IRIS. Are you mad?

PISTHETAERUS. No head-bird gave you a safe-conduct?

IRIS. A safe-conduct to me, you poor fool!

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! and so you slipped into this city on the sly and into
these realms of air-land that don't belong to you.

IRIS. And what other road can the gods travel?

PISTHETAERUS. By Zeus! I know nothing about that, not I. But they won't
pass this way. And you still dare to complain! Iris would ever have more
justly suffered death.

IRIS. I am immortal.

PISTHETAERUS. You would have died nevertheless.--Oh! 'twould be truly
intolerable! What! should the universe obey us and the gods alone
continue their insolence and not understand that they must submit to the
law of the strongest in their due turn? But tell me, where are you flying
to?

IRIS. I? The messenger of Zeus to mankind, I am going to tell them to
sacrifice sheep and oxen on the altars and to fill their streets with the
rich smoke of burning fat.

PISTHETAERUS. Of which gods are you speaking?