Aristophanes, Peace
Eugene O'Neill, Jr., Ed.

Son of Lamachus
“Glory to the young warriors—”

Trygaeus
Oh! leave off about your young warriors, you little wretch; we are at peace and you are an idiot and a rascal.

Son of Lamachus
“The skirmish begins, the hollow bucklers clash against each other.”

Trygaeus
[1275] Bucklers! Leave me in peace with your bucklers.

Son of Lamachus
“And then there came groanings and shouts of victory.”

Trygaeus
Groanings! ah! by Bacchus! look out for yourself, you cursed squaller, if you start wearying us again with your groanings and hollow bucklers.

Son of Lamachus
Then what should I sing? Tell me what pleases you.

Trygaeus
[1280] “'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen,” or something similar, as, for instance, “Everything that could tickle the palate was placed on the table.”

Son of Lamachus
“'Tis thus they feasted on the flesh of oxen and, tired of warfare, unharnessed their foaming steeds.”

Trygaeus
That's splendid; tired of warfare, they seat themselves at table; [1285] sing sing to us how they still go on eating after they are satiated.

Son of Lamachus
“The meal over, they girded themselves—”

Trygaeus
With good wine, no doubt?

Son of Lamachus
“—with armour and rushed forth from the towers, and a terrible shout arose.”

Trygaeus
Get you gone, you little scapegrace, you and your battles! You sing of nothing but warfare. Who is your father then?

Son of Lamachus
[1290] My father?

Trygaeus
Yes, you, by Zeus.

Son of Lamachus
I am Lamachus' son.

Trygaeus
Oh! oh! I could indeed have sworn, when I was listening to you, that you were the son of some warrior, who dreams of nothing but wounds and bruises, of some Bulomachus of Clausimachus; go and sing your plaguey songs to the spearmen. [1295] 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.