The Frogs Part 3

CORP. Out of the pathway, you!

DIO. Beshrew thee, stop: may-be we'll strike a bargain.

CORP. Pay me two drachmas, or it's no use talking.

DIO. One and a half.

CORP. I'd liefer live again!

XAN. How absolute the knave is!

He be hanged! I'll go myself.

DIO. You're the right sort, my man.

Now to the ferry.

CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to.

XAN. Whatever's that?

DIO. Why, that's the lake, by Zeus, Whereof he spake, and yon's the ferry-boat.

XAN. Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow's Charon.

DIO. Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon.

CHAR. Who's for the Rest from every pain and ill?

Who's for the Lethe's plain? the Donkey-shearings?

Who's for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens?

DIO. I.

CHAR. Hurry in.

DIO. But where are you going really? In truth to the Ravens?

CHAR. Aye, for your behoof. Step in.

DIO. (To Xan.) Now, lad.

CHAR. A slave? I take no slave, Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea.

XAN. I couldn't go. I'd got the eye-disease.

CHAR. Then fetch a circuit round about the lake.

XAN. Where must I wait?

CHAR. Beside the Withering stone, Hard by the Rest.

DIO. You understand?

XAN. Too well. O, what ill omen crost me as I started!

CHAR. (To DIO.) Sit to the oar. (Calling.) Who else for the boat?

Be quick.

(To DIO.) Hi! what are you doing?

DIO. What am I doing? Sitting On to the oar.

You told me to, yourself.

CHAR. Now sit you there, you little Potgut.

DIO. So?

CHAR. Now stretch your arms full length before you.

DIO. So?

CHAR. Come, don't keep fooling; plant your feet, and now Pull with a will.

DIO. Why, how am I to pull? I'm not an oarsman, seaman, Salaminian. I can't!

CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once, You'll hear the loveliest timing songs.

DIO. What from?

CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful.

DIO. Then give the word.

CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!!

FROGS.

Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!

Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!

We children of the fountain and the lake Let us wake Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out, Our symphony of clear-voiced song.

The song we used to love in the Marshland up above, In praise of DIOnysus to produce, Of Nysaean DIOnysus, son of Zeus, When the revel-tipsy throng, all c.r.a.pulous and gay, To our precinct reeled along on the holy Pitcher day.

Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO. O, dear! O dear! now I declare I've got a b.u.mp upon my rump.

FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO. But you, perchance, don't care.

FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO. Hang you, and your ko-axing too! There's nothing but ko-ax with you.

FR. That is right, Mr. Busybody, right!

For the Muses of the lyre love us well; And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays; And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight For the strong reed's sake which I grow within my lake To be girdled in his lyre's deep sh.e.l.l.

Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO.

My hands are blistered very sore; My stern below is sweltering so, 'Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

O tuneful race, O pray give o'er, O sing no more.

FR. Ah, no! ah, no! Loud and louder our chant must flow.

Sing if ever ye sang of yore, When in sunny and glorious days Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing On we swept, in the joy of singing Myriad-divine roundelays.