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Tryg. Well—I'm Trygæus of Athmon; I can prune
A vine with any man—that's all. I'm no informer,
I do assure you; I hate law like poison.
Merc. And what have you come here for?
Tryg. (pulling something out of a bag). Well, you see,
I've brought you this beefsteak.
Merc. (softening his tone considerably). Oh, well—poor fellow!
But how did you come?
Tryg. Aha, my cunning friend!
I'm not such an abomination, after all!
But come, call Jupiter for me, if you please.
Merc. Ha, ha! you can't see him, nor any of the gods;
They're all of them gone from home—went yesterday.
Tryg. Why, where on earth are they gone to?
Merc. Earth, indeed!
Tryg. Well, then, but where?
Merc. They're gone a long way off
Into the furthest corner of the heavens.
Tryg. And why are you left here, pray, by yourself?
Merc. Oh, I'm taking care of the pots and pans, and such-like.
Tryg. What made them all leave home so suddenly?
Merc. Disgusted with you Greeks. They've given you up
To War, to do exactly what he likes with:
They've left him here to manage all their business,
And gone themselves as far aloft as possible,
That they may no more see you cutting throats,
And may be no more bothered with your prayers.
Tryg. What makes them treat us in this fashion—tell me?
Merc. Because you would have war, when they so often
Offered you peace. Whenever those fools the Spartans
Met with some small success, then it was always—
"By the Twin Gods, Athens shall catch it now!"
And then, when you Athenians got the best of it,
And Sparta sent proposals for a peace,