TRYGAEUS. No, I'm sure he shan't. He would soon have her done for, licking up all her life juice.[348] Come, Theoria, put down all this gear.[349]--Senate, Prytanes, look upon Theoria and see what precious blessings I place in your hands.[350] Hasten to raise its limbs and to immolate the victim. Admire the fine chimney,[351] it is quite black with smoke, for 'twas here that the Senate did their cooking before the War. Now that you have found Theoria again, you can start the most charming games from to-morrow, wrestling with her on the ground, either on your hands and feet, or you can lay her on her side, or stand before her with bent knees, or, well rubbed with oil, you can boldly enter the lists, as in the Pancratium, belabouring your foe with blows from your fist or otherwise.[352] The next day you will celebrate equestrian games, in which the riders will ride side by side, or else the chariot teams, thrown one on top of another, panting and whinnying, will roll and knock against each other on the ground, while other rivals, thrown out of their seats, will fall before reaching the goal, utterly exhausted by their efforts.--Come, Prytanes, take Theoria. Oh! look how graciously yonder fellow has received her; you would not have been in such a hurry to introduce her to the Senate, if nothing were coming to you through it;[353] you would not have failed to plead some holiday as an excuse. CHORUS. Such a man as you assures the happiness of all his fellow-citizens. TRYGAEUS. When you are gathering your vintages you will prize me even better. CHORUS. E'en from to-day we hail you as the deliverer of mankind. TRYGAEUS. Wait until you have drunk a beaker of new wine, before you appraise my true merits. CHORUS. Excepting the gods, there is none greater than yourself, and that will ever be our opinion. TRYGAEUS. Yea, Trygaeus of Athmonia has deserved well of you, he has freed both husbandman and craftsman from the most cruel ills; he has vanquished Hyperbolus. CHORUS. Well then, what must we do now? TRYGAEUS. You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate her altars. CHORUS. Pots of green-stuff[354] as we do to poor Hermes--and even he thinks the fare but mean? TRYGAEUS. What will you offer then? A fatted bull? CHORUS. Oh, no! I don't want to start bellowing the battle-cry.[355] TRYGAEUS. A great fat swine then? CHORUS. No, no. TRYGAEUS. Why not? CHORUS. We don't want any of the swinishness of Theagenes.[356] TRYGAEUS. What other victim do you prefer then? CHORUS. A sheep. TRYGAEUS. A sheep? CHORUS. Yes. TRYGAEUS. But you must give the word the Ionic form. CHORUS. Purposely. So that if anyone in the assembly says, "We must go to war," all may start bleating in alarm, "Oï, oï."[357] TRYGAEUS. A brilliant idea. CHORUS. And we shall all be lambs one toward the other, yea, and milder still toward the allies.