[Y]ou [man] are fool enough, it seems, to dare to war with [woman=] me, when for your faithful ally you might win me easily.

All we have to do is idly sitindoorsWith smooth roses powderedon our cheeks,Our bodies burning nakedthrough the foldOf shining Amorgos' silkand meet the menWith our dear Venus-platsplucked trim and neat.Their stirring love will rise up furiously,They'll beg our arms toopen. That's our time!We'll disregard their knockingbeat them offAnd they will soon be rabidfor a PeaceI'm sure of it.

What can you answer? Now be careful, don’t arouse my spite, Or with my slipper I’ll take you napping,faces slappingLeft and right.

MAGISTRATEDon't men grow old?LYSISTRATANot like women. When a man comes homeThough he's grey as grief he can always get a girl.There's no second spring for a woman. None.She can't recall it, nobody wants her, howeverShe squanders her time on the promise of oracles,It's no use...

Women, you overheated dipsomaniacs, never passing up a chance to wangle a drink, a great boon to bartenders but a bane to us--not to mention our crockery and our woolens!