CLEON. Oh! veteran Heliasts,[33] brotherhood of the three obols,[34] whom
I fostered by bawling at random, help me; I am being beaten to death by
rebels.

CHORUS. And 'tis justice; you devour the public funds that all should
share in; you treat the officers answerable for the revenue like the
fruit of the fig tree, squeezing them to find which are still green or
more or less ripe; and, when you find one simple and timid, you force him
to come from the Chersonese,[35] then you seize him by the middle,
throttle him by the neck, while you twist his shoulder back; he falls and
you devour him.[36] Besides, you know very well how to select from among
the citizens those who are as meek as lambs, rich, without guile and
loathers of lawsuits.

CLEON. Eh! what! Knights, are you helping them? But, if I am beaten, 'tis
in your cause, for I was going to propose to erect you a statue in the
city in memory of your bravery.

CHORUS. Oh! the impostor! the dull varlet! See! he treats us like old
dotards and crawls at our feet to deceive us; but the cunning wherein
lies his power shall this time recoil on himself; he trips up himself by
resorting to such artifices.

CLEON. Oh Citizens! oh people! see how these brutes are bursting my
belly.

CHORUS. What shouts! but 'tis this very bawling that incessantly upsets
the city!

SAUSAGE-SELLER. I can shout too--and so loud that you will flee with