when I heard a herald shout “Theognis,

lead out your chorus!” You can imagine

how this change made me sick at heart. But then,

after Moschus played, what delight I felt

when Dexitheus entered the competition,

playing and singing Boeotian melodies!

Then this year, I twisted my neck around

and almost killed myself watching Chaeris

sneaking in to play shrill music on his flute.

But since the time I first began to wash,

never has the dust stung my eyes so much,

as it does now, whenever Athens holds

a regular assembly, which should begin

early in the morning. But now the Pnyx,

the place where we all meet, is deserted.

The city folk are in the marketplace,

gossiping as they wander here and there,

avoiding the red-ochre-covered rope.

The magistrates are not even here yet—

they will be late, and when they do arrive,

they’ll start pushing and punching each other

for a front row seat. You have no idea—

they tumble down like a cascading river!

They have no wish to think about a truce.

O this city, this Athens! I am always

the very first to get to the assembly

and find a seat. But then, feeling alone,

with not a thing to do, I groan and yawn,

stretch, and fart. I draw figures in the dust,

pull out my nose hairs, add up all my debts.

I dream of countryside and long for peace.

I hate city life and yearn for my own farm,

which never said I had to purchase charcoal,

or vinegar or olive oil. In fact,

the verb “to purchase” was quite unknown there—

I could produce whatever I might want,

without the need to purchase anything.

So now my mind’s made up—I’ve come here

fully prepared to shout and interrupt

and criticize the speakers if they talk

of anything except the need for peace.

But here come the magistrates . . .

About time, too—

right on midday! Did I not predict this?

It’s just as I said—each man is scrambling,

pushing and punching for a front-row seat.

Come on, move along to the front . . . that’s it!

To the front where you can find yourself a seat—

right here, in the consecrated section!

Has anyone spoken yet?

Who is it

that wishes to address the assembly?

I do.

Who might you be?

I am godly Amphitheus!

You are not a man?

No! I am an immortal.

Amphitheus was son of Demeter

and Triptolemos; from him was born

Celeus who married Phaenerete,

my grandmother, who gave birth to Lucinus,

and I was born from him, and that makes me

immortal. And to me alone the gods

have assigned the task of making a truce

with the Lacedaemonians. But, gentlemen,

though I’m immortal, I have no money

for the trip, and the city magistrates

will not give me any.

Guards!

O Triptolemos and Celeus,

are you abandoning me?

You magistrates,

you are violating this assembly

by having this man hauled forcibly away.

He wishes to arrange a truce for us

and do away with war.

Sit down and shut up!

DICAEOPOLIS`

No, by Apollo, I will not sit down—

not unless you are prepared to move

a motion about brokering a peace.

The ambassadors from the Great King!

What kind of Great King? I am so fed up

with these ambassadors and their peacocks

and pretentious mumbo-jumbo!

Silence!

Good heavens! . . . By Ecbatana, what costumes!

You sent us to the Great King on a wage

of two drachmas per day. And that took place

when Euthymenes was chief magistrate.

Ah yes, those poor drachmas.

I can tell you

it was exhausting work roaming around

the plains of Cayster, sheltered from the sun,

lying on soft cushions in our carriages—

soul-destroying work!

While I had it easy

lying in the straw on our battlements.

When we were entertained as welcome guests,

they compelled us to drink sweet unmixed wine

out of crystal goblets inlaid with gold.

O city of Cranaus, do you not see

how these ambassadors are mocking you?

The only people these barbarians

consider men are those ones strong enough

to eat enormous meals and drink like fish.

Here in Athens we only value men

who suck our cocks or take it up the bum.

In the fourth year we reached the Great King’s court.

But he had left, taking his army with him,

searching for somewhere he could ease his bowels.

He spent eight months in the golden mountains,

shitting himself to his royal heart’s content.

How long did it take to heal his arse hole?

One full moon. Then he returned to his palace,

where he entertained us. He served an ox

roasted in an oven—the whole thing!

What rubbish!

Whoever saw an ox baked in an oven!

It’s true! I swear by the gods! He also served

a bird three times larger than Cleonymus—

it was called a blowhard.

To think we pay you

two drachmas a day for all this horseshit!

We have come back, this time bringing with us

Pseudartabas, the Great King’s Eye.

If only

a crow would peck out his eye—and yours, too,

you amb-ASS-ador!

The Great King’s Eye!

O lord Herakles!

By the gods, with that eye

you look like the prow on a ship of war!

Are you rounding a headland seeking port?

You have a leather flap around your eye

and hanging down below it . . .

Come on then,

Pseudartabas, tell him the message

the Great King told you to deliver

to the Athenians, when he sent you back.

Jartaman exarxan apissona satra.

Do you understand what he is saying?

No, by Apollo, I haven’t a clue.

He says that the Great King will send you gold.

Speak louder and more clearly about the gold.

Gold for loose-arsed Ionian? No way!

Ah the damned wretch! That was clear enough.

Why? What is he saying?

He says Ionians

are all loose-arsed buggers if they expect

to get gifts of gold from the barbarians.

No, no! He talks of bars of gold!

What bars?

You’re a complete bullshitter! Go away!

Let me question this fellow by myself.

Dicaeopolis turns towards Pseudartabas.]

Come now, answer my questions clearly,

with your master here as witness, or else

I’ll dip you in purple dye from Sardis.

Will the Great King be sending us some gold?

So these ambassadors are lying to us?

The gestures these men make are very Greek.

I’ll bet they turn out to be Athenians.

Hang on, I recognize one of these eunuchs—

it’s that son of Sibyrtius, Cleisthenes,

the man who shaves his hot, hairy arse hole.

You monkey, did you come here all dressed up,

trying to convince us you were a eunuch,

with a great beard like that? And who is this?

It’s Straton, I presume.

Silence! Be seated!

The Council invites the Great King’s Eye

to a welcome in the Prytaneum.

This is enough to make one kill oneself!

I have to hang around here, wasting time,

while the Council always throws open the doors

of the Prytaneum for scoundrels like that.

But I am going to act—to carry out

something grand and dangerous. Where is he,

that man Amphitheus?

I’m over here!

Take these eight drachmas and go to Sparta—

draw up a peace treaty with the Lacedaemonians

just for me, my children, and my wife.

And you,

my gaping fools, can send out more ambassadors.

Bring in Theorus, returning envoy

from the court of king Sitalces.

I am here.

He’s announcing yet another charlatan

We would not have remained in Thrace so long . . .

No by god, if you’d not been paid so much!

. . . if all Thrace had not been covered in snow.

Rivers were frozen, too. That was when

Theognis produced his play in Athens.

I spent the time drinking with Sitalces,

who was hopelessly in love with Athens.

In fact, he adored your citizens so much

he scrawled on his own walls: “O Athenians,

how beautiful you are!” We made his son

an honorary Athenian. He was keen

to eat blood sausages at our feast

of Apaturia, and he begged his father

to send assistance to his new native land.

Sitalces poured a libation and swore

he would help us with an army so huge

that the Athenians would all exclaim,

“A massive swarm of locusts is flying here!”

May I die really badly if I believe

a word of what you’re saying—apart from

that bit about the locusts.

What’s more,

has sent you the finest fighting men

in all of Thrace.

What’s going on here

is becoming clear.

You warriors from Thrace

brought here by Theorus, come forward!

Who is this wretched group?

These warriors

are the Odomanti.

The Odomanti?

Tell me what that means.

Who sliced the foreskins

off these penises?

If you pay these men

two drachmas a day, they will overrun

and pillage all Boeotia.

Two drachmas

for a bunch of men without a foreskin!

You may well grumble, you top-tier oarsmen,

you saviours of our city!

Bloody hell!

I’m done for! These Odomanti riff-raff

are trying to steal my garlic! Give it back!

You idiot, don’t go near those men.

They’re like fighting cocks—full of garlic.

You magistrates, are you going to let

these barbarians treat me in this way

in my own country? I oppose holding

an assembly about paying wages

to these Thracians. And I declare to you

an omen has just reached me from the sky—

a drop of rain has hit me in the eye.

Let the Thracians now withdraw and return

the day after tomorrow. The magistrates

declare that this assembly is dissolved.

I’m in a bad way. I’ve lost all my lunch.

But here comes Amphitheus back from Sparta.

Welcome Amphitheus!

No welcome yet . . .

not till I stop running . . . the Acharnians . . .

they’re after me . . . I have to get away!

What’s the matter?

I was on my way back here,

in a hurry to bring you your treaties,

when some Acharnian old men got wind

of what I was up to—they’re veterans

of Marathon, tough as oak or maple.

They all started shouting at me, “You wretch,

you are bringing wines to make a truce

when our vines have just been cut to pieces.”

They started putting pebbles in their pockets,

so I ran. They came yelling after me.

Let them shout. Have you brought me a treaty?

Yes I have. There are three for you to sample.

This is a truce for five years. Take it and sip.

Bah!

How is it?

I can’t stand the taste!

It stinks of pitch and refitted warships.

Then take this sample—it’s a ten-year truce.

Taste it.

This has a very pungent smell—

like the ambassadors who travel round

to the allied cities to yell at them

for being so slow.

This third truce here

is for thirty years, by land and sea.

Holy Dionysus! This smells of nectar

and ambrosia! It is telling us

not to watch for orders that every man

collect his own provisions for three days.

It says to me “Go wherever you wish.”

This one I welcome. I’ll ratify it,

drink it down, and tell the Acharnians,

all of them, to bugger off. I am now

rid of war and all its troubles. I’m off

to my country home to honour Dionysus.

And I’ll keep running from those Acharnians.

This way everybody—keep following

that man. Ask everyone we come across.

It’s our civic duty to capture him.

Hey, can anyone tell me where on earth

that man carrying the truce has gone!

He got away from us—he disappeared!

Damn this miserable old age of mine!