POET
No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves
of the Muses, according to Homer.

PISTHETAERUS
In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal!
But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?

POET
I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host
of splendid dithyrambs and parthenians[1] worthy of Simonides himself.

f[1] Verses sung by maidens.

PISTHETAERUS
And when did you compose them? How long since?

POET
Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of this city.

PISTHETAERUS
But I am only celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice;[1]
I have only just named it, as is done with little babies.

f[1] This ceremony took place on the tenth day after birth, and
may be styled the pagan baptism.

POET
"Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does