_AEschylus_–And by Jove, I’ll not stop to cut up your verses
word by word, but if the gods are propitious I’ll spoil
all your prologues with a little flask of smelling-salts.
_Euripides_–With a flask of smelling-salts?
_AEsch_.–With a single one. For you build your verses so that
anything will fit into the metre,–a leathern sack,
or eider-down, or smelling-salts. I’ll show you.
_Eur_.–So, you’ll show me, will you?
_AEsch_.–I will that.
_Dionysus_–Pronounce.
_Eur_. [_declaiming_]–
AEgyptus, as broad-bruited fame reports,
With fifty children voyaging the main
To Argos came, and
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–What the mischief have the smelling-salts got to do with
it? Recite another prologue to him and let me see.
_Eur_.–
Dionysus, thyrsus-armed and faun-skin-clad,
Amid the torchlights on Parnassus’s slope
Dancing and prancing
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–Caught out again by the smelling-salts.
_Eur_.–No matter. Here’s a prologue that he can’t fit ’em to.
No lot of mortal man is wholly blest:
The high-born youth hath lacked the means of life,
The lowly lout hath
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–Euripides–
_Eur_.–Well, what?
_Dion_.–Best take in sail.
These smelling-salts, methinks, will blow a gale.
_Eur_.–What do I care? I’ll fix him next time.
_Dion_.–Well, recite another, and steer clear of the smelling-salts.
_Eur_.–
Cadmus departing from the town of Tyre,
Son of Agenor
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–My dear fellow, buy those smelling-salts, or there won’t
be a rag left of all your prologues.
_Eur_.–What? I buy ’em of him?
_Dion_.–If you’ll be advised by me.
_Eur_.–Not a bit of it. I’ve lots of prologues where he can’t
work ’em in.
Pelops the Tantalid to Pisa coming
With speedy coursers
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–There they are again, you see. Do let him have ’em,
my good AEschylus. You can replace ’em for a
nickel.
_Eur_.–Never. I’ve not run out yet.
Oeneus from broad fields
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Eur_.–Let me say the whole verse, won’t you?
Oeneus from broad fields reaped a mighty crop
And offering first-fruits
_AEsch_.–lost his smelling-salts.
_Dion_.–While sacrificing? Who filched them?
_Eur_.–Oh, never mind him. Let him try it on this verse:–
Zeus, as the word of sooth declared of old–
_Dion_.–It’s no use, he’ll say Zeus lost his smelling-salts. For
those smelling-salts fit your prologues like a kid
glove. But go on and turn your attention to his
lyrics.
(Aristophanes)
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