Gyllis: an old woman
Threissa: a slave
METRICHE: Threissa, someone's knocking at the door.
Go see if it's one of ours come from the farm.
THREISSA: Who's at the door?
GYLLIS: It's me. T: Who's you? Afraid
to come closer? G: Look, I'm already in!
T: But who are you? G: Gyllis, mother of
Philaenion. Tell Metriche I'm here.
Call her. M: Who is it? T: Gyllis. M: Gyllis!
Scat, you slave! What Fate persuaded you
to visit us? Is this an epiphany
of goddess to man? It's five months, no six,
I think, since anyone's seen you even in
a dream, by the Fates, coming to the door!
G: I live far off, my child, and the mud in the lane
comes up to the knees. I'm feeble as a fly.
Old age has got me and is my shadow now.
M: Don't exaggerate your age.... Gyllis.
You still like to squeeze the men, I'm sure.
G: Joke! That's what you younger women do.
But jokes like this won't warm you up like a man.
How long, my child, has it been that you've tossed and turned
in your bed alone? Ten months since Mandris sailed
for Egypt -- he's sent not an alphabet letter to you.
Doesn't he drink from a new cup and hasn't
he forgotten you? The goddess's home
is there, and everything there can possibly be,
Egypt has: gymnasiums and wealth,
a lovely climate, goddesses and glory,
philosophers and gold, little boys,
precinct of sibling gods, a good king,
the museum, wine, every nice thing
you'd want, women, as many, by Kore, bride
of Hades, as heaven boasts it holds of stars,
and lovely as the goddesses that rushed
to Paris for judgment -- may they forgive me!
What kind of life is this, warming the chair,
poor girl? Your youthful charms will be but ash.
Look around, cheer up, change your ways for a while.
A ship's not safe with a single anchor . . . If this
comes .............................no one raise
us.......... savage storm
...................................
no one knows
...........................
unstable for men
......... But haven't you got
someone on the side? M: Certainly not.
G: Then listen to what I'm dying to tell you.
Gryllus, son of Metaline, Pataikos'
daughter, five times victor in the games:
as a boy at Pytho, twice at Corinth, the down
just blooming upon his cheeks; at Pisa twice
he took the men in a boxing match, and he's rich --
beautifully so -- he doesn't lift a straw
from the ground -- for Cythereia an untouched seal.
Seeing you at Mise's procession down,
his innards seethed, his heart was stung mad,
and neither night nor day did he leave my house,
dear child, but wept and wailed to me and claimed
that he was dying of love. Metriche,
my pet, grant the goddess this single sin.
Dedicate yourself lest old age
cast her glance and take you unawares.
Double profit! He'll be more generous
than you think. Consider it. Listen
to me. I care for you, by the Fates, I do!
M: Gyllis, your white hair blunts your wits.
By Mandris' voyage home, by dear Demeter,
I'd not have listened to this from another woman.
I'd have taught her to sing a lame song lame
and consider my doorsill hostile to her.
Don't come to me again, my friend, with a tale
like this! Tell your young a tale befitting
old crones. Let Metriche, daughter
of Pytheas, warm her chair. No one mocks
my Mandris. These aren't the words, they say, that Gyllis
wants to hear. Threissa, wipe clean
the black shell. Pour three-sixths of unmixed
with a dollop of water and give it to her to drink.
G: Thank you, no. M: Here, Gyllis, drink up.
G: I didn't come to tempt you, but on a holy . . .
M: On a what? Gyllis!
G: Whatever ..........my child................
sweet. By Demeter, Metriche, Gyllis
has never drunk sweeter wine than this.
Goodbye, my dear, and take care of yourself.
May Myrtale and Sime keep young
as long as there is breath left in Gyllis.