Fugitivi

Innkeeper Wife, wife! the dogs have been too many for you; ay, and for your virtue, so men say.

Hera Hope for the best; some little Cerberus or Geryon shall call you father, and Heracles have employment again.—Ah, no need to knock: here they come.

First Master Ha, Cantharus, have I got you? What, nothing to say for yourself? Let us see what you have in that wallet; beans, no doubt, or a crust of bread.

Hera Bread, indeed! Gold, a purseful of it!

Hera That need not surprise you. In Greece, you see, he was a Cynic, but here he is all for golden Chrysippus. Next you will see him dangling, Cleanthes-like[*](See Cleanthes in Notes.), by his beard, and serve the dirty fellow right.

Second Master Ha, you rascal there, am I mistaken, or are you my lost Lecythio? Lecythio it is, What a figure! Lecythio a philosopher! I'll believe anything after this.

Hera Does none of you know anything about this other?

Third Master Oh yes, he is_mine; but he may go hang for me.

Hera And why is that?

Third Master Ah, he’s a sadly leaky vessel, is Rosolio, as we used to call him.

Hera Gracious Heracles! did you hear that? Rosolio with wallet and stick!—Friend, here is your wife again.

Innkeeper Thank you for nothing. Ill have no woman brought to bed of an old book in my house.

Hera How am I to understand that?

Innkeeper Why, the Three-headed Dog is a book, master?

Hera Ay, and so was the Man with the Three Hats, for that Matter.

Masters. We leave the rest to you, sir.

Hera This is my judgement. Let the woman return beneath her husband’s roof, or many-headed monsters will come of it. These two truant sparks I hand over to their owners: let them follow their trades as heretofore; Lecythio wash clothes, and Rosolio patch them;—not, however, before his back has felt the mallow-stalk, And for Cantharus, first let the men of pitch take him, and plaster him without mercy; and be their pitch the vilest procurable. Then let him be led forth to stand upon the snowy slopes of Haemus, naked and fettered.

Cantharus Mercy! have mercy onme! Ah me! I am undone!

First Master So tragic?. Come, follow me to the plasterers; and off with that lion’s-skin, lest you be taken for other than an ass.