Pisthetaerus: Aye, indeed; ’tis a foreign bird too. What is this bird from beyond the mountains with a look as solemn as it is stupid?
Epops: He is called the Mede.
Pisthetaerus: The Mede! But, by Heracles, how, if a Mede, has he flown here without a camel?
Euelpides: Here’s another bird with a crest.
Pisthetaerus: Ah! that’s curious. I say, Epops, you are not the only one of your kind then?
Epops: This bird is the son of Philocles, who is the son of Epops; so that, you see, I am his grandfather; just as one might say, Hipponicus, the son of Callias, who is the son of Hipponicus.
Pisthetaerus: Then this bird is Callias! Why, what a lot of his feathers he has lost!
Epops: That’s because he is honest; so the informers set upon him and the women too pluck out his feathers.
Pisthetaerus: By Posidon, do you see that many-coloured bird? What is his name?
Epops: This one? ’Tis the glutton.
Pisthetaerus: Is there another glutton besides Cleonymus? But why, if he is Cleonymus, has he not thrown away his crest? But what is the meaning of all these crests? Have these birds come to contend for the double stadium prize?
Epops: They are like the Carians, who cling to the crests of their mountains for greater safety.
Pisthetaerus: Oh, Posidon! do you see what swarms of birds are gathering here?
Euelpides: By Phoebus! what a cloud! The entrance to the stage is no longer visible, so closely do they fly together.
Pisthetaerus: Here is the partridge.
Euelpides: Faith! there is the francolin.
Pisthetaerus: There is the poachard.
Euelpides: Here is the kingfisher. And over yonder?
Epops: ’Tis the barber.
Euelpides: What? a bird a barber?
Pisthetaerus: Why, Sporgilus is one. Here comes the owl.
Euelpides: And who is it brings an owl to Athens?
Pisthetaerus: Here is the magpie, the turtledove, the swallow, the horned owl, the buzzard, the pigeon, the falcon, the ringdove, the cuckoo, the red-foot, the redcap, the purple-cap, the kestrel, the diver, the ousel, the osprey, the woodpecker.
Euelpides: Oh! oh! what a lot of birds! what a quantity of blackbirds! how they scold, how they come rushing up! What a noise! what a noise! Can they be bearing us ill-will? Oh! there! there! they are opening their beaks and staring at us.
Pisthetaerus: Why, so they are.