22
ARISTOPHANES' FROGS
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex co-äx.
Dionysus.
Don't sing any more;
I begin to be sore!
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx.
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex co-äx!
Dionysus.
Is it nothing to you
If I'm black and I'm blue?
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx!
Dionysus.
A plague on all of your swarming packs.
There's nothing in you except co-äx!
Frogs.
Well, and what more do you need?
Though it's none of your business indeed,
When the Muse thereanent
Is entirely content,
And horny-hoof Pan with his reed:
When Apollo is fain to admire
My voice, on account of his lyre
Which he frames with the rushes
And watery bushes—
Co-ax!—which I grow in the mire.
