Lysistrata.
Then secondly, instead of enjoying the pleasures of love and making the best. of our youth and beauty, we are left to languish far from our husbands, who are all with the army. But say no more of ourselves; what afflicts me is to see our girls growing old in lonely grief.
Magistrate.
Don’t the men grow old too?
Lysistrata.
That is not the same thing. When the soldier returns from the wars, even though he has white hair, he very soon finds a young wife. But a woman has only one summer; if she does not make hay while the sun shines, no one will afterwards have anything to say to her, and she spends her days consulting oracles, that never send her a husband.
Magistrate.
But the old man who can still erect his organ . . .
Lysistrata.
But you, why don’t you get done with it and die? You are rich; go buy yourself a bier, and I will knead you a honey-cake for Cerberus. Here, take this garland. (Drenching him with water.)
First Woman.
And this one too. (Drenching him with water.)
Second Woman.
And these fillets. (Drenching him with water.)
Lysistrata.
What do you lack more? Step aboard the boat; Charon is waiting for you, you're keeping him from pushing off.
