That’s deliberate— so when anyone in the assembly says we must have war, those sitting there can all cry out in fear, “But war’s a bummer!”
That’s a fine idea!
And in other things we’ll be like gentle lambs, being very kind to one another and a whole lot milder to our allies.
All right, now get cracking.
Find that lamb and bring it here. I’ll prepare an altar so we’ll have a sacrifice.
How everything the gods desire and fortune turns into a favour moves on to what we all intend.
One by one, the good things come, with luck all things work in the end.
That makes good sense. Here’s our outside altar.
Hurry while the stiff winds pause. The gods have shifted them from war.
The spirits clearly want a change to something better than before.
Here’s the basket with barley seed, ribbons, and a knife. We’ve got fire as well. So now, the only thing we’re missing is the sheep.
You’d better get a move on then—
if Chaeris sees you, he’ll show up although you’ve not invited him. He’ll have his flute with him, as well, and tootle it for all he’s worth.
You’ll have to offer him a gift.
Come on then, you can take the basket and this water for our hands. Circle round the altar quickly, moving to the right.
Watch, then. Now I’ve made my way around it. You can tell me something else.
Hang on. I’ll pick up this piece of burning wood and plunge it in the water.
Nod your head.
Hurry up!
Give me barley grains.
Now that basin— wash your hands and then give it to me.
Now throw some barley in the audience.
There, that’s done!
You’ve thrown them out already?
Yes, by Hermes. There’re no spectators here who didn’t get some seed.
But none of it was taken by the women.
No. Their men will fill them full of seed once evening comes.
All right. Then let us pray.
Who is present here? Where might there be a crowd of righteous men?
Come on, give me the bowl. There’s lots of them, and they’re all stout fellows.
You really think so?
These are righteous men?
Yes, they are. We soaked them with that ritual water, and they’ve come back. They stood their ground.
All right, then, let’s pray right away.
Yes, let us pray.
O most holy goddess, sacred Peace, queen who rules our choral dancing, queen of wedding celebrations, receive our offerings to you.
Yes, most honoured lady, receive it, Yes, by Zeus, and don’t act like wives
who like to sleep around, those women
These are righteous men?
Yes, they are. We soaked them with that ritual water, and they’ve come back. They stood their ground.
All right, then, let’s pray right away.
Yes, let us pray.
O most holy goddess, sacred Peace, queen who rules our choral dancing, queen of wedding celebrations, receive our offerings to you.
Yes, most honoured lady, receive it, Yes, by Zeus, and don’t act like wives
who like to sleep around, those women
who open up the door a crack, peep out, and then, if anyone starts eyeing them, pull back again—but if he goes away, they start looking out once more. Don’t be like that with us again.
No, by god, but like a noble woman reveal yourself completely to us, who love you and for thirteen years now
have been longing for you. Dissolve our fights,
our noisy quarrels, so we can call you our Lysimache. And bring to an end our subtle suspiciousness, which leads us on to babble nonsense to each other. Bring us Greeks together once again, a new start with the juice of friendship, soothe our minds with a kinder tolerance, and let fine goods fill up our market place— huge garlics, early cucumbers, apples,
pomegranates, and for our servants cloaks,
but tiny ones. May we see men bringing geese, ducks, and pigeons from Boeotia, larks, as well, and may baskets full of eels arrive from lake Copais. Let all of us go out to buy them in a common crowd and jostle with Morychus and Teleas and Glaucetes and many other gluttons. Let Malanthius come to market last,
so they’re sold out and he begins to wail and then to sing a song from his Medea,
“I am dying, done for, now I am bereft the ladies lying hiding in the beets.” And may men find all that delightful. Grant these our prayers, most honoured goddess.
Take the knife and, like a true master cook, butcher the sheep.
No. That’s not right.
Why not?
Peace surely gets no joy from slaughter. Nor should one spill blood across her altar.
Go, take the beast inside and sacrifice it. Then cut the thigh bones out and bring them here.
That way we’ll save the sheep for our producer.
But here outside you’d better stop, and quickly set the wood you chop, and then all else you need on top.
Well, don’t you think I’m setting up the wood like a real diviner.
You are indeed. Does anything a clever man should know escape you? What is there that you don’t know which a man esteemed for his wise mind
and for his daring ought to know?
There we are!
The wood’s alight. Stilbides will be upset. I’ll go fetch a table. I don’t need the lad.
Who would not praise a man like that who’s put up with so much danger and has saved our sacred city? Surely you’ll remain the envy of people for all time to come.
All right, it’s ready. You take the thigh bones and set them out. I’ll go for the entrails
and the offering of food.
I’ll take care of it.
You need to be here!
All right, here I am. You don’t think I’m wasting time, do you?
Now make sure these things are properly cooked.
Someone’s coming here wearing a garland. It’s made of laurel. Who the hell is he?
The man looks like a total charlatan. He must be a diviner.
No, by god. It must be Hierocles from Oreus, the one who peddles oracles.
All right. What’s he going to say?
Well, it’s clear enough
he’s going to oppose the peace agreement.
No, it’s the smell of sacrificial meat
that’s brought him here.
Then let’s pretend we don’t see him.
That’s all right with me.
What’s this sacrifice? To which one of the gods?
Keep quiet while your cooking and don’t touch those parts of the rump.
Aren’t you going to say who this sacrifice is for?
Ah, that’s good— the tail is roasting well.
Yes, a good omen. O dear friend, lady Peace!
Come on now, start the offerings and give me the first piece.
It’s better to do the roasting first.
But these are cooked already.
Whoever you are, you’re too much in the way.
Slice them up.
Where’s the table?
Bring out the libations.
The tongue is cut all by itself.
We know. You know what you should do?
Yes, if you tell me.
Don’t say a word to us. We’re offering a holy sacrifice to Peace.
O you miserable foolish mortal men!
It’s your head you’re talking about!
You who are so ignorant, you do not know what gods think, you’ve come to an agreement, you who are men, with fierce-eyed monkeys.
Ha, ha, ha!
Why are you laughing?
I liked that— fierce-eyed monkeys!
Like timid fools you place your trust in foxes, who’ve got deceitful minds, treacherous hearts.
You rascal, I wish your lungs were as hot as what’s cooking here.
If those holy nymphs
We know. You know what you should do?
Yes, if you tell me.
Don’t say a word to us. We’re offering a holy sacrifice to Peace.
O you miserable foolish mortal men!
It’s your head you’re talking about!
You who are so ignorant, you do not know what gods think, you’ve come to an agreement, you who are men, with fierce-eyed monkeys.
Ha, ha, ha!
Why are you laughing?
I liked that— fierce-eyed monkeys!
Like timid fools you place your trust in foxes, who’ve got deceitful minds, treacherous hearts.
You rascal, I wish your lungs were as hot as what’s cooking here.
If those holy nymphs
had not swindled Bacis and Bacis then
had not misled mankind, and if those nymphs had not tricked Bacis one more time . . .
Damn you! May you be utterly wiped out if you don’t stop prattling on about that Bacis.
For it has not yet been decreed by Fate that bonds of Peace should e’er be loosed until such time as first of all . . .
This food here be dusted with this salt.
The blessed gods will not be pleased that warfare terminate, until the wolf is wedded to the sheep.
Damn you, how could a wolf ever get married to a sheep?
As long as the wood bug, when it flies, emits the foulest smelling farts, as long as the noisy polecat bitch still strives to deliver her blind litter, that’s how long it is not right for peace to have been made.
Then what should we have done? Not stop the war?
Or decide by lot which of the two groups should howl the loudest, when there’s a chance for peace and we can then rule Greece together?
You will never make the crab walk straight.
In future you will never eat again at the Prytaneum or offer up poetic fictions after the event.
You will never smooth the prickly hedgehog.
You’ve been deceiving the Athenians— will there ever come a day when you will stop?
What sort of oracle commanded you to burn these thigh parts to the deities?
Well, of course, it was the work of Homer,
that splendid oracle: “They pushed aside the hateful cloud of war and then chose Peace, installing her with beasts for sacrifice. Once they’d cooked the thighs and tasted entrails, they poured libations from a cup”—I led the way, but no one gave a gleaming cup of wine to the man who peddled oracles.
I’ll have no part of that. It’s not a utterance delivered by the Sibyl.
But, by god, wise Homer does say something pertinent:
“The man in love with dreadful civil war has no community, no rights, no home.”
Be on your guard lest somehow a raptor bird
seizes your wits, deceives you by a trick.
You, watch out for that bird—this oracle is threatening our meat. Make a libation and pass the entrails over here to me.
If it’s all right with you, I’ll help myself.
Libation! Libation!
Pour out some for me. Present me with a portion of the meat.
But that’s not pleasing to the blessed gods. Not before this happens—we pour a drink and you get out of here. O lady Peace, remain with us for all our lives.
Serve me the tongue.
Why don’t you get your tongue away from here.
Libation!
Take this with your libation—
seizes your wits, deceives you by a trick.
You, watch out for that bird—this oracle is threatening our meat. Make a libation and pass the entrails over here to me.
If it’s all right with you, I’ll help myself.
Libation! Libation!
Pour out some for me. Present me with a portion of the meat.
But that’s not pleasing to the blessed gods. Not before this happens—we pour a drink and you get out of here. O lady Peace, remain with us for all our lives.
Serve me the tongue.
Why don’t you get your tongue away from here.
Libation!
Take this with your libation—
and hurry up.
Will no one offer me the entrails?
That’s not possible for us. We can’t give you any, not until the wolf gets married to the sheep.
I’m begging you, by your own knees . . .
A futile supplication. You’ll never make the prickly hedgehog smooth.
Come on, you spectators, come here and share these entrails with us.
What’s for me?
You? You can eat your Sibyl.
No, by Earth you two aren’t going to eat that up alone. I’ll grab it from you. It’s public property.
Hit him! Hit this Bacis!
I call as witnesses . . .
And so do I—that you’re a greedy fraud!
and hurry up.
Will no one offer me the entrails?
That’s not possible for us. We can’t give you any, not until the wolf gets married to the sheep.
I’m begging you, by your own knees . . .
A futile supplication. You’ll never make the prickly hedgehog smooth.
Come on, you spectators, come here and share these entrails with us.
What’s for me?
You? You can eat your Sibyl.
No, by Earth you two aren’t going to eat that up alone. I’ll grab it from you. It’s public property.
Hit him! Hit this Bacis!
I call as witnesses . . .
And so do I—that you’re a greedy fraud!
Keep on hitting him with that stick of yours— the imposter!
You do it. I’ll strip him of those skins he stole from us by lying. Come on, soothsayer, let go of those skins! Do you hear me!
What a fine crow he is that’s flown in from Oreus! Why not fly quickly on your journey to Elymnium!
I’m full of joy, yes, full of joy, free from helmets, free from cheese, and free from onions, too. I don’t find battles any fun—
Frederick William Hall (1865–1948) was a classical scholar and Fellow of St John's College, Oxford. Together with William Martin Geldart, he produced the Oxford Classical Text of several authors. Hall was a careful editor known for his thorough collation of manuscripts and his conservative approach to textual criticism.
The Hall–Geldart editions in the Oxford Classical Texts series provide reliable critical texts with selective apparatus criticus. The OCT series, established in 1894 as the Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis, aims to present the best available Greek and Latin texts in a format suitable for both scholarly use and teaching. Each volume provides a clean text with the most significant manuscript variants recorded at the foot of each page.
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