Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I'm sure I heard the cock crow long ago—
The slaves are snoring still—before the war
I'd not have borne their impudence so coolly!
This comes of going to war—my curses on it!
Look ye, I dare not even give my slaves
A beating when they want it; curse the war!
Young Hopeful here, though, seems but little given
To pass the night in watching; there he lies,
At least five blankets round and round him rolled.—
Well, since it must be so, I'll pull the clothes up
And try to snore as loud as they.

No, no!
The slaves may sleep, I cannot; for the cost
This fellow of a son for ever puts me to
In debts for horses, stables, and the like,
(Besides the keeping) racks me all night long,
And—bites me till the blood comes. Not the less
The rascal rides and drives his curricle,
And even dreams of horses. I am like
To die when I perceive the moon bring on
The days for payment to the usurers:
The interest still goes on. Boy, bring a light,
And fetch the account book, quick, that I may see
How much I owe, and reckon up the interest.
Here, give it me. First, forty pounds to Pasia.
What! forty pounds to Pasia! and for what?
I'd like to know for what. Oh, for a horse—
The dashing blood Bellerophon. Alack,

Unhappy that I am! I wish before
I'd bought this dashing blood Bellerophon,
I'd dashed my eye out with a big, sharp stone!

Pars.
(talking in sleep.)
My friend, that isn't fair—keep your own course.

Streps.
There, there, 'tis that that ruins me, d'ye see
Though sound asleep, his head still runs on driving.

Pars.
How many courses has that chariot driven?

Streps.
How many courses, fool, have you driven me?
How many shifts compelled me to resort to?—
But come, whose claim doth next oppress me ? Ah!
Twelve pounds to Amunias, for wheels and coach-box!

Pars.
(still asleep)
Strip off that horse's harness; lead him home.

Streps.
I think, bad luck to you, you're stripping me
Of all I'm worth; besides, these debts to pay,
The usurers swear they'll seize my goods.

Pars.
(waking.)
Why father,
What can the matter be? What makes you fume,
And turn the whole night topsy-turvey, eh?

Streps.
I cannot rest a moment in the blankets;
I'm bitten through and through by—the usurer,
Who says he'll seize my goods.

Pars.
I wish, good man,
You'd let me get a wink or two of sleep.

Streps.
Go, go to sleep with you; but mark my words,
The weight of these detested debts shall fall
On your own lazy shoulders, my young fellow Alack-a-day!
Oh, would to Heaven destruction deep had fallen
On her, the busy, meddling match-maker,
Who fooled me into marrying your mother.
I led, ere that, the sweetest country life:
Up to my eyes in dirt, unscrubbed, at ease,
And passing rich in fleeces, bees, and vineyards,
And then to go, a hob-nail that I was,
And marry me, forsooth, a grand and dressy dame,
From top to toe “my lady”—niece of Megacles,
The high-born Megacles! I wedded her;
I, rank with smell of fleeces, bees-wax, cheese-rinds—
She, all perfumery scent and dalliance,
Dress, showers of kisses, waste and wantonness.
I don't say she was out-and-out a spendthrift,
But just in all she did, she ran too fast
Taking a candle up the other day,
“My dear,” said I, ('twas just to cloak a hint)
“You shouldn't light both ends at once, my dear!”—

Boy.
There's not a drop of oil, sir, in the lamp.

Streps.
Why did you light a lamp that used so much?
Come and be beaten, rascal.

Boy.
Oh, sir, why?

Streps.

Because you put in one of the thick wicks.—
Well, after that, this precious son was born;
And then a desperate tussle straight began
'Twixt my good dame and me, about his name.
Nothing would please her fancy but Xanthippus,
Charippus, or Callippides, or some
Such lofty-sounding, noble appellation.
I battled stoutly for plain—Parsimon,
For 'twas his grand-dad's name; 'twas long before
We came to terms—at last we split the difference,
And called the boy—Parsnippides.

This boy,—
Whenever dandling him upon her knee,
My wife began, “My sweet, when you're grown up,
“Oh what a dashing gig you'll drive to town,
“Wrapt in a graceful cloak like Megacles”—
And I would interrupt with, “When you're grown up,
“What shaggy herds of goats you'll drive to pasture,
“Clad like your father, in a coarse smock frock”—
He never wasted breath in talking on't,
But quietly inflicted on my purse
A kind of veterinary malady,
A horse-consumption, equine atrophy!

Now, after puzzling all night long, I've got
One plan at last, I think a devilish good one—
And if I can but coax this fellow into't,
I yet shall save my bacon. First, let's see

How I can wake him least offensively—
Parsnippides! my pretty!

Pars.
What say, father!

Streps.
(Coaxingly.)
Kiss me, my boy—come let me squeeze your hand.

Pars.
Oh, oh! what now!

Streps.
My boy, now do you love me?

Pars.
Ay, that I do—by Neptune, god of horseflesh!

Streps.
No more, for God's sake, of the god of horseflesh—
That god's the cause of all my troubles, boy!
But if you really love me from your heart,
Obey me, boy!

Pars.
In what must I obey you?

Streps.
Give up your present courses—mend your manners,
And come attend to what I've got to say.

Pars.
Say what it is, then.

Streps.
But will you obey me?

Pars.
Ay, ay, by Bacchus!

Streps.
Well, then, look this way.
D'ye see that door, and that small cottage, there?

Pars.
I do—i'faith, and what may that be, father?

Streps.
The mental-workshop of your witty spirits;
There men reside, who'd prove the very sky
A mighty furnace wrapping us in flame,

And we the coals and cinders. For a fee,
They teach a man, by dint of argument,
To prove that wrong is right, and right is wrong.

Pars.
But what are they?

Streps.
I don't exactly know;
Excogitators deep, real gentles, all,
Of substance good, and reputation fair.

Pars.
A pack of scamps, I'll lay my life! you mean
Such gruel-visaged, ill-shod swaggerers,
As Socrates (the knave!) and Chœrephon.

Streps.
Hush, hush, now—don't talk nonsense.
But do something
To save your father's barley-board and lodging,—
Cut jockeyship, and turn philosopher.

Pars.
I one of these! No, no—by Bacchus—no!
Not though you bribe me with the finest game-cocks
My friend Leogoras ever trained for victory!

Streps.
I do entreat you now, my dearest fellow,
Do come and learn.

Pars.
What would you have me learn?

Streps.
They say those people have two kinds of reasoning,
The stronger, as they call it, and the weaker;
Of these, they say, though wholly in the wrong,
The worse can get the better of the better.
Go, learn me then, that unjust argument,
And of those debts, incurred on your account,
I will not pay—not I—no, not a farthing!

Pars.
I cannot go—how could I bear to look
A man o' horseback in the face again,
If I were like those dried skin-bags of bones,
Those clattering, withered, lean anatomies!

Streps.
Curse catch me if you get a bit to eat then!
Either yourself, your carriage-horse, or hunter;
But out of doors I'll kick you, neck and heels!

Pars.
The stylish Megacles shall never see me
Studless! I'll go—not that I care for you!

Exit.

Aristophanes puns upon the words κοππατιαν and εξεκοπην.. An attempt, perhaps a needless or unsuccessful one, has been made to preserve the pun in the translation.

This line is parodied from the tragedians.

In the original, a parody on the first line of the Medea of Euripides.