So the swans on the banks of the Hebrus, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, mingle their voices to serenade Apollo, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, flapping their wings the while, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx; their notes reach beyond the clouds of heaven; all the dwellers in the forests stand still with astonishment and delight; a calm rests upon the waters, and the Graces and the choirs in Olympus catch up the strain, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx.
There is nothing more useful nor more pleasant than to have wings. To begin with, just let us suppose a spectator to be dying with hunger and to be weary of the choruses of the tragic poets; if he were winged, he would fly off, go home to dine and come back with his stomach filled. Some Patroclides in urgent need would not have to soil his cloak, but could fly off, satisfy his requirements, and, having recovered his breath, return. If one of you, it matters not who, had adulterous relations and saw the husband of his mistress in the seats of the senators, he might stretch his wings, fly thither, and, having appeased his craving, resume his place. Is it not the most priceless gift of all, to be winged? Look at Diitrephes!265 His wings were only wicker-work ones, and yet he got himself chosen Phylarch and then Hipparch; from being nobody, he has risen to be famous; 'tis now the finest gilded cock of his tribe.266
PISTHETAERUS. Halloa! What's this? By Zeus! I never saw anything so funny in all my life.267
EUELPIDES. What makes you laugh?
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis your bits of wings. D'you know what you look like? Like a goose painted by some dauber-fellow.
EUELPIDES. And you look like a close-shaven blackbird.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis ourselves asked for this transformation, and, as Aeschylus has it, "These are no borrowed feathers, but truly our own."268
EPOPS. Come now, what must be done?
PISTHETAERUS. First give our city a great and famous name, then sacrifice to the gods.
EUELPIDES. I think so too.
EPOPS. Let's see. What shall our city be called?
PISTHETAERUS. Will you have a high-sounding Laconian name? Shall we call it Sparta?
EUELPIDES. What! call my town Sparta? Why, I would not use esparto for my bed,269 even though I had nothing but bands of rushes.
PISTHETAERUS. Well then, what name can you suggest?
EUELPIDES. Some name borrowed from the clouds, from these lofty regions in which we dwell—in short, some well-known name.
PISTHETAERUS. Do you like Nephelococcygia?270
EPOPS. Oh! capital! truly 'tis a brilliant thought!
EUELPIDES. Is it in Nephelococcygia that all the wealth of Theogenes271 and most of Aeschines'272 is?
PISTHETAERUS. No, 'tis rather the plain of Phlegra,273 where the gods withered the pride of the sons of the Earth with their shafts.
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a splendid city! But what god shall be its patron? for whom shall we weave the peplus?274
PISTHETAERUS. Why not choose Athené Polias?275
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a well-ordered town 'twould be to have a female deity armed from head to foot, while Clisthenes276 was spinning!
PISTHETAERUS. Who then shall guard the Pelargicon?277
EPOPS. One of ourselves, a bird of Persian strain, who is everywhere proclaimed to be the bravest of all, a true chick of Ares.278
EUELPIDES. Oh! noble chick! what a well-chosen god for a rocky home!
PISTHETAERUS. Come! into the air with you to help the workers, who are building the wall; carry up rubble, strip yourself to mix the mortar, take up the hod, tumble down the ladder, an you like, post sentinels, keep the fire smouldering beneath the ashes, go round the walls, bell in hand,279 and go to sleep up there yourself; then despatch two heralds, one to the gods above, the other to mankind on earth and come back here.
EUELPIDES. As for yourself, remain here, and may the plague take you for a troublesome fellow!
PISTHETAERUS. Go, friend, go where I send you, for without you my orders cannot be obeyed. For myself, I want to sacrifice to the new god, and I am going to summon the priest who must preside at the ceremony. Slaves! slaves! bring forward the basket and the lustral water.
CHORUS. I do as you do, and I wish as you wish, and I implore you to address powerful and solemn prayers to the gods, and in addition to immolate a sheep as a token of our gratitude. Let us sing the Pythian chant in honour of the god, and let Chaeris accompany our voices.
PISTHETAERUS (to the flute-player). Enough! but, by Heracles! what is this? Great gods! I have seen many prodigious things, but I never saw a muzzled raven.280
EPOPS. Priest! 'tis high time! Sacrifice to the new gods.
PRIEST. I begin, but where is he with the basket? Pray to the Vesta of the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god and goddess-birds who dwell in Olympus.
CHORUS. Oh! Hawk, the sacred guardian of Sunium, oh, god of the storks!
PRIEST. Pray to the swan of Delos, to Latona the mother of the quails, and to Artemis, the goldfinch.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis no longer Artemis Colaenis, but Artemis the goldfinch.281
PRIEST. And to Bacchus, the finch and Cybelé, the ostrich and mother of the gods and mankind.
CHORUS. Oh! sovereign ostrich, Cybelé, the mother of Cleocritus,282 grant health and safety to the Nephelococcygians as well as to the dwellers in Chios….
PISTHETAERUS. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be thus mentioned on all occasions.283
CHORUS. … to the heroes, the birds, to the sons of heroes, to the porphyrion, the pelican, the spoon-bill, the redbreast, the grouse, the peacock, the horned-owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy petrel, the fig-pecker, the titmouse….
PISTHETAERUS. Stop! stop! you drive me crazy with your endless list. Why, wretch, to what sacred feast are you inviting the vultures and the sea-eagles? Don't you see that a single kite could easily carry off the lot at once? Begone, you and your fillets and all; I shall know how to complete the sacrifice by myself.
PRIEST. It is imperative that I sing another sacred chant for the rite of the lustral water, and that I invoke the immortals, or at least one of them, provided always that you have some suitable food to offer him; from what I see here, in the shape of gifts, there is naught whatever but horn and hair.
PISTHETAERUS. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged gods.
A POET. Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns.
PISTHETAERUS. What have we here? Where do you come from, tell me? Who are you?
POET. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of the Muses, as Homer has it.
PISTHETAERUS.