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.
-Aristophanes
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