PEACE
205
Trygæus.
You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate her altars.
Chorus.
Pots of green-stuff[1] as we do to poor Hermes—and even he thinks the fare but mean?
Trygæus.
What will you offer then? A fatted bull?
Chorus.
Oh, no! I don’t want to start bellowing the battle-cry.[2]
Trygæus.
A great fat swine then?
Chorus.
No, no.
Trygæus.
Why not?
Chorus.
We don’t want any of the swinishness of Theagenes.[3]
Trygæus.
What other victim do you prefer then?
Chorus.
A sheep.
Trygæus.
A sheep?
Chorus.
Yes.