son, to whom we gave the freedom of the city, burned with desire to

come here and eat chitterlings at the feast of the Apaturia;[2] he prayed

his father to come to the aid of his new country and Sitalces swore on

his goblet that he would succour us with such a host that the Athenians

would exclaim, "What a cloud of grasshoppers!"

f[1] The tragic poet.

f[2] A feast lasting three days and celebrated during the month Pyanepsion

(November). The Greek word contains the suggestion of fraud.


May I die if I believe a word of what you tell us! Excepting the

grasshoppers, there is not a grain of truth in it all!


And he has sent you the most warlike soldiers of all Thrace.


Now we shall begin to see clearly.


Come hither, Thracians, whom Theorus brought.


What plague have we here?


'Tis the host of the Odomanti.[1]

f[1] A Thracian tribe from the right bank of the Strymon.


Of the Odomanti? Tell me what it means. Who has mutilated them

like this?


If they are given a wage of two drachmae, they will put all

Boeotia[1] to fire and sword.

f[1] The Boeotians were the allies of Sparta.


Two drachmae to those circumcised hounds! Groan aloud, ye people

of rowers, bulwark of Athens! Ah! great gods! I am undone; these

Odomanti are robbing me of my garlic![1] Will you give me back

my garlic?

f[1] Dicaeopolis had brought a clove of garlic with him to eat during

the Assembly.


Oh! wretched man! do not go near them; they have eaten garlic[1].

f[1] Garlic was given to game-cocks, before setting them at each other,

to give them pluck for the fight.


Prytanes, will you let me be treated in this manner, in my own

country and by barbarians? But I oppose the discussion of paying

a wage to the Thracians; I announce an omen; I have just felt a drop

of rain.[1]

f[1] At the lest unfavourable omen, the sitting of the Assembly was

declared at an end.


Let the Thracians withdraw and return the day after tomorrow;

the Prytanes declare the sitting at an end.


Ye gods, what garlic I have lost! But here comes Amphitheus

returned from Lacedaemon. Welcome, Amphitheus.


No, there is no welcome for me and I fly as fast as I can, for I

am pursued by the Acharnians.


Why, what has happened?


I was hurrying to bring your treaty of truce, but some old dotards

from Acharnae[1] got scent of the thing; they are veterans of Marathon,

tough as oak or maple, of which they are made for sure--rough and

ruthless. They all started a-crying: "Wretch! you are the bearer of

a treaty, and the enemy has only just cut our vines!" Meanwhile they

were gathering stones in their cloaks, so I fled and they ran after

me shouting.

f[1] The deme of Acharnae was largely inhabited by charcoal-burners,

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