Pisthetaerus: Why, the birds, by Zeus, will add three hundred years to their life.
Epops: From whom will they take them?
Pisthetaerus: From whom? Why, from themselves. Don’t you know the cawing crow lives five times as long as a man?
Euelpides: Ah! ah! these are far better kings for us than Zeus!
Pisthetaerus: Far better, are they not? And firstly, we shall not have to build them temples of hewn stone, closed with gates of gold; they will dwell amongst the bushes and in the thickets of green oak; the most venerated of birds will have no other temple than the foliage of the olive tree; we shall not go to Delphi or to Ammon to sacrifice; but standing erect in the midst of arbutus and wild olives and holding forth our hands filled with wheat and barley, we shall pray them to admit us to a share of the blessings they enjoy and shall at once obtain them for a few grains of wheat.
Chorus: Old man, whom I detested, you are now to me the dearest of all; never shall I, if I can help it, fail to follow your advice. Inspirited by your words, I threaten my rivals the gods, and I swear that if you march in alliance with me against the gods and are faithful to our just, loyal and sacred bond, we shall soon have shattered their sceptre. ’Tis our part to undertake the toil, ’tis yours to advise.
Epops: By Zeus! ’tis no longer the time to delay and loiter like Nicias; let us act as promptly as possible. … In the first place, come, enter my nest built of brushwood and blades of straw, and tell me your names.
Pisthetaerus: That is soon done; my name is Pisthetaerus.
Epops: And his?
Pisthetaerus: Euelpides, of the deme of Thria.
Epops: Good! and good luck to you.
Pisthetaerus: We accept the omen.
Epops: Come in here.
Pisthetaerus: Very well, ’tis you who lead us and must introduce us.
Epops: Come then.
Pisthetaerus: Oh! my god! do come back here. Hi! tell us how we are to follow you. You can fly, but we cannot.
Epops: Well, well.
Pisthetaerus: Remember Aesop’s fables. It is told there, that the fox fared very ill, because he had made an alliance with the eagle.
Epops: Be at ease. You shall eat a certain root and wings will grow on your shoulders.
Pisthetaerus: Then let us enter. Xanthias and Manes, pick up our baggage.
Chorus: Hi! Epops! do you hear me?
Epops: What’s the matter?
Chorus: Take them off to dine well and call your mate, the melodious Procne, whose songs are worthy of the Muses; she will delight our leisure moments.
Pisthetaerus: Oh! I conjure you, accede to their wish; for this delightful bird will leave her rushes at the sound of your voice; for the sake of the gods, let her come here, so that we may contemplate the nightingale.
Epops: Let it be as you desire. Come forth, Procne, show yourself to these strangers.