EURIPIDES.
I can't. [4]
DIKAIOPOLIS.
You must.
EURIPIDES.
Well, I'll roll round. Come down I can't; I'm busy.
DIKAIOPOLIS.
Euripides!
EURIPIDES.
What would'st thou with thy bawling.
DIKAIOPOLIS
What! you compose aloft and not below.
No wonder if your muse's bantlings halt.
Again, those rags and cloak right tragical,
The very garb for sketching beggars in!
But sweet Euripides, a boon, I pray thee.
Give me the moving rags of some old play;
I've a long speech to make before the Chorus,
And if I falter, why the forfeit's death.
EURIPIDES.
What rags will suit you? Those in which old Oeneus,
That hapless wight, went through his bitter conflict?
DIKAIOPOLIS.
Not Oeneus, no,—but one still sorrier.
EURIPIDES.
Those of blind Phoenix?
DIKAIOPOLIS.
No, not Phoenix either;
But another, more wretched still than Phoenix