the Muses, as Homer has it.
You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long?
No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves of the
Muses, according to Homer.
In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal! But,
poet, what ill wind drove you here?
I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host
of splendid dithyrambs and parthenia worthy of Simonides himself.
And when did you compose them? How long since?
Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of
But I am only celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice; I
have only just named it, as is done with little babies.
"Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does
the voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou noble founder of
the town of Aetna, thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,
make us such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest."
(He puts out his hand.)
He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some
present. (To the PRIEST'S acolyte) Here! you, who have a fur as well
as your tunic, take it off and give it to this clever poet. Come, take
this fur; you look to me to be shivering with cold.
My Muse will gladly accept this gift; but engrave these verses
of Pindar's on your mind.
Oh! what a pest! It's impossible then to get rid of him!
"Straton wanders among the Scythian nomads, but has no linen
garment. He is sad at only wearing an animal's pelt and no tunic."
Do you get what I mean?
I understand that you want me to offer you a tunic. Hi! you (to
the acolyte), take off yours; we must help the poet....Come, you, take
it and get out.
I am going, and these are the verses that I address to this
city: "Phoebus of the golden throne, celebrate this shivery,
freezing city; I have travelled through fruitful and snow-covered
plains. Tralala! Tralala!"
What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic, you no
longer fear them. Ah! by Zeus! I could not have believed this cursed
fellow could so soon have learnt the way to our city. (To a slave)
Come, take the lustral water and circle the altar. Let all keep
(An ORACLE-MONGER enters.)
Let not the goat be sacrificed.
Who are you?
Who am I? An oracle-monger.