DICAEOPOLIS. Xanthias, walk behind the basket-bearer and hold the phallus well erect; I will follow, singing the Phallic hymn; thou, wife, look on from the top of the terrace.[192] Forward! Oh, Phales,[193] companion of the orgies of Bacchus, night reveller, god of adultery, friend of young men, these past six[194] years I have not been able to invoke thee. With what joy I return to my farmstead, thanks to the truce I have concluded, freed from cares, from fighting and from Lamachuses![195] How much sweeter, Phales, oh, Phales, is it to surprise Thratta, the pretty wood-maid, Strymodorus' slave, stealing wood from Mount Phelleus, to catch her under the arms, to throw her on the ground and possess her! Oh, Phales, Phales! If thou wilt drink and bemuse thyself with me, we will to-morrow consume some good dish in honour of the peace, and I will hang up my buckler over the smoking hearth. CHORUS. It is he, he himself. Stone him, stone him, stone him, strike the wretch. All, all of you, pelt him, pelt him! DICAEOPOLIS. What is this? By Heracles, you will smash my pot.[196] CHORUS. It is you that we are stoning, you miserable scoundrel. DICAEOPOLIS. And for what sin, Acharnian Elders, tell me that! CHORUS. You ask that, you impudent rascal, traitor to your country; you alone amongst us all have concluded a truce, and you dare to look us in the face! DICAEOPOLIS. But you do not know _why_ I have treated for peace. Listen! CHORUS. Listen to you? No, no, you are about to die, we will annihilate you with our stones. DICAEOPOLIS. But first of all, listen. Stop, my friends. CHORUS. I will hear nothing; do not address me; I hate you more than I do Cleon,[197] whom one day I shall flay to make sandals for the Knights. Listen to your long speeches, after you have treated with the Laconians! No, I will punish you. DICAEOPOLIS. Friends, leave the Laconians out of debate and consider only whether I have not done well to conclude my truce. CHORUS. Done well! when you have treated with a people who know neither gods, nor truth, nor faith. DICAEOPOLIS. We attribute too much to the Laconians; as for myself, I know that they are not the cause of all our troubles. CHORUS. Oh, indeed, rascal! You dare to use such language to me and then expect me to spare you! DICAEOPOLIS. No, no, they are not the cause of all our troubles, and I who address you claim to be able to prove that they have much to complain of in us. CHORUS. This passes endurance; my heart bounds with fury. Thus you dare to defend our enemies. DICAEOPOLIS. Were my head on the block I would uphold what I say and rely on the approval of the people. CHORUS. Comrades, let us hurl our stones and dye this fellow purple. DICAEOPOLIS. What black fire-brand has inflamed your heart! You will not hear me? You really will not, Acharnians? CHORUS. No, a thousand times, no. DICAEOPOLIS. This is a hateful injustice. CHORUS. May I die, if I listen.