Chorus
(while preparations are made for the sacrifice).
All hail, ye nine heaven-born virginal Muses,
Whiche'er of ye watch o'er the manners and uses
Of the Founts of Quotation, when, meeting in fray—
All hearts drawn tense for who wins and who loses—
With wrestling lithe each the other confuses,
Look on the pair that do battle to-day!
These be the men to take poems apart
By chopping, riving, sawing;
Here is the ultimate trial of Art
To due completion drawing!
Dionysus.
Won't you two pray before you show your lines?
Aeschylus (going up to the altar).
Demeter, thou who feedest all my thought,
Grant me but worthiness to worship thee!
Dionysus (to Euripides).
Won't you put on some frankincense?
Euripides (staying where he is).
Oh, thank you;
The gods I pray to are of other metal!
Dionysus.
Your own stamp, eh? New struck?
Euripides.
Exactly so.
Dionysus.
Well, pray away then to your own peculiar.
