There now, Charon! And we were beginning to accuse Hermes of neglect.
Well, and why are we waiting here, as if there had not been enough delay already?
True. Let them come aboard. I’ll to my post by the gangway, with my notebook, and take their names and countries as they come up, and details of their deaths; and you can stow them away as you get them.—Hermes, let us have those babies in first; I shall get nothing out of them.
Here, skipper. Three hundred of them, including those that were exposed.
A precious haul, on my word!—These are but green grapes, Hermes.
Who next, Clotho? The Unwept?
Ah! I take you.—Yes, up with the old fellows. I have no time to-day for prehistoric research. All over sixty, pass on! What’s the matter with them? They don’t hear me; they are deaf with age. I think you will have to pick them up, like the babies, and get them along that way.
Here they are; fine well-matured fruit, gathered in due season; three hundred and ninety-eight of them,
Nay, nay; these are no better than raisins.
Bring up the wounded next, Hermes. Now I can get to work. Tell me how you were killed. Or no; I had better look at my notes, and call you over. Eighty-four due to be killed in battle yesterday, in Mysia, ‘These to include Gobares, son of Oxyartes.
Adsunt.
The seven who killed themselves for love. Also Theagenes, the philosopher, for love of the Megarian courtesan.
Here they are, look.
And the rival claimants to thrones, who slew one another?
Here!
And the one murdered by his wife and her paramour?
Straight in front of you,
Now the victims of the law,—the cudgelled and the crucified. And where are those sixteen who were killed by robbers?
Here; you may know them by their wounds. Am I to bring the women too?
Yes, certainly; and all who were shipwrecked; it is the same kind of death. And those who died of fever, bring them too, the doctor Agathocles and all.