Aristophanes, Knights — Greek text with English translation

DemosthenesOh! alas! alas! Oh! woe! oh! woe! Miserable Paphlagonian!1 may the gods destroy both him and his cursed advice! Since that evil day when this new slave entered the house he has never ceased belabouring us with blows.

Demosthenes and NiciasBoo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo!!

DemosthenesBah! 'tis lost labour to weep! Enough of groaning! Let us consider how to save our pelts.

NiciasI dare not. How could I express my thoughts with the pomp of Euripides?

DemosthenesOh! prithee, spare me! Do not pelt me with those vegetables,4 but find some way of leaving our master.

NiciasWell, then! Say "Let-us-bolt," like this, in one breath.

DemosthenesBecause hard rubbing abrades the skin when folk masturbate themselves.

NiciasThe best thing we can do for the moment is to throw ourselves at the feet of the statue of some god.

DemosthenesOf which statue? Any statue? Do you then believe there are gods?

NiciasThe proof that they have taken a grudge against me. Is that not enough?

DemosthenesI'm convinced it is. But to pass on. Do you consent to my telling the spectators of our troubles?

Nicias'Twould not be amiss, and we might ask them to show us by their manner, whether our facts and actions are to their liking.

DemosthenesI will begin then. We have a very brutal master, a perfect glutton for beans,6 and most bad-tempered; 'tis Demos of the Pnyx,7 an intolerable old man and half deaf. The beginning of last month he bought a slave, a Paphlagonian tanner, an arrant rogue, the incarnation of calumny. This man of leather knows his old master thoroughly; he plays the fawning cur, flatters, cajoles; wheedles, and dupes him at will with little scraps of leavings, which he allows him to get. "Dear Demos," he will say, "try a single case and you will have done enough; then take your bath, eat, swallow and devour; here are three obols."8 Then the Paphlagonian filches from one of us what we have prepared and makes a present of it to our old man. T'other day I had just kneaded a Spartan cake at Pylos;9 the cunning rogue came behind my back, sneaked it and offered the cake, which was my invention, in his own name. He keeps us at a distance and suffers none but himself to wait upon the master; when Demos is dining, he keeps close to his side with a thong in his hand and puts the orators to flight. He keeps singing oracles to him, so that the old man now thinks of nothing but the Sibyl. Then, when he sees him thoroughly obfuscated, he uses all his cunning and piles up lies and calumnies against the household; then we are scourged and the Paphlagonian runs about among the slaves to demand contributions with threats and gathers 'em in with both hands. He will say, "You see how I have had Hylas beaten! Either content me or die at once!" We are forced to give, for else the old man tramples on us and makes us spew forth all our body contains. There must be an end to it, friend. Let us see! what can be done? Who will get us out of this mess?