To the Pnyx, however, Demus vows they must all go; and to that place the scene changes. There the contest is renewed: but the interest of the political satire with which it abounds has passed away, in great measure, with the occasion. Some passages in this battle of words are more generally intelligible, as depending less upon local colour, but they are not such good specimens of the satirist’s powers. The new aspirant to office is shocked to find that Demus is left to sit unprotected on the cold rock (on which the Pnyx was built), and produces a little padded cushion of his own manufacture--a delicate attention with which the old gentleman is charmed. “What a noble idea!” he cries: “Do tell me your name and family--you must surely come of the patriot stock of Harmodius, the great deliverer of Athens!” Then his zealous friend notices the condition of his feet, which are actually peeping through his sandals, and indignantly denounces the selfishness of his present steward:-- “Tell me whether You, that pretend yourself his friend, with all your wealth in leather, Ever supplied a single hide to mend his reverend, battered Old buskins? _Dem._ No, not he, by Jove; look at them, burst and tattered! _B.-P.-S._ That shows the man! now, spick and span, behold my noble largess! A lovely pair, bought for your wear, at my own cost and charges. _Dem._ I see your mind is well inclined, with views and temper suiting, To place the state of things--and toes--upon a proper footing. _B.-P.-S._ But there now, see--this winter he might pass without his clothing; The season’s cold--he’s chilly and old--but still you think of nothing; Whilst I, to show my love, bestow this waistcoat as a present, Comely and new, with sleeves thereto, of flannel, warm and pleasant. _Dem._ How strange it is! Themistocles was reckoned mighty clever; With all his wit he could not hit on such a project ever; Such a device! so warm! so nice! in short it equals fairly His famous wall, with port and all, that he contrived so rarely.”--(F.) Not to be outdone in such attentions, Cleon offers his cloak, to keep his master from the cold; but Demus, who is already turning his fickle affections towards his new flatterer, rejects it--it stinks so abominably of leather. “That’s it,” says the other; “he wants to poison you; he tried it once before!”