Trygæus.
If a lance-maker or a dealer in shields desires war for the sake of better trade, may he be taken by pirates and eat nothing but barley.
Chorus.
If some ambitious man does not help us, because he wants to become a General, or if a slave is plotting to pass over to the enemy, let his limbs be broken on the wheel, may he be beaten to death with rods! As for us, may Fortune favour us! Io! Pan, Io!
Trygæus.
Don’t say Pæan,[1] but simply, Io.
Chorus.
Very well, then! Io! Io! I’ll simply say, Io!
Trygæus.
To Hermes, the Graces, Hora, Aphrodité, Eros!
Chorus.
And not to Ares?
Trygæus.
No.
Chorus.
Nor doubtless to Enyalius?
Trygæus.
No.
Chorus.
Come, all strain at the ropes to tear away the stones. Pull!
Hermes.
Heave away, heave, heave, oh!
- ↑ The pun here cannot be kept. The word παῖαν, Pæan, resembles παίειν, to strike; hence the word, as recalling the blows and wounds of the war, seems of ill omen to Trygæus.
