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A Literal Translation, with Notes.
69 pages - You are on Page 67
SLAVE. No, no, you must be off--or I'll tear your hair out, I will; be off, I say, and don't annoy the Laconian Envoys; they're just coming out from the banquet-hall.
AN ATHENIAN. Such a merry banquet I've never seen before! The Laconians were simply charming. After the drink is in, why, we're all wise men, all. It's only natural, to be sure, for sober, we're all fools. Take my advice, my fellow-countrymen, our Envoys should always be drunk. We go to Sparta; we enter the city sober; why, we must be picking a quarrel directly. We don't understand what they say to us, we imagine a lot they don't say at all, and we report home all wrong, all topsy-turvy. But, look you, to-day it's quite different; we're enchanted whatever happens; instead of Clitagoras, they might sing us Telamon,[466] and we should clap our hands just the same. A perjury or two into the bargain, la! what does that matter to merry companions in their cups?
SLAVE. But here they are back again! Will you begone, you loafing scoundrels.
MARKET-LOUNGER. Ah ha! here's the company coming out already.
A LACONIAN. My dear, sweet friend, come, take your flute in hand; I would fain dance and sing my best in honour of the Athenians and our noble selves.
AN ATHENIAN. Yes, take your flute, i' the gods' name. What a delight to see him dance!
[466] Clitagoras was a composer of drinking songs, Telamon of war songs.
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