Aristophanes,
Frogs
(1912)
“ Xanthias (to himself) . And no one thinks of me, When all my shoulder's skinning, simply skinning. Heracles. But aren't there other pretty fellows there All writing tragedies by tens of thousands, And miles verboser than Euripides? Dionysus. Leaves without fruit; trills in the empty air, And starling chatter, mutilating art! Give them one chance and that's the end of them, One weak assault on an unprotected Muse. Search as you will, you'll find no poet now With grit in him, to wake a word of power. Heracles. ”
