As the song ends, their champion returns triumphant from his encounter with Cleon in the Senate. The Knights receive him with enthusiasm, and he tells for their gratification the story of his victory, which he ascribes to the influence of the great powers of Humbug and Knavery, Impudence and Bluster, whom he had piously invoked at the outset. He had distracted the attention of the senators from his rival’s harangue by announcing to them the arrival of a vast shoal of anchovies, of which every man was eager to secure his share. In vain had Cleon tried to create a diversion in his own favour by the announcement that a herald had arrived from Sparta to treat of peace. “Peace, indeed, when anchovies are so cheap!--never.” Then rushing into the market, he had bought up the whole stock-in-trade of coriander-seed and wild onions--seasoning for the anchovies--and presented them with a little all round. This won their hearts completely. “In short,” says this practical politician, “I bought the whole Senate for sixpennyworth of coriander-seed!” A tolerably severe satire upon the highest deliberative assembly at Athens. But Cleon is not conquered yet. Rushing on the stage in a storm of fury, he vows he will drag his rival before PEOPLE himself. There no one will have any chance against him; for he knows the old gentleman’s humour exactly, and feeds him with the nice soft pap which he likes. “Ay,” says the other--“and, like the nurses, you swallow three mouthfuls for every one you give him.” He is perfectly willing to submit their respective claims to the master whose stewardship they are contending for. So both knock loudly at Demus’s door; and the impersonation of the great Athenian Commons comes out--not in very good case as regards dress and personal comforts, as may be gathered from the dialogue which follows; his majordomo has not taken over-good care of him, after all. The rival claimants seize him affectionately by either arm, and profess their attachment; while he eyes them both with a divided favour, like Captain Macheath in our comic opera. “I love you,” says the Paphlagonian: “I love you better,” says the other. “Remember, I brought you the Spartans from Pylos.”[14] “A pretty service,” says the Black-pudding-man,--“just like the mess of meat once I stole which another man had cooked.” “Call a public assembly, and decide the matter, then,” says Cleon. “No--not in the assembly--not in the Pnyx,” begs the other; “Demus is an excellent fellow at home, but once set him down at a public meeting, and he goes wild!”