5
Here, skipper. Three hundred of them, including those that were exposed.
5
A precious haul, on my word!—These are but green grapes, Hermes.
5
Who next, Clotho? The Unwept?
5
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.
5
Here they are; fine well-matured fruit, gathered in due season; three hundred and ninety-eight of them,
5
Nay, nay; these are no better than raisins.
6
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.
6
Adsunt.
6
The seven who killed themselves for love. Also Theagenes, the philosopher, for love of the Megarian courtesan.
6
Here they are, look.
6
And the rival claimants to thrones, who slew one another?
6
Here!
6
And the one murdered by his wife and her paramour?
6
Straight in front of you,
6
Now the victims of the law,—the cudgelled and the crucified. And where are those sixteen who were killed by robbers?
6
Here; you may know them by their wounds. Am I to bring the women too?
6
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.
7
Then there was a Cynic philosopher, who was to have succumbed to a dinner with Dame Hecate, eked out with sacrificial eggs and a raw cuttle-fish; where is he?
7
Here I stand this long time, my good Clotho. Now what had I done to deserve such a weary spell of life? You gave me pretty nearly a spindleful of it. I often tried to cut the thread and away; but somehow it never would give.
7
I left you as a censor and physician of human frailties: pass on, and good luck to you.
