PISTHETAERUS. The air is 'twixt earth and heaven. When we want to go to Delphi, we ask the Boeotians[199] for leave of passage; in the same way, when men sacrifice to the gods, unless the latter pay you tribute, you exercise the right of every nation towards strangers and don't allow the smoke of the sacrifices to pass through your city and territory.
EPOPS. By earth! by snares! by network![200] I never heard of anything more cleverly conceived; and, if the other birds approve, I am going to build the city along with you.
PISTHETAERUS. Who will explain the matter to them?
EPOPS. You must yourself. Before I came they were quite ignorant, but since I have lived with them I have taught them to speak.
PISTHETAERUS. But how can they be gathered together?
EPOPS. Easily. I will hasten down to the coppice to waken my dear Procné;[201] as soon as they hear our voices, they will come to us hot wing.
PISTHETAERUS. My dear bird, lose no time, I beg. Fly at once into the coppice and awaken Procné.
EPOPS. Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn gush from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft cadence your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[202] 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.)
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by Zeus! what a throat that little bird possesses. He has filled the whole coppice with honey-sweet melody!
EUELPIDES. Hush!