGISTRATE _enters with attendant_ SCYTHIANS.

MAGISTRATE

Have the luxurious rites of the women glittered Their libertine show, their drumming tapped out crowds, The Sabazian Mysteries summoned their mob, Adonis been wept to death on the terraces, As I could hear the last day in the a.s.sembly?

For Demostratus--let bad luck befoul him-- Was roaring, "We must sail for Sicily,"

While a woman, throwing herself about in a dance Lopsided with drink, was shrilling out "Adonis, Woe for Adonis." Then Demostratus shouted, "We must levy hoplites at Zacynthus,"

And there the woman, up to the ears in wine, Was screaming "Weep for Adonis" on the house-top, The scoundrelly politician, that lunatic ox, Bellowing bad advice through tipsy shrieks: Such are the follies wantoning in them.

MEN

O if you knew their full effrontery!

All of the insults they've done, besides sousing us With water from their pots to our public disgrace For we stand here wringing our clothes like grown-up infants.

MAGISTRATE

By Poseidon, justly done! For in part with us The blame must lie for dissolute behaviour And for the pampered appet.i.tes they learn.

Thus grows the seedling l.u.s.t to blossoming: We go into a shop and say, "Here, goldsmith, You remember the necklace that you wrought my wife; Well, the other night in fervour of a dance Her clasp broke open. Now I'm off for Salamis; If you've the leisure, would you go tonight And stick a bolt-pin into her opened clasp."

Another goes to a cobbler; a soldierly fellow, Always standing up erect, and says to him, "Cobbler, a sandal-strap of my wife's pinches her, Hurts her little toe in a place where she's sensitive.

Come at noon and see if you can stretch out wider This thing that troubles her, loosen its tightness."