TRYGAEUS. No, 'tis no time for joy yet, for you are not sure of success. But when you have got the goddess, then rejoice, shout and laugh; thenceforward you will be able to sail or stay at home, to make love or sleep, to attend festivals and processions, to play at cottabos,[287] live like true Sybarites and to shout, Io, io! CHORUS. Ah! God grant we may see the blessed day. I have suffered so much; have so oft slept with Phormio[288] on hard beds. You will no longer find me an acid, angry, hard judge as heretofore, but will find me turned indulgent and grown younger by twenty years through happiness. We have been killing ourselves long enough, tiring ourselves out with going to the Lyceum[289] and returning laden with spear and buckler.--But what can we do to please you? Come, speak; for 'tis a good Fate, that has named you our leader. TRYGAEUS. How shall we set about removing these stones? HERMES. Rash reprobate, what do you propose doing? TRYGAEUS. Nothing bad, as Cillicon said.[290] HERMES. You are undone, you wretch. TRYGAEUS. Yes, if the lot had to decide my life, for Hermes would know how to turn the chance.[291] HERMES. You are lost, you are dead. TRYGAEUS. On what day? HERMES. This instant. TRYGAEUS. But I have not provided myself with flour and cheese yet[292] to start for death. HERMES. You _are_ kneaded and ground already, I tell you.[293] TRYGAEUS. Hah! I have not yet tasted that gentle pleasure. HERMES. Don't you know that Zeus has decreed death for him who is surprised exhuming Peace? TRYGAEUS. What! must I really and truly die? HERMES. You must. TRYGAEUS. Well then, lend me three drachmae to buy a young pig; I wish to have myself initiated before I die.[294] HERMES. Oh! Zeus, the Thunderer![295] TRYGAEUS. I adjure you in the name of the gods, master, don't denounce us! HERMES. I may not, I cannot keep silent. TRYGAEUS. In the name of the meats which I brought you so good-naturedly. HERMES. Why, wretched man, Zeus will annihilate me, if I do not shout out at the top of my voice, to inform him what you are plotting. TRYGAEUS. Oh, no! don't shout, I beg you, dear little Hermes.... And what are you doing, comrades? You stand there as though you were stocks and stones. Wretched men, speak, entreat him at once; otherwise he will be shouting. CHORUS. Oh! mighty Hermes! don't do it; no, don't do it! If ever you have eaten some young pig, sacrificed by us on your altars, with pleasure, may this offering not be without value in your sight to-day. TRYGAEUS. Do you not hear them wheedling you, mighty god? CHORUS. Be not pitiless toward our prayers; permit us to deliver the goddess. Oh! the most human, the most generous of the gods, be favourable toward us, if it be true that you detest the haughty crests and proud brows of Pisander;[296] we shall never cease, oh master, offering you sacred victims and solemn prayers.