POET
I am going, and these are the verses that I address to this city:
"Phoebus of the golden throne, celebrate this shivery,
freezing city; I have travelled through fruitful and snow-covered
plains. Tralala! Tralala!"[1]

f[1] A parody of poetic pathos, not to say bathos.

PISTHETAERUS
What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic, you no
longer fear them. Ah! by Zeus! I could not have believed this cursed
fellow could so soon have learnt the way to our city. Come, priest,
take the lustral water and circle the altar.

PRIEST
Let all keep silence!

A PROPHET
Let not the goat be sacrificed.[1]

F[1] Which the priest was preparing to sacrifice.

PISTHETAERUS
Who are you?

PROPHET
Who am I? A prophet.

PISTHETAERUS
Get you gone.