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Peace   


WAR (throwing in some cheese)
Oh, Sicily! you too must perish! Your wretched towns shall be
grated like this cheese. Now let us pour some Attic honey into the
mortar.
(He does so.)
TRYGAEUS (aside)
Oh! I beseech you! use some other honey; this kind is worth four
obols; be careful, oh! be careful of our Attic honey.
WAR
Hi! Tumult, you slave there!
TUMULT
What do you want?
WAR
Out upon you! Standing there with folded arms! Take this cuff on
the head for your pains.
TUMULT
Oh! how it stings! Master, have you got garlic in your fist, I
wonder?
WAR
Run and fetch me a pestle.
TUMULT
But we haven't got one; it was only yesterday we moved.
WAR
Go and fetch me one from Athens, and hurry, hurry!
TUMULT
I'll hurry; if I return without one, I shall have no cause for
laughing.
(He runs off.)
TRYGAEUS (to the audience)
Ah! what is to become of us, wretched mortals that we are? See the
danger that threatens if he returns with the pestle, for War will
quietly amuse himself with pounding all the towns of Hellas to pieces.
Ah! Bacchus! cause this herald of evil to perish on his road!
WAR (to the returning TUMULT)
Well?
TUMULT
Well, what?
WAR
You have brought back nothing?
TUMULT
Alas! the Athenians have lost their pestle-the tanner, who
ground Greece to powder.
TRYGAEUS
Oh! Athene, venerable mistress! it is well for our city he is
dead, and before he could serve us with this hash.
WAR
Then go and seek one at Sparta and have done with it!
TUMULT
Aye, aye, master!
(He runs off.)
WAR (shouting after him)
Be back as quick as ever you can.
TRYGAEUS (to the audience)
What is going to happen, friends? This is the critical hour. Ah!
if there is some initiate of Samothrace among you, this is surely
the moment to wish this messenger some accident-some sprain or strain.
TUMULT (returning)
Alas! alas! thrice again, alas!
WAR
What is it? Again you come back without it?
TUMULT
The Spartans too have lost their pestle.
WAR
How, varlet?

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