Book 4
1
Is there a god in heaven, mother, more miserable than I am?
1
Hermes, dear, you mustn’t talk like that.
1
Why shouldn’t I, when I’m so busy—and the only one that does a hand’s turn, too—quite distracted with so many different jobs? I must be up at crack of dawn, and sweep the dining-room, seeing to the cushions on the couch and tidying everything up, and then be at Zeus’ beck and call, a courier to carry his messages high and low, and the moment I’m back, I’ve to lay out the ambrosia, without even time for a wash; and before his latest acquisition, thi nectar as well. But worst of all, it’s just the same at night. I’m the only one that loses hiss wine waiter, arrived, I used to pour out the sleep, and must be busy then too—for Pluto, this time, acting as guide of souls and usher of the dead, and then be on duty with Justice Rhadamanthys. My day’s work isn’t enough for me, it seems, on the go in the wrestling schools, announcing in parliament, and training speakers, but I’ve to help out with the dead as well, for they all want their share of me.
