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THE HARVARD CLASSICS
EDITED BY CHARLES W ELIOT LLD
NINE GREEK DRAMAS
BY ĘSCHYLUS, SOPHOCLES, EURIPIDES AND ARISTOPHANES
TRANSLATIONS BY E D A MORSHEAD
E H PLUMPTRE
GILBERT MURRAY
AND
B B ROGERS
WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES
VOLUME 8
* * * * *
THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Aristophanes, _the greatest of comic writers in Greek and in the
opinion of many, in any language, is the only one of the Attic
comedians any of whose works has survived in complete form He was born
in Athens about the middle of the fifth century B C, and had his first
comedy produced when he was so young that his name was withheld on
account of his youth. He is credited with over forty plays, eleven of
which survive, along with the names and fragments of some twenty-six
others. His satire deal with political, religious, and literary topics,
and with all its humor and fancy is evidently the outcome of profound
conviction and a genuine patriotism. The Attic comedy was produced at
the festivals of Dionysus, which were marked by great license, and to
this, rather than to the individual taste of the poet, must be ascribed
the undoubted coarseness of many of the jests. Aristophanes seems,
indeed, to have been regarded by his contemporaries as a man of noble
character. He died shortly after the production of his "Plutus," in 388
B. C.
"The Frogs" was produced the year after the death of Euripides, and
laments the decay of Greek tragedy which Aristophanes attributed to
that writer. It is an admirable example of the brilliance of his style,
and of that mingling of wit and poetry with rollicking humor and keen
satirical point which is his chief characteristic. Here, as elsewhere,
he stands for tradition against innovation of all kinds, whether in
politics, religion, or art. The hostility to Euripides displayed here
and in several other plays, like his attacks on Socrates, is a result
of this attitude of conservatism. The present play is notable also as a
piece of elaborate if not over-serious literary criticism from the pen
of a great poet._
* * * * *
THE FROGS
OF ARISTOPHANES
DRAMATIS PERSONĘ
THE GOD DIONYSUS
XANTHIAS, _his slave_
AESCHYLUS
EURIPIDES
HERACLES
PLUTO
CHARON AEACUS, _house porter to Pluto_
A CORPSE
A MAIDSERVANT OF PERSEPHONE
A LANDLADY IN HADES
PLATHANE, _her servant_
A CHORUS OF FROGS
A CHORUS OF INITIATED PERSONS
_Attendants at a Funeral;
Women worshipping Iacchus;
Servants of Pluto, &c._
_Xanthias_
Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master,
At which the audience never fail to laugh?
DIONYSUS. Aye, what you will, except _I'm getting crushed:_ Fight shy
of that: I'm sick of that already.
XAN. Nothing else smart?
DIO. Aye, save _my shoulder's aching._
XAN. Come now, that comical joke?
DIO. With all my heart. Only be careful not to shift your pole,
And--
XAN. What?
DIO. And vow that you've a bellyache.
XAN. May I not say I'm overburdened so
That if none ease me, I must ease myself?
DIO. For mercy's sake, not till I'm going to vomit.
XAN. What! must I bear these burdens, and not make
One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis
And Phrynichus, in every play they write,
Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers?
DIO. Don't make them; no! I tell you when I see
Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away
More than a twelvemonth older than I went.
XAN. O thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now
Is _getting crushed_, yet must not crack its joke!
DIO. Now is not this fine pampered insolence
When I myself, Dionysus, son of--Pipkin,
Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride,
Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing?
XAN. What, don't I bear?
DIO. How can you when you're riding?
XAN. Why, I bear these.
DIO. How?
XAN. Most unwillingly.
DIO. Does not the donkey bear the load you're bearing?
XAN. Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he.
DIO. How can you bear, when you are borne yourself?
XAN. Don't know: but anyhow _my shoulder's aching_.
DIO. Then since you say the donkey helps you not,
You lift him up and carry him in turn.
XAN. O hang it all! why didn't I fight at sea?
You should have smarted bitterly for this.
DIO. Get down, you rascal; I've been trudging on
Till now I've reached the portal, where I'm going
First to turn in.
Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy!
HERACLES. Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur
He drove against it! Mercy o' me, what's this?
DIO. Boy.
XAN. Yes.
DIO. Did you observe?
XAN. What?
DIO. How alarmed He is.
XAN. Aye truly, lest you've lost your wits.
HER. O by Demeter, I can't choose but laugh.
Biting my lips won't stop me. Ha! ha! ha!
DIO. Pray you, come hither, I have need of you.
HER. I vow I can't help laughing, I can't help it.
A lion's hide upon a yellow silk, a club and buskin!
What's it all about? Where were you going?
DIO. I was serving lately aboard the--Cleisthenes.
HER. And fought?
DIO. And sank more than a dozen of the enemy's ships.
HER. You two?
DIO. We two.
HER. And then I awoke, and lo!
DIO. There as, on deck, I'm reading to myself
The Andromeda, a sudden pang of longing
Shoots through my heart, you can't conceive how keenly.
HER. How big a pang.
DIO. A small one, Molon's size.
HER. Caused by a woman?
DIO. No.
HER. A boy?
DIO. No, no.
HER. A man?
DIO. Ah! ah!
HER. Was it for Cleisthenes?
DIO. Don't mock me, brother; on my life I am
In a bad way: such fierce desire consumes me.
HER. Aye, little brother? how?
DIO. I can't describe it. But yet I'll tell you in a riddling way.
Have you e'er felt a sudden lust for soup?
HER. Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times.
DIO. Is the thing clear, or must I speak again?
HER. Not of the soup: I'm clear about the soup.
DIO. Well, just that sort of pang devours my heart
For lost Euripides.
HER. A dead man too.
DIO. And no one shall persuade me not to go after the man.
HER. Do you mean below, to Hades?
DIO. And lower still, if there's a lower still.
HER. What on earth for?
DIO. I want a genuine poet, "For some are not, and those that are, are
bad."
HER. What! does not Iophon live?
DIO. Well, he's the sole Good thing remaining, if even he is good.
For even of that I'm not exactly certain.
HER. If go you must, there's Sophocles--he comes Before Euripides--why
not take _him_?
DIO. Not till I've tried if Iophon's coin rings true
When he's alone, apart from Sophocles.
Besides, Euripides the crafty rogue,
Will find a thousand shifts to get away,
But _he_ was easy here, is easy there.
HER. But Agathon, where is he?
DIO. He has gone and left us, A genial poet, by his friends much
missed.
HER. Gone where?
DIO. To join the blessed in their banquets.
HER. But what of Xenocles?
DIO. O he be hanged!
HER. Pythangelus?
XAN. But never a word of me, Not though my shoulder's chafed so
terribly.
HER. But have you not a shoal of little songsters,
Tragedians by the myriad, who can chatter
A furlong faster than Euripides?
DIO. Those be mere vintage-leavings, jabberers, choirs
Of swallow-broods, degraders of their art,
Who get one chorus, and are seen no more,
The Muses' love once gained. But O my friend,
Search where you will, you'll never find a true
Creative genius, uttering startling things.
HER. Creative? how do you mean?
DIO. I mean a man Who'll dare some novel venturesome conceit,
_Air, Zeus's chamber_, or _Time's foot_, or this,
_'Twas not my mind that swore: my tongue committed
A little perjury on its own account._
HER. You like that style?
DIO. Like it? I dote upon it.
HER. I vow it's ribald nonsense, and you know it.
DIO. "Rule not my mind": you've got a house to mind.
HER. Really and truly though 'tis paltry stuff.
DIO. Teach me to dine!
XAN. But never a word of me.
DIO. But tell me truly--'twas for this I came
Dressed up to mimic you--what friends received
And entertained you when you went below
To bring back Cerberus, in case I need them.
And tell me too the havens, fountains, shops,
Roads, resting-places, stews, refreshment rooms,
Towns, lodgings, hostesses, with whom were found
The fewest bugs.
XAN. But never a word of me.
HER. You are really game to go?
DIO. O drop that, can't you? And tell me this: of all the roads you
know
Which is the quickest way to get to Hades? I want one not too warm, nor
yet too cold.
HER. Which shall I tell you first? which shall it be?
There's one by rope and bench: you launch away
And--hang yourself.
DIO. No thank you: that's too stifling.
HER. Then there's a track, a short and beaten cut.
By pestle and mortar.
DIO. Hemlock, do you mean?
HER. Just so.
DIO. No, that's too deathly cold a way;
You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed.
HER. Well, would you like a steep and swift descent?
DIO. Aye, that's the style: my walking powers are small.
HER. Go down to the Cerameicus.
DIO. And do what?
HER. Climb to the tower's top pinnacle--
DIO. And then?
HER. Observe the torch-race started, and when all
The multitude is shouting _Let them go_,
Let yourself go.
DIO. Go whither?
HER. To the ground.
DIO. O that would break my brain's two envelopes. I'll not try that
HER. Which will you try?
DIO. The way you went yourself.
HER. A parlous voyage that,
For first you'll come to an enormous lake Of fathomless depth.
DIO. And how am I to cross?
HER. An ancient mariner will row you over
In a wee boat, _so_ big.
The fare's two obols.
DIO. Fie! The power two obols have, the whole world through!
How came they thither?
HER. Theseus took them down.
And next you'll see great snakes and savage monsters
In tens of thousands.
DIO. You needn't try to scare me, I'm going to go.
HER. Then weltering seas of filth
And ever-rippling dung: and plunged therein,
Whoso has wronged the stranger here on earth,
Or robbed his boylove of the promised pay,
Or swinged his mother, or profanely smitten
His father's cheek, or sworn an oath forsworn,
Or copied out a speech of Morsimus.
DIO. There too, perdie, should _he_ be plunged, whoe'er
Has danced the sword-dance of Cinesias.
HER. And next the breath of flutes will float around you,
And glorious sunshine, such as ours, you'll see,
And myrtle groves, and happy bands who clap
Their hands in triumph, men and women too.
DIO. And who are they?
HER. The happy mystic bands.
XAN. And I'm the donkey in the mystery show.
But I'll not stand it, not one instant longer.
HER. Who'll tell you everything you want to know.
You'll find them dwelling close beside the road
You are going to travel, just at Pluto's gate.
And fare thee well, my brother.
DIO. And to you Good cheer.
(_To Xan._) Now sirrah, pick you up the traps.
XAN. Before I've put them down?
DIO. And quickly too.
XAN. No, prithee, no; but hire a body, one
They're carrying out, on purpose for the trip.
DIO. If I can't find one?
XAN. Then I'll take them.
DIO. Good. And see! they are carrying out a body now.
Hallo! you there, you deadman, are you willing
To carry down our little traps to Hades?
CORPSE. What are they?
DIO. These.
CORP. Two drachmas for the job?
DIO. Nay, that's too much.
CORP. Out of the pathway, you!
DIO. Beshrew thee, stop: may-be we'll strike a bargain.
CORP. Pay me two drachmas, or it's no use talking.
DIO. One and a half.
CORP. I'd liefer live again!
XAN. How absolute the knave is!
He be hanged! I'll go myself.
DIO. You're the right sort, my man.
Now to the ferry.
CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to.
XAN. Whatever's that?
DIO. Why, that's the lake, by Zeus,
Whereof he spake, and yon's the ferry-boat.
XAN. Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow's Charon.
DIO. Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon.
CHAR. Who's for the Rest from every pain and ill?
Who's for the Lethe's plain? the Donkey-shearings?
Who's for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens?
DIO. I.
CHAR. Hurry in.
DIO. But where are you going really? In truth to the Ravens?
CHAR. Aye, for your behoof. Step in.
DIO. (_To Xan._) Now, lad.
CHAR. A slave? I take no slave,
Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea.
XAN. I couldn't go. I'd got the eye-disease.
CHAR. Then fetch a circuit round about the lake.
XAN. Where must I wait?
CHAR. Beside the Withering stone,
Hard by the Rest.
DIO. You understand?
XAN. Too well. O, what ill omen crost me as I started!
CHAR. (_To DIO._) Sit to the oar. (_Calling._) Who else for the boat?
Be quick.
(_To DIO._) Hi! what are you doing?
DIO. What am I doing? Sitting On to the oar.
You told me to, yourself.
CHAR. Now sit you there, you little Potgut.
DIO. So?
CHAR. Now stretch your arms full length before you.
DIO. So?
CHAR. Come, don't keep fooling; plant your feet, and now
Pull with a will.
DIO. Why, how am _I_ to pull? I'm not an oarsman, seaman,
Salaminian. I can't!
CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once,
You'll hear the loveliest timing songs.
DIO. What from?
CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful.
DIO. Then give the word.
CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!!
FROGS.
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
We children of the fountain and the lake
Let us wake
Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out,
Our symphony of clear-voiced song.
The song we used to love in the Marshland up above,
In praise of DIOnysus to produce,
Of Nysaean DIOnysus, son of Zeus,
When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay,
To our precinct reeled along on the holy
Pitcher day.
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. O, dear! O dear! now I declare I've got a bump upon my rump.
FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. But you, perchance, don't care.
FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. Hang you, and your ko-axing too! There's nothing but ko-ax with
you.
FR. That is right, Mr. Busybody, right!
For the Muses of the lyre love us well;
And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays;
And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight
For the strong reed's sake which I grow within my lake
To be girdled in his lyre's deep shell.
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO.
My hands are blistered very sore;
My stern below is sweltering so,
'Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
O tuneful race, O pray give o'er,
O sing no more.
FR. Ah, no! ah, no! Loud and louder our chant must flow.
Sing if ever ye sang of yore,
When in sunny and glorious days
Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing
On we swept, in the joy of singing
Myriad-divine roundelays.
Or when fleeing the storm, we went
Down to the depths, and our choral song
Wildly raised to a loud and long
Bubble-bursting accompaniment.
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. This timing song I take from you.
FR. That's a dreadful thing to do.
DIO. Much more dreadful, if I row
Till I burst myself, I trow.
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. Go, hang yourselves; for what care I?
FR. All the same we'll shout and cry,
Stretching all our throats with song,
Shouting, crying, all day long.
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
DIO. In this you'll never, never win.
FR. This you shall not beat us in.
DIO. No, nor ye prevail o'er me.
Never! never! I'll my song
Shout, if need be, all day long,
Until I've learned to master your ko-ax.
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.
I thought I'd put a stop to your ko-ax.
CHAR. Stop! Easy! Take the oar and push her to now pay your fare and
go.
DIO. Here 'tis: two obols. Xanthias! where's Xanthias?
Is it Xanthias there?
XAN. Hoi, hoi!
DIO. Come hither.
XAN. Glad to meet you, master.
DIO. What have you there?
XAN. Nothing but filth and darkness.
DIO. But tell me, did you see the parricides
And perjured folk he mentioned?
XAN. Didn't you?
DIO. Poseidon, yes. Why look! (_pointing to the audience_)
I see them now. What's the next step?
XAN. We'd best be moving on.
This is the spot where Heracles declared
Those savage monsters dwell.
DIO. O hang the fellow.
That's all his bluff: he thought to scare me off,
The jealous dog, knowing my plucky ways.
There's no such swaggerer lives as Heracles.
Why, I'd like nothing better than to achieve
Some bold adventure, worthy of our trip.
XAN. I know you would. Hallo! I hear a noise.
DIO. Where? what?
XAN. Behind us, there.
DIO. Get you behind.
XAN. No, it's in front.
DIO. Get you in front directly.
XAN. And now I see the most ferocious monster.
DIO. O, what's it like?
XAN. Like everything by turns.
Now it's a bull: now it's a mule: and now
The loveliest girl.
DIO. O, where? I'll go and meet her.
XAN. It's ceased to be a girl: it's a dog now.
DIO. It is Empusa!
XAN. Well, its face is all
Ablaze with fire.
DIO. Has it a copper leg?
XAN. A copper leg, yes, one; and one of cow dung.
DIO. O, whither shall I flee?
XAN. O, whither I?
DIO. My priest, protect me, and we'll sup together.
XAN. King Heracles, we're done for.
DIO. O, forbear, Good fellow, call me anything but that.
XAN. Well then, Dionysus.
DIO. O, that's worse again.
XAN. (_To the Spectre_.) Aye, go thy way.
O master, here, come here.
DIO. O, what's up now?
XAN. Take courage; all's serene.
And, like Hegelochus, we now may say
"Out of the storm there comes a new fine wether."
Empusa's gone.
DIO. Swear it.
XAN. By Zeus she is.
DIO. Swear it again.
XAN. By Zeus.
DIO. Again
XAN. By Zeus. O dear, O dear, how pale I grew to see her,
But he, from fright has yellowed me all over.
DIO. Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head?
Who is the god to blame for my destruction?
Air, Zeus's chamber, or the Foot of Time?
(_A flute is played behind the scenes_.)
DIO. Hist!
XAN. What's the matter.
DIO. Didn't you hear it?
XAN. What?
DIO. The breath of flutes.
XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches
Breathed o'er me too; a very mystic whiff.
DIO. Then crouch we down, and mark what's going on.
CHORUS. (_In the distance_.) O Iacchus! O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
XAN. I have it, master: 'tis those blessed Mystics,
Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts.
They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made.
DIO. I think so too: we had better both keep quiet
And so find out exactly what it is.
(_The calling forth of Iacchus_.)
CHOR.
O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temple dwelling,
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Come to tread this verdant level,
Come to dance in mystic revel,
Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles
Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles,
Come with wild and saucy paces
Mingling in our joyous dance,
Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces
When the mystic choirs advance.
XAN. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter's daughter, O, what a jolly whiff
of pork breathed o'er me!
DIO. Hist! and perchance you'll get some tripe yourself.
_(The welcome to Iacchus.)_
CHOR. Come, arise, from sleep awaking,
come the fiery torches shaking,
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!
Morning Star that shinest nightly.
Lo, the mead is blazing brightly,
Age forgets its years and sadness,
Aged knees curvet for gladness,
Lift thy flashing torches o'er us,
Marshal all thy blameless train,
Lead, O lead the way before us;
lead the lovely youthful Chorus
To the marshy flowery plain.
_(The warning-off of the profane.)_
All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our
choirs depart,
Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of
heart;
Who ne'er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the
Muses high;
Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus's words
supply;
Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they
make;
Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to
slake,
But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to
reap;
Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on
the stormy deep;
Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away
Forbidden stores from Aegina's shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay
Transmitting oarpads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five
per cents;
The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy's
armaments;
The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate's wayside shrine;
The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feast, would, with
heart malign,
Keep nibbling away the Comedians' pay;--to these I utter my warning
cry,
I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that
they draw not nigh
To the sacred dance of the Mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the
song,
The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast
belong.
(_The start of the procession_.)
Advance, true hearts, advance!
On to the gladsome bowers,
On to the sward, with flowers
Embosomed bright!
March on with jest, and jeer, and dance,
Full well ye've supped to-night.
(_The processional hymn to Persephone_.)
March, chanting loud your lays,
Your hearts and voices raising,
The Saviour goddess praising
Who vows she'll still
Our city save to endless days,
Whate'er Thorycion's will.
Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and
hymns adorn
Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn.
(_The processional hymn to Demeter_.)
O Lady, over our rites presiding,
Preserve and succour thy choral throng,
And grant us all, in thy help confiding,
To dance and revel the whole day long;
AND MUCH in earnest, and much in jest,
Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein.
And when we have bantered and laughed our best,
The victor's wreath be it ours to win.
Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay,
Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way.
(_The processional hymn to Iacchus_.)
O, come with the joy of thy festival song,
O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng
Untired, though the journey be never so long.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent,
Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent,
Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show,
Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo,
There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow.
O Lord of the frolic and dance,
Iacchus, beside me advance!
DIO. Wouldn't I like to follow on, and try
A little sport and dancing?
XAN. Wouldn't I?
(_The banter at the bridge of Cephisus_.)
CHOR. Shall we all a merry joke
At Archedemus poke,
Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old;
Yet up among the dead
He is demagogue and head,
And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold?
And Cleisthenes, they say, Is among the tombs all day,
Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine.
And Callias, I'm told,
Has become a sailor bold,
And casts a lion's hide o'er his members feminine.
DIO. Can any of you tell
Where Pluto here may dwell,
For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before?
CHOR. O, then no further stray,
Nor again enquire the way,
For know that ye have journeyed to his very entrance-door
DIO. Take up the wraps, my lad.
XAN. Now is not this too bad?
Like "Zeus's Corinth," he "the wraps" keeps saying o'er and o'er.
CHOR. Now wheel your sacred dances through the glade with flowers
bedight,
All ye who are partakers of the holy festal rite;
And I will with the women and the holy maidens go
Where they keep the nightly vigil, an auspicious light to show.
(_The departure for the Thriasian Plain_)
Now haste we to the roses,
And the meadows full of posies,
Now haste we to the meadows
In our own old way,
In choral dances blending,
In dances never ending,
Which only for the holy
The Destinies array.
O happy mystic chorus,
The blessed sunshine o'er us
On us alone is smiling,
In its soft sweet light:
On us who strove for ever
With holy, pure endeavour,
Alike by friend and stranger
To guide our steps aright.
DIO. What's the right way to knock? I wonder how
The natives here are wont to knock at doors.
XAN. No dawdling: taste the door. You've got, remember,
The lion-hide and pride of Heracles.
DIO. Boy! boy!
AEACUS. Who's there?
DIO. I, Heracles the strong!
AEAC. O, you most shameless desperate ruffian, you!
O, villain, villain, arrant vilest villain!
Who seized our Cerberus by the throat, and fled,
And ran, and rushed, and bolted, haling off
The dog, my charge! But now I've got thee fast.
So close the Styx's inky-hearted rock,
The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron
Shall hem thee in: the hell-hounds of Cocytus
Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp
Shall rive thy heart-strings: the Tartesian Lamprey,
Prey on thy lungs: and those Tithrasian Gorgons
Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them,
Entrails and all, into one bloody mash.
I'll speed a running foot to fetch them hither.