Xanthias.
That must make Aeschylus angry, I should think?
Aeacus.
Well, he did stoop and glower like a mad bull.
Xanthias.
Who'll be the judge?
Aeacus.
That was a difficulty.
Both found an utter dearth of proper critics;
For Aeschylus objected to the Athenians. . . .
Xanthias.
Perhaps he thought the jail-folk rather many?
Aeacus.
And all the world beside, he thought mere dirt
At seeing what kind of thing a poet was.
So, in the end, they fixed upon your master
As having much experience in the business.
But come in; when the master's face looks grave
There's mostly trouble coming for the slave.
[They go into the house.
Chorus.
(the song ts a parody of the metre and style of Aeschylus).
Eftsoons shall dire anger interne be the Thunderer's portion
When his foe's glib tusk fresh whetted for blood he descries;
Then fell shall his heart be, and mad; and a pallid distortion
Descend as a cloud on his eyes.
