Pelt away—pelt away.
Dic. Heaven and Earth! what's here to do? You'll break the pitcher, have a care!
Chorus. We'll break your head,
We'll break your bones,
We'll pummel you to death with stones.
Dic. Tell me, most serene Acharnians, wherefore, upon what pretence?
Chorus. Impudence! Insolence!
Infamous traitor, do ye dare to ask?
In despite 340
Of duty and right,—
Duty to the state,
Duty to the laws,—
You've presumed to separate
Your private cause,
With the villainous abuse
Of a treasonable truce.
And you dare,
Standing there,
Void of shame, void of grace, 350
To look us in the face.
Dic. But my motive: once again, let me be heard, and I'll explain.
Chor. No reply. You shall die,
Stoned and buried all at once,
Buried in a heap of stones.
Dic. Have patience, do! forbear a bit!
You've never heard my reasons yet.
Chorus. We've forborne, long enough;
Say no more. Trash and stuff!
We detest you worse than Cleon, him that, if he gets his dues,
We shall cut up into thongs to serve the knights for straps and shoes. 361
We'll not hear ye; your alliance with the worst of enemies,
With the wicked hated Spartans, we'll avenge it and chastise.
Dic. Don't be talking of the Spartans; 'tis another question wholly,
All my guilt or innocence depends upon the treaty solely.
