and demeaning its citizens, he now wishes

to defend himself before those Athenians

who can be persuaded to change their minds.

Our worthy poet claims that he has done

many admirable things on your behalf:

he has stopped you being so easily deceived

by foreigner swindlers or finding joy

in flattery and becoming gaping fools.

Earlier, if a foreign ambassador

wanted to mislead you, first he would call you

”a people crowned with violets.” Right away,

as soon as he said that, you all sat up

on the tips of your buttocks. If someone,

appealing to your vanity, said the words

”sleek and shining Athens,” with those words

”sleek” and “shining” he would get what he desired,

because he’d described you as he would sardines.

In doing this, our poet has conferred

many benefits on Athens, like showing

our allied city states how government

in a democracy ought to function.

That is why nowadays, when people come

bringing you tribute from those allied cities,

they are eager to see that great poet

who dared to speak to the Athenians

of truth and justice. Stories of his courage

have spread far and wide. The Great King himself,

when questioning the Spartan embassy,

first asked them which of the two rivals

was the greater force at sea. Then he asked

which of the two cities was the target

of our comic poet’s frequent satire.

”If they have this man as their counsellor,”

he said, “these men will become much better

and will win a triumphant victory.”

That’s the reason the Lacedaemonians

are offering you peace and demanding

you return Aegina—not that they care

about the island, but they wish to steal

your poet. You must never let him leave,

for in his plays he writes of what is just.

He says the many things he teaches you

will make you happy, though he will not use

flattery, bribes, or devious deceit.

He will not be a rogue or sprinkle you

with hyperbolic praise. Instead of that,

he will teach you what is just and right.

So let Cleon scheme and hatch his plots

against me, for my allies—right and justice—

will fight my cause, and in our politics

you will never see me behave like him—

a poltroon and a sexual deviant.

Come, my glowing Acharnian Muse,

with ardent force of all-powerful fire

like a spark spit from an oak wood coal

stirred by the bellow’s encouraging wind.

Sprats lie there to be broiled on embers,

slaves shake olive oil and Thasian pickles

and knead the dough for the barley cakes.

O Muse, inspire a fellow country man

with a lusty, tuneful, and rustic song.

We old men, now well advanced in years,

have a complaint to lodge against the city.

We gained so many victories at sea,

we well deserve your care in our old age,

we are treated in a shameful way,

old men hurled into lawsuits, forced to deal

with stripling orators who laugh at us—

mere nothings, dim-witted, worn out husks.

Poseidon should look after us, but now

our only succour is this staff I hold.

When we stand at the dock, thanks to our age

we mutter indistinctly, seeing nothing

in the fog but a faint outline of justice.

The accuser, once he has taken care

to have the younger men support his side,

quickly launches an attack, pleading his case

with glib, well rounded, ready rhetoric.

He hauls us before the judge, questions us,

and sets verbal traps for us, tormenting,

confusing, and agitating the defendant,

a man as ancient as Tithonus, so crushed

with years that he can only mumble.

Convicted and sentenced to pay a fine,

he totters away, sobs, and through his tears

tells his friends “I leave the court condemned

to spend the cash I need to buy my coffin.”

How can this be reasonable? To destroy

an old white-haired man in court proceedings

beside the water clock--a man who often

shared our labour and wiped off rivulets

of manly sweat, a man whose excellence

at Marathon saved our city. Back then,

we were the ones who chased our enemies,

and now we are the ones being pursued

and conquered. What would a young advocate

like Marpsias declaim to counter this?

Is it fair that a man bowed down with age,

like Thucydides, should be overwhelmed

by having to grapple with Cephisodemus,

the prattling public advocate and lout

from the desert wilderness of Scythia.

I shed tears of pity when I beheld

this old man mistreated by an Archer.

By Demeter, back when Thucydides

was young, he would not have taken lightly

any abuse, even from the goddess Ceres.

No, he would have thrown down ten advocates,

terrified three thousand archers with his shouts.

and with his arrows killed the relatives

of the prosecutor’s father. However,

if you cannot let the old sleep in peace,

at least make it a rule that their cases

be treated separately. Let the old man

face a prosecutor who is like himself—

old and toothless. Let the younger men

confront that advocate with a loose arse

and a glib tongue, the son of Clinias.

So in future, if there’s a case of banishment

or penalties, let the old defendants

be dealt with by old public advocates,

and younger orators charge younger men.

This spot here is my market place. These stones

define its limits. All Megarians,

all Peloponnesians and Boeotians