from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft
cadence your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[1] which
has been the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise
through the thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus,
where Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair.
And his ivory lyre responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers
the choir of the gods and from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant
of blessed voices. (THE FLUTE IS PLAYED BEHIND THE SCENE.)

f[1] The son of Tereus and Procne.

PISTHETAERUS
Oh! by Zeus! what a throat that little bird possesses. He has filled
the whole coppice with honey-sweet melody!

EUELPIDES
Hush!

PISTHETAERUS
What's the matter?

EUELPIDES
Will you keep silence?

PISTHETAERUS
What for?

EUELPIDES
Epops is going to sing again.