h! oh! I could indeed have sworn, when I was listening to you,
that you were the son of some warrior who dreams of nothing but wounds
and bruises, of some Boulomachus or Clausimachus;(1) go and sing your
plaguey songs to the spearmen.... Where is the son of Cleonymus? Sing me
something before going back to the feast. I am at least certain he will
not sing of battles, for his father is far too careful a man.

f(1) Boulomachus is derived from (two Greek words meaning)
to wish for battle; Clausimachus from (two others), the
tears that battles cost. The same root (for) 'battle' is
also contained in the name Lamachus.

SON OF CLEONYMUS "An inhabitant of Sais is parading with the spotless
shield which I regret to say I have thrown into a thicket."(1)

f(1) A distich borrowed from Archilochus, a celebrated poet
of the seventh century B.C., born at Paros, and the author
of odes, satires, epigrams and elegies. He sang his own
shame. 'Twas in an expedition against Sais, not the town in
Egypt as the similarity in name might lead one to believe,
but in Thrace, that he had cast away his buckler. "A might
calamity truly!" he says without shame. "I shall buy
another."

TRYGAEUS Tell me, you little good-for-nothing, are you singing that for
your father?

SON OF CLEONYMUS "But I saved my life."

TRYGAEUS And dishonoured your family. But let us go in; I am very
certain, that being the son of such a father, you will never forget this
song of the buckler. You, who remain to the feast, 'tis your duty to
devour dish after dish and not to ply empty jaws. Come, put heart into
the work and eat with your mouths full. For, believe me, poor friends,
white teeth are useless furniture, if they chew nothing.

CHORUS Never fear; thanks all the same for your good advice.

TRYGAEUS You, who yesterday were dying of hunger, come, stuff yourselves
with this fine hare-stew; 'tis not every day that we find cakes lying
neglected. Eat, eat, or I predict you will soon regret it.

CHORUS Silence! Keep silence! Here is the bride about to appear! Take
nuptial torches and let all rejoice and join in our songs. Then, when we
have danced, clinked our cups and thrown Hyperbolus through the doorway
we will carry back all our farming tools to the fields and shall pray
the gods to give wealth to the Greeks and to cause us all to gather in
an abundant barley harvest, enjoy a noble vintage, to grant