Pisthetaerus: What! there are other gods besides you, barbarian gods who dwell above Olympus?
Prometheus: If there were no barbarian gods, who would be the patron of Execestides?
Pisthetaerus: And what is the name of these gods?
Prometheus: Their name? Why, the Triballi.
Pisthetaerus: Ah, indeed! ’tis from that no doubt that we derive the word “tribulation.”
Prometheus: Most likely. But one thing I can tell you for certain, namely, that Zeus and the celestial Triballi are going to send deputies here to sue for peace. Now don’t you treat, unless Zeus restores the sceptre to the birds and gives you Basileia in marriage.
Pisthetaerus: Who is this Basileia?
Prometheus: A very fine young damsel, who makes the lightning for Zeus; all things come from her, wisdom, good laws, virtue, the fleet, calumnies, the public paymaster and the triobolus.
Pisthetaerus: Ah! then she is a sort of general manageress to the god.
Prometheus: Yes, precisely. If he gives you her for your wife, yours will be the almighty power. That is what I have come to tell you; for you know my constant and habitual goodwill towards men.
Pisthetaerus: Oh, yes! ’tis thanks to you that we roast our meat.
Prometheus: I hate the gods, as you know.
Pisthetaerus: Aye, by Zeus, you have always detested them.
Prometheus: Towards them I am a veritable Timon; but I must return in all haste, so give me the umbrella; if Zeus should see me from up there, he would think I was escorting one of the Canephori.
Pisthetaerus: Wait, take this stool as well.
Chorus: Near by the land of the Sciapodes there is a marsh, from the borders whereof the odious Socrates evokes the souls of men. Pisander came one day to see his soul, which he had left there when still alive. He offered a little victim, a camel, slit his throat and, following the example of Ulysses, stepped one pace backwards. Then that bat of a Chaerephon came up from hell to drink the camel’s blood.
Posidon: This is the city of Nephelococcygia, Cloud-cuckoo-town, whither we come as ambassadors. To Triballus. Hi! what are you up to? you are throwing your cloak over the left shoulder. Come, fling it quick over the right! And why, pray, does it draggle in this fashion? Have you ulcers to hide like Laespodias? Oh! democracy! whither, oh! whither are you leading us? Is it possible that the gods have chosen such an envoy?
Triballus: Leave me alone.
Posidon: Ugh! the cursed savage! you are by far the most barbarous of all the gods.—Tell me, Heracles, what are we going to do?
Heracles: I have already told you that I want to strangle the fellow who has dared to block us in.
Posidon: But, my friend, we are envoys of peace.
Heracles: All the more reason why I wish to strangle him.
Pisthetaerus: Hand me the cheese-grater; bring me the silphium for sauce; pass me the cheese and watch the coals.
Heracles: Mortal! we who greet you are three gods.
Pisthetaerus: Wait a bit till I have prepared my silphium pickle.