friends with his success. _Saus._ Straight as he went from hence, I clapt all sail And followed close behind. Within I found him Launching his bolts, and thunder–driving words, Denouncing all the knights as traitors, vile Conspirators—jags, crags, and masses huge Of stone were nothing to the monstrous words His foaming mouth heaved up. All this to hear Did the grave council seriously incline; They love a tale of scandal in their hearts, And his had been as quick in birth as golden–herb: Mustard was in their faces, and their brows With frowns were furrowed up. I saw the storm, Marked how his words had sunk upon them, taking Their very senses prisoners:—and oh! In knavery’s name thought I,—by all the fools, And scrubs, and rogues, and scoundrels in the town— By that same market, where my early youth Received its first instruction, let me gather True courage now: be oil upon my tongue, And shameless impudence direct my speech. Just as these thoughts passed over me, I heard A sound of thunder pealing on my right.[98] I marked the omen—grateful, kissed the ground, And pushing briskly through the lattice–work, Raised my voice to its highest pitch, and thus Began upon them: “Messieurs of the Senate, I bring good news, and hope your favour for it. Anchovies, such as since this war began, Ne’er crossed my eyes for cheapness, do this day Adorn our markets.”—At the words, a calm Came over every face, and all was hushed. A crown[99] was voted me upon the spot. Then I (the thought was of the moment’s birth) Making a mighty secret of it, bade them Put pans and pots in instant requisition, And then—one obol loads you with anchovies. Then rose the clap of hands, and every face Gaped into mine, in idiot vacancy. My Paphlagonian, seeing by what words The council best were pleased, thus uttered him: “Sirs, Gentlemen, ‘tis my good will and pleasure That for this kindly news, we sacrifice[100] One hundred oxen to our patron goddess.” Straight the tide turned, each head within the senate Nodded assent, and warm good will to Cleon. What! shall a little bull–flesh gain the day, Thought I within me: then aloud, and shooting Beyond his mark: I double, sirs, this vote; Nay, more, sirs, should to–morrow’s sun see sprats One hundred to the penny sold, I move That we make offering of a thousand goats[101] Unto Diana. Every head was raised, And all turned eyes on me. This was a blow He ne’er recovered: straight he fell to words Of idle import, and the officers Were now upon him. All meantime was uproar In th’ assembly—nought talked of but anchovies— How fared our statesman? he with suppliant tones Begged a few moments’ pause; Rest ye, sirs, rest ye Awhile—I have a tale will pay the hearing— A herald brings from Sparta terms of peace, And craves to utter them before you. “Peace!” Cried all (their voices one), “is this a time