Lines 479–639

XANTHIAS.
Hallo! what now?

DIONYSUS.
I’ve done it: call the god.

XANTHIAS.
Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly,
Before you’re seen.

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

XANTHIAS.
Here! Dab it on.

DIONYSUS.
Where is it?

XANTHIAS.
Ye golden gods,
Lies your heart THERE?

DIONYSUS.
It got so terrified
It fluttered down into my stomach’s pit.

XANTHIAS.
Cowardliest of gods and men!

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

XANTHIAS.
What then?

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

XANTHIAS.
Poseidon! quite heroic.

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

XANTHIAS.
Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not.

DIONYSUS.
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.

XANTHIAS.
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.

DIONYSUS.
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.

XANTHIAS.
(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.

XANTHIAS.
(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.

XANTHIAS.
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.

XANTHIAS.
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.

DIONYSUS.
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.

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

DIONYSUS.
Going to? No, I’m doing it now.
Off with that lion-skin.

XANTHIAS.
Bear witness all,
The gods shall judge between us.

DIONYSUS.
Gods, indeed!
Why, how could you (the vain and foolish thought!)
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son?

XANTHIAS.
All right then, take them; maybe, if God will,
You’ll soon require my services again.

CHORUS.
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!

DIONYSUS.
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.

XANTHIAS.
Bad luck for somebody!

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

XANTHIAS.
Somebody’s going to catch it!

HOSTESS.
That garlic too.

DIONYSUS.
Woman, you’re talking nonsense.
You don’t know what you’re saying.

HOSTESS.
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.

XANTHIAS.
Yes, that’s his way: that’s what he always does.

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

PLATHANE.
O, that he did.

HOSTESS.
And terrified us so
We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I.
Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs.

XANTHIAS.
That’s his way too; but something must be done.

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

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

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

PLATHANE.
I’d like to pitch you in the deadman’s pit.

HOSTESS.
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.

DIONYSUS.
Perdition seize me, if I don’t love Xanthias.

XANTHIAS.
Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking.
I won’t be Heracles.

DIONYSUS.
O, don’t say so,
Dear, darling Xanthias.

XANTHIAS.
Why, how can I,
A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son!

DIONYSUS.
Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it,
And if you pummel me, I won’t complain.
But if I strip you of these togs again,
Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children,
And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus.

XANTHIAS.
That oath contents me: on those terms I take them.

CHORUS.
Now that at last you appear once more,
Wearing the garb that at first you wore,
Wielding the club and the tawny skin,
Now it is yours to be up and doing,
Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing,
Mindful of him whose guise you are in.
If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you
Suffer a word of alarm to escape you,
Showing yourself but a feckless knave,
Then will your master at once undrape you,
Then you’ll again be the toiling slave.

XANTHIAS.
There, I admit, you have given to me a
Capital hint, and the like idea,
Friends, had occurred to myself before.
Truly if anything good befell
He would be wanting, I know full well,
Wanting to take to the togs once more.
Nevertheless, while in these I’m vested,
Ne’er shall you find me craven-crested,
No, for a dittany look I’ll wear,
Aye and methinks it will soon be tested,
Hark! how the portals are rustling there.

AEACUS.
Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him,
Drag him to justice!

DIONYSUS.
Somebody’s going to catch it.

XANTHIAS.
(striking out) Hands off! get away! stand back!

AEACUS.
Eh? You’re for fighting.
Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas,
Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave.

DIONYSUS.
Now isn’t it a shame the man should strike
And he a thief besides?

AEACUS.
A monstrous shame!

DIONYSUS.
A regular burning shame!

XANTHIAS.
By the Lord Zeus,
If ever I was here before, if ever
I stole one hair’s-worth from you, let me die!
And now I’ll make you a right noble offer,
Arrest my lad: torture him as you will,
And if you find I’m guilty, take and kill me.

AEACUS.
Torture him, how?

XANTHIAS.
In any mode you please.
Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid:
Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge
Of prickly bristles: only not with this,
A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek.

AEACUS.
A fair proposal. If I strike too hard
And maim the boy, I’ll make you compensation.

XANTHIAS.
I shan’t require it. Take him out and flog him.

AEACUS.
Nay, but I’ll do it here before your eyes.
Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak
The truth, young fellow.

DIONYSUS.
(in agony) Man! don’t torture ME!
I am a god. You’ll blame yourself hereafter
If you touch ME.

AEACUS.
Hillo! What’s that you are saying?

DIONYSUS.
I say I’m Bacchus, son of Zeus, a god,
And he’s the slave.

AEACUS.
You hear him?

XANTHIAS.
Hear him? Yes.
All the more reason you should flog him well.
For if he is a god, he won’t perceive it.

DIONYSUS.
Well, but you say that you’re a god yourself.
So why not you be flogged as well as I?

XANTHIAS.
A fair proposal. And be this the test,
Whichever of us two you first behold
Flinching or crying out—he’s not the god.