The party are come, as usual, to summon their trusty comrade Philocleon to go with them to the courts. What makes him so late this morning? He was never wont to be the last on these occasions. They knock at the door, and call him loudly by name. He puts his head out of the window, and begging them not to make such a noise for fear they should awake his guard, explains to them his unfortunate case. He will try to let himself down to the street by a rope, if they will catch him,—and if he should fall and break his neck, they must promise to bury him with all professional honours "within the bar." But he is discovered in the attempt by one of the watchful slaves, and thrust back again.
Then the leader of the Chorus, a veteran Wasp who has seen service, cheers on his troops to the attack of the fortress in which their comrade is so unjustifiably confined. He reminds them of the exploits of their youth:—
Forward, good friends—advance! Quick march!—Now, Comias, why so slow, man?
There was a day when I may say you and I gave way to no man;
Then you were as tough as dog's hide—now Charínades moves faster!
Ha! Strymodórus! in the Courts 'twere hard to find your master!
Where's Chabes? and Euérgides?—do any of ye know?—
Alack! alack! for the young blood that warmed us long ago!
Dost mind when at Byzantium we two kept watch together,
And walked our rounds at night, old boy, in that tremendous weather?
