It is he, he himself. Stone him, stone him, stone him, strike

the wretch. All, all of you, pelt him, pelt him!

DICAEOPOLIS

What is this? By Heracles, you will smash my pot.[1]

f[1] At the rural Dionysia a pot of kitchen vegetables was borne in

the procession along with other emblems.

CHORUS

It is you that we are stoning, you miserable scoundrel.

DICAEOPOLIS

And for what sin, Acharnian Elders, tell me that!

CHORUS

You ask that, you impudent rascal, traitor to your country; you

alone amongst us all have concluded a truce, and you dare to look us

in the face!

DICAEOPOLIS

But you do not know WHY I have treated for peace. Listen!

CHORUS

Listen to you? No, no, you are about to die, we will annihilate

you with our stones.

DICAEOPOLIS

But first of all, listen. Stop, my friends.

CHORUS

I will hear nothing; do not address me; I hate you more than I

do Cleon,[1] whom one day I shall flay to make sandals for the Knights.

Listen to your long speeches, after you have treated with the

Laconians? No, I will punish you.

f[1] Cleon the Demagogue was a currier originally by trade. He was the

sworn foe and particular detestation of the Knights or aristocratic party

generally.

DICAEOPOLIS

Friends, leave the Laconians out of debate and consider only

whether I have not done well to conclude my truce.

CHORUS

Done well! when you have treated with a people who know neither

gods, nor truth, nor faith.

DICAEOPOLIS

We attribute too much to the Laconians; as for myself, I know that

they are not the cause of all our troubles.

CHORUS

Oh, indeed, rascal! You dare to use such language to me and then

expect me to spare you!

DICAEOPOLIS

No, no, they are not the cause of all our troubles, and I who

address you claim to be able to prove that they have much to

complain of in us.

CHORUS

This passes endurance; my heart bounds with fury. Thus you dare to

defend our enemies.

DICAEOPOLIS

Were my head on the block I would uphold what I say and rely on

the approval of the people.

CHORUS

Comrades, let us hurl our stones and dye this fellow purple.

DICAEOPOLIS

What black fire-brand has inflamed your heart! You will not hear

me? You really will not, Acharnians?

CHORUS

No, a thousand times, no.

DICAEOPOLIS

This is a hateful injustice.

CHORUS

May I die, if I listen.

DICAEOPOLIS

Nay, nay! have mercy, have mercy, Acharnians.

CHORUS

You shall die.

DICAEOPOLIS

Well, blood for blood! I will kill your dearest friend. I have

here the hostages of Acharnae;[1] I shall disembowel them.

f[1] That is, the baskets of charcoal.

CHORUS

Acharnians, what means this threat? Has he got one of our children

in his house? What gives him such audacity?

DICAEOPOLIS

Stone me, if it please you; I shall avenge myself on this.

(SHOWS A BASKET.) Let us see whether you have any love

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