Trygæus.
Don’t I look like a diviner preparing his mystic fire?
Chorus.
Undoubtedly. Will anything that it behoves a wise man to know escape you? Don’t you know all that a man should know, who is distinguished for his wisdom and inventive daring?
Trygæus.
There! the wood catches. Its smoke blinds poor Stilbides.[1] I am now going to bring the table and thus be my own slave.
Chorus.
You have braved a thousand dangers to save your sacred town. All honour to you! your glory will be ever envied.
Servant.
Hold! here are the legs, place them upon the altar. For myself, I mean to go back to the entrails and the cakes.
Trygæus.
I’ll see to those; I want you here.
Servant.
Well then, here I am. Do you think I have been long?
Trygæus.
Just get this roasted. Ah! who is this man, crowned with laurel, who is coming to me?
- ↑ A celebrated diviner, who had accompanied the Athenians on their expedition to Sicily. Thus the War was necessary to make his calling pay and the smoke of the sacrifice offered to Peace must therefore be unpleasant to him.
