h the pestle, for War will quietly amuse himself with pounding all the towns of Hellas to pieces. Ah! Bacchus! cause this herald of evil to perish on his road!
To the returning Tumult.
You have brought back nothing?
Alas! the Athenians have lost their pestle —the tanner, who ground Greece to powder.
Oh! Athena, venerable mistress! it is well for our city he is dead, and before he could serve us with this hash.
Then go and seek one at Sparta and have done with it!
Aye, aye, master!
He runs off.
Shouting after him.
Be back as quick as ever you can.
to the audience.
What is going to happen, friends? This is the critical hour. Ah! if there is some initiate of Samothrace among you, this is surely the moment to wish this messenger some accident —some sprain or strain.
Alas! alas! thrice again, alas!
What is it? Again you come back without it?
The Spartans too have lost their