Euripides.
Ether, whereon I batten! Vocal chords!
Reason, and nostrils swift to scent and sneer,
Grant that I duly probe each word I hear.
Chorus.
All of us to hear are yearning
Further from these twins of learning,
What dread road they walk, what burning
Heights they climb of speech and song.
Tongues alert for battle savage,
Tempers keen for war and ravage,
Angered hearts to both belong.
He will fight with passes witty
Smooth and smacking of the city,
Gleaming blades unflecked with rust;
He will seize—to end the matter—
Tree-trunks torn and clubbed, to batter
Brains to bits, and plunge and scatter
Whole arena-fulls of dust!
[Dionysus is now seated on a throne as judge. The poets stand on either side before him.
Dionysus.
Now, quick to work. Be sure you both do justice to your cases,
Clear sense, no loose analogies, and no long commonplaces.
Euripides.
A little later I will treat my own artistic mettle,
This person's claims I should prefer immediately to settle.
