Part 1 (2/2)

Chorus of old Men.

LYSISTRATA _stands alone with the Propylaea at her back._

LYSISTRATA

If they were trysting for a Baccha.n.a.l, A feast of Pan or Colias or Genetyllis, The tambourines would block the rowdy streets, But now there's not a woman to be seen Except--ah, yes--this neighbour of mine yonder.

_Enter_ CALONICE.

Good day Calonice.

CALONICE

Good day Lysistrata.

But what has vexed you so? Tell me, child.

What are these black looks for? It doesn't suit you To knit your eyebrows up glumly like that.

LYSISTRATA

Calonice, it's more than I can bear, I am hot all over with blushes for our s.e.x.

Men say we're slippery rogues--

CALONICE

And aren't they right?

LYSISTRATA

Yet summoned on the most tremendous business For deliberation, still they snuggle in bed.

CALONICE

My dear, they'll come. It's hard for women, you know, To get away. There's so much to do; Husbands to be patted and put in good tempers: Servants to be poked out: children washed Or soothed with lullays or fed with mouthfuls of pap.

LYSISTRATA

But I tell you, here's a far more weighty object.

CALONICE

What is it all about, dear Lysistrata, That you've called the women hither in a troop?

What kind of an object is it?

LYSISTRATA

A tremendous thing!

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