ACCUSER. Oh! go on with your ribaldry until the Archon calls the case. BDELYCLEON (_to Philocleon_). No, by Demeter! you stay here no longer! I take you and carry you off. PHILOCLEON. And what for? BDELYCLEON. What for? I shall carry you to the house; else there would not be enough witnesses for the accusers. PHILOCLEON. One day at Delphi, Aesop ... BDELYCLEON. I don't care a fig for that. PHILOCLEON. ... was accused of having stolen a sacred vase. But he replied, that the horn beetle ... (_Philocleon goes on with his fable while Bdelycleon is carrying him off the scene by main force._) BDELYCLEON. Oh, dear, dear! You drive me crazy with your horn-beetle. CHORUS. I envy you your happiness, old man. What a contrast to his former frugal habits and his very hard life! Taught now in quite another school, he will know nothing but the pleasures of ease. Perhaps he will jib at it, for indeed 'tis difficult to renounce what has become one's second nature. However, many have done it, and adopting the ideas of others, have changed their use and wont. As for Philocleon's son, I, like all wise and judicious men, cannot sufficiently praise his filial tenderness and his tact. Never have I met a more amiable nature, and I have conceived the greatest fondness for him. How he triumphed on every point in his discussion with his father, when he wanted to bring him back to more worthy and honourable tastes! XANTHIAS. By Bacchus! 'Tis some Evil Genius has brought this unbearable disorder into our house. The old man, full up with wine and excited by the sound of the flute, is so delighted, so enraptured, that he spends the night executing the old dances that Thespis first produced on the stage,[163] and just now he offered to prove to the modern tragedians, by disputing with them for the dancing prize, that they are nothing but a lot of old dotards. PHILOCLEON. "Who loiters at the door of the vestibule?"[164] XANTHIAS. Here comes our pest, our plague! PHILOCLEON. Let down the barriers.[165] The dance is now to begin. XANTHIAS. Or rather the madness. PHILOCLEON. Impetuous movement already twists and racks my sides. How my nostrils wheeze! how my back cracks! XANTHIAS. Go and fill yourself with hellebore.[166] PHILOCLEON. Phrynichus is as bold as a cock and terrifies his rivals. XANTHIAS. Oh! oh! have a care he does not kick you. PHILOCLEON. His leg kicks out sky-high, and his arse gapes open.[167] XANTHIAS. Do have a care. PHILOCLEON. Look how easily my leg-joints move. BDELYCLEON. Great gods! What does all this mean? Is it actual, downright madness? PHILOCLEON. And now I summon and challenge my rivals. If there be a tragic poet who pretends to be a skilful dancer, let him come and contest the matter with me. Is there one? Is there _not_ one? BDELYCLEON. Here comes one, and one only. PHILOCLEON. Who is the wretch? BDELYCLEON. 'Tis the younger son of Carcinus.[168]