To talk of peace?—out, dotard! What, the rogues Have heard the price anchovies sell for! Peace! Who cares for peace now? let the war go on; And, chairman, break the assembly up.” ‘Twas done— On every side, one moment clears the rails! I the mean time steal privately away And buy me all the leeks and coriander In the market: these I straight make largess of, And gratis give, as sauce to dress their fish. Who may recount the praises infinite, And groom–like courtesies this bounty gained me! In short, you see a man, that for one pennyworth Of coriander vile, has purchased him An entire senate: not a man among them But is at my behest, and does me reverence. _Mitchell_, p. 217, 221. So soon as the Chorus has expressed its high satisfaction, Cleon enters, and the war of words is renewed with equal spirit, till he calls upon Demus to appear, and see what ill treatment he suffers on his account. Demus hears the candidates for his favour, and resolves to call an assembly to decide on their claims; but he insists that it shall be held in his proper seat, the Pnyx, to the dismay of the sausage–seller, who exclaims that he is ruined; since Demus, though a clever fellow anywhere else, is a gaping ninny when he gets on one of those stone benches.[102] However, there is no help for it; the scene changes to the Pnyx, and the sausage–seller makes a favourable impression by presenting to Demus a cushion to keep him from the bare stone, with a most pathetic reference to his exploits at Salamis;[103] a subject in reference to which the Athenians would swallow any amount of flattery. Having gained the ear of the court, he exposes the mischievous tendency of Cleon’s warlike politics, all the gain of which was his own, while the evil and inconvenience were the portion of Demus. This produces an effect which all the protestations of Cleon cannot remove. “You that profess such devotion,” continues his enemy, “did you ever, out of all the hides you sell, give him so much as a pair of shoes?” “Not he, indeed,” replies Demus. A pair is immediately presented, and the provident donor receives the grateful assurance, that of all men living he is the best friend to the people, the city, “and to my toes.” This specimen will probably be sufficient: the result is altogether favourable to the sausage–seller, who is put in possession of Cleon’s signet of office. The latter still has a resource: he appeals to his favourite oracles; but even here he meets with his match. They both quit the stage, and return laden. _Demus._ What may you bear? _Cleon._ Predictions, oracles. _Demus._ What, all! _Cleon._ Now you Admire, and yet a chest filled to the brim Is left behind. _Saus._ I have a garret stored With them, and eke two dwelling–chambers whole. _Demus._ And who has worded these? _Cleon._ Mine come from Bacis.[104]