Calonice: “But don’t you think the men will quickly launch a concerted counterattack on us?”
Lysistrata: “I’m not worried about them. They can’t come against us with enough threats or fire to get these gates open, except on the terms we’ve agreed on.”
Calonice: “No they can’t, so help me Aphrodite! Otherwise we women wouldn’t deserve to be called rascals you can’t win a fight with!
Lysistrata: “But if the women gather together here—the Boeotian women, the Peloponnesian women, and ourselves—together we’ll be able to rescue Greece.”
Calonice: “But what can mere women do that’s intelligent or illustrious? We sit around the house looking pretty, wearing saffron dresses, and make-up, and Cimberic gowns, and pleasure-boat slippers.”
Lysistrata: “Exactly! That’s exactly what I think will rescue Greece: our fancy little dresses, our perfumes and our slippers, our rouge and our see-through underwear!”
Calonice: “And you, Lysistrata. What’s bothering you? Don’t frown, child. Knitted brows don’t become you.”
Lysistrata: “But my heart’s on fire, Calonice, and I’m terribly annoyed about us women. You know, according to the men we’re capable of any sort of mischief—”
Calonice: “And so we surely are!”
Lysistrata: “But when they’re told to meet us here to discuss a matter of no trifling importance, they sleep in and don’t show up.”
“Honey, they’ll be along. You know, it’s a lot of trouble for wives to get out of the house: we’re giving hubby a hand, or waking up a slave, or putting the baby to bed, or bathing it, or feeding it a snack.”