Nic. (pettishly and whining). Why poorly enough;
And so are you for that matter.
[Nicias continues writhing and moaning.
Dem. (as if speaking to a child that had hurt himself).
Well, come here then!
Come, and we'll cry together, both of us,
We'll sing it to Olympus's old tune.
Both. (Demosthenes accompanies Nicias's involuntary sobs, so as to make a tune of them.)
Mo moo momoo—momoo momoo—Momoo momoo.[1]
Dem. (suddenly and heartily).
Come, grief's no use—It's folly to keep crying.
Let's look about us a bit, what's best to be done.
Nic. (recovering himself).
Aye, tell me; what do you think?
Dem. No, you tell me—
Lest we should disagree.
Nic. That's what I won't!
Do you speak boldly first, and I'll speak next.
Dem. (significantly, as quoting a well-known verse).
"You first might utter, what I wish to tell."[2]
Nic. Aye, but I'm so down-hearted, I've not spirit
To bring about the avowal cleverly,
In Euripides's style, by question and answer.
Dem. Well, then, don't talk of Euripides any more,
Or his mother either; don't stand picking endive:[3]
But think of something in another style,
To the tune of "Trip and away."
Nic. Yes, I'll contrive it:
Say "Let us" first; put the first letter to it,
And then the last, and then put E, R, T.
"Let us Az ert." I say, "Let us Azert."
- ↑ Our common tune, with a syllable added to it, may be made to suit the trimeter iambic, and may be sung lamentably enough:A friend who has accidentally taken up this sheet, tells me that he heard this very chant, "Mo moo," etc., on the coast opposite Corfu, in a house where the family were moaning over the dead.
"When War's alarms first tore my Willy from me/my arms.
- ↑ From the tragedy of Phœdra she is trying to lead her nurse to mention the name of Hippolytus, while she avoids it herself.
- ↑ His mother was said to have been an herb woman.
