So close the Styx's inky-hearted rock, The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron Shall hem thee in: the h.e.l.l-hounds of Cocytus Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp Shall rive thy heart-strings: the Tartesian Lamprey, Prey on thy lungs: and those t.i.thrasian Gorgons Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them, Entrails and all, into one b.l.o.o.d.y mash.

I'll speed a running foot to fetch them hither.

XAN. Hallo! what now?

DIO. I've done it: call the G.o.d.

XAN. Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly, Before you're seen.

DIO. What, I get up? I'm fainting. Please dab a sponge of water on my heart.

XAN. Here!

DIO. Dab it, you.

XAN. Where? O, ye golden G.o.ds, Lies your heart THERE?

DIO. It got so terrified It fluttered down into my stomach's pit.

XAN. Cowardliest of G.o.ds and men!

DIO. The cowardliest? I? What I, who asked you for a sponge, a thing A coward never would have done!

XAN. What then?

DIO. A coward would have lain there wallowing; But I stood up, and wiped myself withal.

XAN. Poseidon! quite heroic.

DIO. 'Deed I think so. But weren't you frightened at those dreadful threats And shoutings?

XAN, Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not.

DIO. Come then, if you're so very brave a man, Will you be I, and take the hero's club And lion's skin, since you're so monstrous plucky?

And I'll be now the slave, and bear the luggage.

XAN. Hand them across. I cannot choose but take them.

And now observe the Xanthio-heracles If I'm a coward and a sneak like you.

DIO. Nay, you're the rogue from Melite's own self.

And I'll pick up and carry on the traps.

MAID. O welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart.

My Lady, when they told her, set to work, Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three tureens Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole, Made rolls and honey-cakes. So come along.

XAN. (Declining.) You are too kind.

MAID. I will not let you go. I will not LET you! Why, she's stewing slices Of juicy bird's-flesh, and she's making comfits, And tempering down her richest wine. Come, dear, Come along in.

XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her.

MAID. O you're jesting, I shall not let you off: there's such a lovely Flute-girl all ready, and we've two or three Dancing-girls also.

XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls?

MAID. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed.

Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables.

XAN. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls Of whom you spake, I'm coming in Myself. Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me.

DIO. Hi! stop! you're not in earnest, just because I dressed you up, in fun, as Heracles? Come, don't keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift And carry in the traps yourself.

XAN. Why! what! You are never going to strip me of these togs You gave me!

DIO. Going to? No, I'm doing it now.

Off with that lion-skin.

XAN. Bear witness all The G.o.ds shall judge between us.

DIO. G.o.ds indeed! Why how could you (the vain and foolish thought!) A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son?

XAN. All right then, take them; maybe, if G.o.d will, You'll soon require my services again.

CHOR. This is the part of a dexterous clever Man with his wits about him ever, One who has travelled the world to see; Always to shift, and to keep through all Close to the sunny side of the wall; Not like a pictured block to be, Standing always in one position; Nay but to veer, with expedition, And ever to catch the favouring breeze, This is the part of a shrewd tactician, This is to be a-THERAMENES!

DIO. Truly an exquisite joke 'twould be, Him with a dancing girl to see, Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs; Me, like a slave, beside him standing, Aught that he wants to his lordship handing; Then as the damsel fair he hugs, Seeing me all on fire to embrace her, He would perchance (for there's no man baser), Turning him round like a lazy lout, Straight on my mouth deliver a facer, Knocking my ivory choirmen out.

HOSTESS. O Plathane! Plathane! Here's that naughty man, That's he who got into our tavern once, And ate up sixteen loaves.

PLATHANE. O, so he is! The very man.

XAN. Bad luck for somebody!

HOS. O and, besides, those twenty bits of stew, Half-obol pieces.

XAN. Somebody's going to catch it!

HOS. That garlic too.

DIO. Woman, you're talking nonsense. You don't know what you're saying.

HOS. O, you thought I shouldn't know you with your buskins on!

Ah, and I've not yet mentioned all that fish, No, nor the new-made cheese: he gulped it down, Baskets and all, unlucky that we were.

And when I just alluded to the price, He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull.

XAN. Yes, that's his way: that's what he always does.

HOS. O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad.

PLA. O, that he did.

HOS. And terrified us so We sprang up to the c.o.c.kloft, she and I.

Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.

XAN. That's his way too; but something must be done.

HOS. Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here!

PLA. O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus! We'll pay you out to-day.

HOS. O filthy throat, O how I'd like to take a stone, and hack Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares.

PLA. I'd like to pitch you in the deadman's pit.

HOS. I'd like to get a reaping-hook and scoop That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe.

But I'll to Cleon: he'll soon serve his writs; He'll twist it out of you to-day, he will.

DRO. Perdition seize me, if I don't love Xanthias.

XAN. Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking.

I won't be Heracles.

DRO. O, don't say so, Dear, darling Xanthias.

XAN. Why, how can I, A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son!