Chorus of Old Men.
But you don’t know all their effrontery yet! They abused and insulted us; then soused us with the water in their water-pots, and have set us wringing out our clothes, for all the world as if we had bepissed ourselves.
Magistrate.
And ’tis well done too, by Poseidon! We men must share the blame of their ill conduct; it is we who teach them to love riot and dissoluteness and sow the seeds of wickedness in their hearts. You see a husband go into a shop: “Look you, jeweller,” says he, “you remember the necklace you made for my wife. Well, t’other evening, when she was dancing, the catch came open. Now, I am bound to start for Salamis; will you make it convenient to go up to-night to make her fastening secure?” Another will go to a cobbler, a great, strong fellow, with a great, long tool, and tell him: “The strap of one of my wife’s sandals presses her little toe, which is extremely sensitive; come in about midday to supple the thing and stretch it.” Now see the results. Take my own case—as a Magistrate I have enlisted rowers; I want money to pay ’em, and lo! the women clap to the door in my face.[1] But why do we stand here with arms crossed? Bring me a crowbar; I’ll chastise their insolence!—Ho! there, my fine fellow! (addressing one of his attendant officers) what are you gaping at the crows about? looking for a tavern, I suppose, eh? Come, crowbars here, and force open the gates. I will put a hand to the work myself.
Lysistrata.
No need to force the gates; I am coming out—here I am. And why bolts and bars? What we want here is not bolts and bars and locks, but common sense.
Magistrate.
Really, my fine lady! Where is my officer? I want him to tie that woman’s hands behind her back.
- ↑ The State treasure was kept in the Acropolis, which the women had seized.
