Lysistrata.
Silence yourself!
Magistrate.
May I die a thousand deaths ere I obey one who wears a veil!
Lysistrata.
If that’s all that troubles you, here, take my veil, wrap it round your head, and hold your tongue. Then take this basket; put on a girdle, card wool, munch beans. The War shall be women’s business.
Chorus of Women.
Lay aside your water-pots, we will guard them, we will help our friends and companions. For myself, I will never weary of the dance; my knees will never grow stiff with fatigue. I will brave everything with my dear allies, on whom Nature has lavished virtue, grace, boldness, cleverness, and whose wisely directed energy is going to save the State. Oh! my good, gallant Lysistrata, and all my friends, be ever like a bundle of nettles; never let your anger slacken; the winds of fortune blow our way.
Lysistrata.
May gentle Love and the sweet Cyprian Queen shower seductive charms on our bosoms and all our person. If only we may stir so amorous a lust among the men that their tools stand stiff as sticks, we shall indeed deserve the name of peace-makers among the Greeks.
Magistrate.
How will that be, pray?
Lysistrata.
To begin with, we shall not see you any more running like mad fellows to the Market holding lance in fist.
A Woman.
That will be something gained, anyway, by the Paphian goddess, it will!
