Boulomachus or Clausimachus;[1] go and sing your plaguey songs to the spearmen. . . . Where is the son of Cleonymus? Sing me something before going back to the feast. I am at least certain he will not sing of battles, for his father is far too careful a man.
Son of Cleonymus.
“An inhabitant of Saïs is parading with the spotless shield which I regret to say I have thrown into a thicket.” [2]
Trygæus.
Tell me, you little good-for-nothing, are you singing that for your father?
Son of Cleonymus.
“But I saved my life.”
Trygæus.
And dishonoured your family. But let us go in; I am very certain, that being the son of such a father, you will never forget this song of the buckler. You, who remain to the feast, ’tis your duty to devour dish after dish and not to ply empty jaws. Come, put heart into the work and eat with your mouths full. For, believe me, poor friends, white teeth are useless furniture, if they chew nothing.
Chorus.
Never fear; thanks all the same for your good advice.
Trygæus.
You, who yesterday were dying of hunger, come, stuff yourselves with this fine hare-stew; ’tis not every day that we find cakes lying neglected. Eat, eat, or I predict you will soon regret it.
- ↑ Boulomachus is derived from βούλεσθαι and μάχη, to wish for battle; Clausimachus from κλαίειν and μάχη, the tears that battles cost. The same root, μάχη, battle, is also contained in the name Lamachus.
- ↑ A distich borrowed from Archilochus, a celebrated poet of the seventh century B.C., born at Paros, and the author of odes, satires, epigrams and elegies. He sang his own shame. ’Twas in an expedition against Saïs, not the town in Egypt as the similarity in name might lead one to believe, but in Thrace, that he had cast away his buckler. “A mighty calamity truly!” he says without shame. “I shall buy another.”
