1
Then will you let me wander aimlessly above ground, you who are a comrade and a shipmate and a fellow guide of souls? Come now, son of Maea, you would do well to remember this at least, that I have never ordered you to bale or take an oar. On the contrary, you stretch yourself out on deck and snore, in spite of those broad shoulders of yours, or if you find a talkative dead man, you chat with him throughout the trip, while I, old as I am, row both oars of my boat alone. Come, in your father’s name, Hermie dear, don’t leave me stranded; be my guide to everything in life, so that I may feel I have seen something when I go back. If you leave me, I shall be no better off than the blind, for they stumble and reel about in the darkness, while I, to the contrary, am dazed in the light. Be good to me, Cyllenian, and I shall remember your kindness forever.
2
This business will stand me in a thrashing; at any rate I see even now that my pay for playing guide will certainly include plenty of fisticufls. But I must comply all the same, for what can a man do when a friend insists?
2
For you to see everything minutely in detail is impossible, ferryman, since it would busy us for many years. In that event Zeus would be obliged to have me advertized by the crier, like a runaway slave, and you yourself would be prevented from doing the work of Death and compelled to embarrass the revenues of Pluto’s government by not bringing in aly dead for a long time; besides, Aeacus the toll-taker would be angry if he did not make even an obol. We must manage it so that you can see the principal things that are going on.
2
You must determine what is best, Hermes; I know nothing at all about things above ground, being a stranger.
