Dicaeopolis is disgusted. He has turned up promptly at the assembly; no-one else is there. Eventually the prytaneis arrive, jostling as usual. But the assembly is as unsatisfactory as ever. An exotic Persian envoy is there; so are the ambassadors sent to Persia some twelve years ago, years spent drinking at the public expense. So too are some Thracian mercenaries, who enterprisingly steal Dicaeopolis’ lunch. But what of peace? When someone speaks for that, the Archers immediately throw him out.