Magistrate.
And ’tis with your yarn, and your skeins, and your spools, you think to appease so many bitter enmities, you silly women?
Lysistrata.
If only you had common sense, you would always do in politics the same as we do with our yarn.
Magistrate.
Come, how is that, eh?
Lysistrata.
First we wash the yarn to separate the grease and filth; do the same with all bad citizens, sort them out and drive them forth with rods—’tis the refuse of the city. Then for all such as come crowding up in search of employments and offices, we must card them thoroughly; then, to bring them all to the same standard, pitch them pell-mell into the same basket, resident aliens or no, allies, debtors to the State, all mixed up together. Then as for our Colonies, you must think of them as so many isolated hanks; find the ends of the separate threads, draw them to a centre here, wind them into one, make one great hank of the lot, out of which the Public can weave itself a good, stout tunic.
Magistrate.
Is it not a sin and a shame to see them carding and winding the State, these women who have neither art nor part in the burdens of the War?
Lysistrata.
What! wretched man! why, ’tis a far heavier burden to us than to you. In the first place, we bear sons who go off to fight far away from Athens.
Magistrate.
Enough said! do not recall sad and sorry memories![1]
- ↑ An allusion to the disastrous Sicilian Expedition (415–413 B.C.), in which many thousands of Athenian citizens perished.
