for I control them all and everything I see. I watch the entire world, and I protect the growing crops, for I have power to kill the progeny of all the world’s insects,

whose all-devouring jaws would eat their fill of what bursts out from seeds on ground below, or fruit above for those who lodge in trees. I kill the ones who, as the greatest foe, in sweet-smelling gardens cause great injuries All living beasts that bite and crawl are killed—my wings destroy them all.

This public notice has been proclaimed today: the man who kills Diagoras the Melian will receive one talent—and if one of you

assassinates some tyrant long since dead and gone, he, too, will get one talent. So now, the birds, as well, wish to make the same announcement here. Anyone who kills Philocrates the Sparrowman will get one talent—and if he brings him in alive, he’ll get four. That man strings finches up together, then sells them—a single obol gets you seven. He injures thrushes by inflating them with air

then puts them on display. And he stuff feathers up the blackbird’s nose. He captures pigeons, too, keeps them locked up, and forces them to work for him, tied up as decoy birds, underneath his nets. We wish to make this known to you. If anyone is keeping birds in cages in your courtyards, we tell you, “Let them go.” If you don’t obey, you, in your turn, will be arrested by the birds, tied up and forced to work as decoys where we live.

O happy tribes of feathered birds— we never need

a winter cloak.

In summer days the sun’s far rays don’t injure us. I live at ease among the leaves in flowery fields. In love with sun cicadas sing through noonday heat

their sharp-toned song divinely sweet. In winter caves and hollow spots I play all day with mountain nymphs. In spring we eat white myrtle buds, our virgin treat, in garden places

of the Graces.

We want to speak to all the judges here about our victory—the splendid things we’ll give them if their verdict goes our way— how they’ll get much lovelier gifts than those which Alexander got. And first of all, what every judge is really keen to have, some owls of Laureium who’ll never leave. They’ll nest inside your homes, hatch in your purse, and always breed small silver change. And then,

as well as this, you’ll live in temple-homes. The birds will make your roof tops eagle-style,

with pediments. If you hold some office, a minor post, and wish to get rich quick, we’ll set a sharp-beaked falcon in your hands. And if you need to eat, then we’ll dispatch a bird’s crop, where it keep its stored-up food. If you don’t vote for us, you should prepare some little metal plates to guard your head. You’ll need to wear them, just like statues do. For those of you without that head plate on,

when you dress up in fine white brand-new clothes, the birds will crap on as a punishment.

You birds, we’ve made a splendid sacrifice. But why is there still no messenger arriving from the walls to bring us news