Chapter 38
DIONYSUS. You talk sense. Ah! here they are just bringing a dead man along. Hi! man, 'tis you I'm addressing, you, dead fellow there! Will you carry a package to Pluto for me?
DEAD MAN. Is't very heavy?
DIONYSUS. This. (_He shows him the baggage, which Xanthias has laid on the ground._)
DEAD MAN. You will pay me two drachmae.
DIONYSUS. Oh! that's too dear.
DEAD MAN. Well then, bearers, move on.
DIONYSUS. Stay, friend, so that I may bargain with you.
DEAD MAN. Give me two drachmae, or it's no deal.
DIONYSUS. Hold! here are nine obols.
DEAD MAN. I would sooner go back to earth again.
XANTHIAS. Is that cursed rascal putting on airs? Come, then, I'll go.
DIONYSUS. You're a good and n.o.ble fellow. Let us make the best of our way to the boat.
CHARON. Ahoy, ahoy! put ash.o.r.e.
XANTHIAS. What's that?
DIONYSUS. Why, by Zeus, 'tis the mere of which Heracles spoke, and I see the boat.
XANTHIAS. Ah! there's Charon.
DIONYSUS. Hail! Charon.
DEAD MAN. Hail! Charon.
CHARON. Who comes..h.i.ther from the home of cares and misfortunes to rest on the banks of Lethe? Who comes to the a.s.s's fleece, who is for the land of the Cerberians, or the crows, or Taenarus?
DIONYSUS. I am.
CHARON. Get aboard quick then.
DIONYSUS. Where will you ferry me to? Where are you going to land me?
CHARON. In h.e.l.l, if you wish. But step in, do.
DIONYSUS. Come here,
CHARON. I carry no slave, unless he has fought at sea to save his skin.
XANTHIAS. But I could not, for my eyes were bad.
CHARON. Well then! be off and walk round the mere.
XANTHIAS. Where shall I come to a halt?
CHARON. At the stone of Auaenus, near the drinking-shop.
DIONYSUS. Do you understand?
XANTHIAS. Perfectly. Oh! unhappy wretch that I am, surely, surely I must have met something of evil omen as I came out of the house?[412]
CHARON. Come, sit to your oar. If there be anyone else who wants to cross, let him hurry. Hullo! what are you doing?
DIONYSUS. What am I doing? I am sitting on the oar[413] as you told me.
CHARON. Will you please have the goodness to place yourself there, pot-belly?
DIONYSUS. There.
CHARON. Put out your hands, stretch your arms.
DIONYSUS. There.
CHARON. No tomfoolery! row hard, and put some heart into the work!
DIONYSUS. Row! and how can I? I, who have never set foot on a s.h.i.+p?
CHARON. There's nothing easier; and once you're at work, you will hear some enchanting singers.
DIONYSUS. Who are they?
CHARON. Frogs with the voices of swans; 'tis most delightful.
DIONYSUS. Come, set the stroke.
CHARON. Yo ho! yo ho!
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax, brekekekekex, coax. Slimy offspring of the marshland, let our harmonious voices mingle with the sounds of the flute, coax, coax! let us repeat the songs that we sing in honour of the Nysaean Dionysus[414] on the day of the feast of pots,[415] when the drunken throng reels towards our temple in the Limnae.[416] Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. I am beginning to feel my bottom getting very sore, my dear little coax, coax.
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. But doubtless you don't care.
FROGS. Brekekekex, coax, coax.
DIONYSUS. May you perish with your coax, your endless coax!