But who is this breathless messenger? Bronze—a nice clean figure and outline—chevelure rather out of date. Ah, he must be your brother, Hermes, who stands in the Market by the Poecile; I see he is all over pitch; that is what comes of having casts taken of you every day. My son, why this haste? Have you important news from Earth?

Hermagoras Momentous news, calling for infinite energy.

Zeus Speak, tarry not, if any peril else hath escaped our vigilance.

HermagorasIt chanced of late that by the statuaries My breast and back were plastered o’er with pitch;A mock cuirass tight-clinging hung, to ape My bronze, and take the seal of its impression. When lo, a crowd! therein a pallid pair Sparring amain, vociferating logic;'Twas Damis and—

ZeusTruce to your iambics, my excellent Hermagoras; I know the pair. But tell me whether the fight has been going on long.

Hermagoras Not yet; they were still skirmishing—slinging invective at long range.

Zeus Then we have only, Gods, to look over and listen. Let the Hours unbar, draw back the clouds, and open the doors of Heaven.