Dionysus.
I should think so.—
And weren't you frightened at his awful threats
And language?
Xanthias.
I? I never cared a rap.
Dionysus.
Oh, you're a hero, aren't you?—and want glory.
Well, you be me! Put on this lion's hide
And take the club—if you're so dauntless-hearted.
I'll take my turn, and be your luggage-boy.
Xanthias.
Over with both of them! Of course I will.
[He proceeds to put on the lion-skin.
Now watch if Xanthias-Heracles turns faint,
Or shows the same "presence of mind," as you.
Dionysus.
The true Melitêan jail-bird, on my life! . . .
Well, I suppose I'd better take the luggage.
[The exchange is just effected when the door again opens and there enters a Maid of Persephone.
Maid.
Dear Heracles, and is it you once more?
Come in! No sooner did my mistress learn
Your coming, than she set her bread to bake,
Set pots of split-pea porridge, two or three,
A-boiling, a whole ox upon the coals,
Cakes in the oven, and big buns.—Oh, come in.
