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No, I won't do it. Let the war proceed.

No, I won't do it. Let the war proceed.

You too, dear turbot, you that said just now
You didn't mind being split right up in the least?

Anything else? O bid me walk in fire
But do not rob us of that darling joy.
What else is like it, dearest Lysistrata?

And you?

O please give me the fire instead.

Lewd to the least drop in the tiniest vein,
Our sex is fitly food for Tragic Poets,
Our whole life's but a pile of kisses apd babies.
But, hardy Spartan, if you join with me
All may be righted yet. O help me, help me.

It's a sair, sair thing to ask of us, by the Twa,
A lass to sleep her lane and never fill
Love's lack except wi' makeshifts.... But let it be.
Peace maun be thought of first.

My friend, my friend!
The only one amid this herd of weaklings.

But if—which heaven forbid—we should refrain
As you would have us, how is Peace induced?

By the two Goddesses, now can't you see
All we have to do is idly sit indoors
With smooth roses powdered on our cheeks,
Our bodies burning naked through the folds
Of shining Amorgos' silk, and meet the men
With our dear Venus-plats plucked trim and neat.
Their stirring love will rise up furiously,
They'll beg our arms to open. That's our time!
We'll disregard their knocking, beat them off—
And they will soon be rabid for a Peace.
I'm sure of it.

     Just as Menelaus, they say,
Seeing the bosom of his naked Helen
Flang down the sword.

     But we'll be tearful fools
If our husbands take us at our word and leave us.

There's only left then, in Pherecrates' phrase,
“To flay a skinned dog”—flay more our flayed desires.

Bah, proverbs will never warm a celibate.
But what avail will your scheme be if the men
Drag us for all our kicking on to the couch?

Cling to the doorposts.

     But if they should force us?

Yield then, but with a sluggish, cold indifference.
There is no joy to them in sullen mating.
Besides we have other ways to madden them;
They cannot stand up long, and they've no delight
Unless we fit their aim with merry succour.

Well if you must have it so, we'll all agree.

For us I ha' no doubt. We can persuade
Our men to strike a fair an' decent Peace,
But how will ye pitch out the battle-frenzy
O' the Athenian populace?

I promise you
We'll wither up that curse.

I don't believe it.
Not while they own ane trireme oared an' rigged,
Or a' those stacks an' stacks an' stacks O' siller.

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  • Cross-references to this page (1):
    • A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities (1890), JUSJURANDUM
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