sat a suppliant before our altars? How pale he was in his purple robes! He had come to crave an army of us; ’twas the time when Messenia was pressing you sore, and the Sea-god was shaking the earth. Cimon marched to your aid at the head of four thousand hoplites, and saved Lacedæmon. And, after such a service as that, you ravage the soil of your benefactors!
Athenian.
They do wrong, very wrong, Lysistrata.
Laconian.
We do wrong, very wrong. Ah! great gods! what lovely thighs she has!
Lysistrata.
And now a word to the Athenians. Have you no memory left of how, in the days when ye wore the tunic of slaves, the Laconians came, spear in hand, and slew a host of Thessalians and partisans of Hippias the Tyrant? They, and they only, fought on your side on that eventful day; they delivered you from despotism, and thanks to them our Nation could change the short tunic of the slave for the long cloak of the free man.
Laconian.
I have never seen a woman of more gracious dignity.
Athenian.
I have never seen a woman with a finer cunt!
Lysistrata.
Bound by such ties of mutual kindness, how can you bear to be at war? Stop, stay the hateful strife, be reconciled; what hinders you?
Laconian.
We are quite ready, if they will give us back our rampart.
