PRIEST. Pray to the swan of Delos, to Latona the mother of the quails, and to Artemis, the goldfinch. PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis no longer Artemis Colaenis, but Artemis the goldfinch.[281] PRIEST. And to Bacchus, the finch and Cybelé, the ostrich and mother of the gods and mankind. CHORUS. Oh! sovereign ostrich, Cybelé, the mother of Cleocritus,[282] grant health and safety to the Nephelococcygians as well as to the dwellers in Chios.... PISTHETAERUS. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be thus mentioned on all occasions.[283] CHORUS. ... to the heroes, the birds, to the sons of heroes, to the porphyrion, the pelican, the spoon-bill, the redbreast, the grouse, the peacock, the horned-owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy petrel, the fig-pecker, the titmouse.... PISTHETAERUS. Stop! stop! you drive me crazy with your endless list. Why, wretch, to what sacred feast are you inviting the vultures and the sea-eagles? Don't you see that a single kite could easily carry off the lot at once? Begone, you and your fillets and all; I shall know how to complete the sacrifice by myself. PRIEST. It is imperative that I sing another sacred chant for the rite of the lustral water, and that I invoke the immortals, or at least one of them, provided always that you have some suitable food to offer him; from what I see here, in the shape of gifts, there is naught whatever but horn and hair. PISTHETAERUS. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged gods. A POET. Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns. PISTHETAERUS. What have we here? Where do you come from, tell me? Who are you? POET. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of the Muses, as Homer has it. PISTHETAERUS. You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long? POET. No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves of the Muses according to Homer. PISTHETAERUS. In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal! But, poet, what ill wind drove you here? POET. I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host of splendid dithyrambs and parthenians,[284] worthy of Simonides himself. PISTHETAERUS. And when did you compose them? How long since? POET. Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of this city. PISTHETAERUS. But I am only celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice;[285] I have only just named it, as is done with little babies. POET. "Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou noble founder of the town of Aetna,[286] thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,[287] make us such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest." PISTHETAERUS. He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some present. Here! you, who have a fur as well as your tunic, take it off and give it to this clever poet. Come, take this fur; you look to me to be shivering with cold.