Hermes.
He will eat Ganymede’s ambrosia.
Trygæus.
Very well then, but how am I going to descend?
Hermes.
Oh! never fear, there is nothing simpler; place yourself beside the goddess.
Trygæus.
Come, my pretty maidens, follow me quickly; there are plenty of folk awaiting you with standing tools.
Chorus.
Farewell and good luck be yours! Let us begin by handing over all this gear to the care of our servants, for no place is less safe than a theatre; there is always a crowd of thieves prowling around it, seeking to find some mischief to do. Come, keep a good watch over all this. As for ourselves, let us explain to the spectators what we have in our minds, the purpose of our play.
Undoubtedly the comic poet who mounted the stage to praise himself in the parabasis would deserve to be handed over to the sticks of the beadles. Nevertheless, oh Muse, if it be right to esteem the most honest and illustrious of our comic writers at his proper value, permit our poet to say that he thinks he has deserved a glorious renown. First of all, ’tis he who has compelled his rivals no longer to scoff at rags or to war with lice; and as for those Heracles, always chewing and ever hungry, those poltroons and cheats who allow themselves to be beaten at will, he was the first to cover them with ridicule and to chase them from the stage;[1] he has also dismissed that slave, whom one never failed to set a-weeping before you, so that his comrade might have the chance of jeering at his stripes and might ask, “Wretch, what has happened to
- ↑ In spite of what he says, Aristophanes has not always disdained this sort of low comedy—for instance, his Heracles in ‘The Birds’
