Oo ... your fingers
Assess them, ye tickler, wi’ such tender chucks
I feel as if I were an altar-victim.
Who is this youngster?
A Boeotian lady.
There never was much undergrowth in Boeotia,
Such a smooth place, and this girl takes after it.
Yes, I never saw a skin so primly kept.
This girl?
A sonsie open-looking jinker!
She’s a Corinthian.
Yes, isn’t she
Very open, in some ways particularly.
But who’s garred this Council o’ Women
to meet here?
I have.
Propound then what you want o’ us.
What is the amazing news you have to tell?
I’ll tell you, but first answer one small question.
As you like.
Are you not sad your children’s fathers
Go endlessly off soldiering afar
In this plodding war? I am willing to wager
There’s not one here whose husband is at home.
Mine’s been in Thrace, keeping an eye on Eucrates
For five months past.
And mine left me for Pylos
Seven months ago at least.
And as for mine
No sooner has he slipped out frae the line
He straps his shield and he’s snickt off again.
And not the slightest glitter of a lover!
And since the Milesians betrayed us, I’ve not
seen
The image of a single upright man
To be a marble consolation to us.
Now will you help me, if I find a means
To stamp the war out.
By the two Goddesses, Yes!
I will though I’ve to pawn this very dress
And drink the barter-money the same day.
