bably contented where he is, while the other is such a clever, contriving fellow, that he will be sure to find some plan for his own escape. Remembering the success of Hercules on a similar expedition to the lower regions, Bacchus has determined to adopt the club and the lion's skin, in order to be taken for that hero. Followed by his slave Xanthias—who comes in riding upon an ass (a kind of classical Sancho Panza), and carrying his master's luggage—he calls upon Hercules on his way, in order to gather from him some information as to his route,—which is the best road to take, what there is worth seeing there, and especially what inns he can recommend, where the beds are reasonably clean, and free from those disagreeable bedfellows with which the Athenians of old seem to have been quite as well acquainted as any modern Londoner.
Hercules laughs to himself at the figure which his brother deity cuts in a costume so unsuited to his habits and character, and answers him in a tone of banter. Bacchus wants to know the shortest and most convenient road to the regions of the dead.
"Her. Well,—which shall I tell ye first, now? Let me see—
There's a good convenient road by the Rope and Noose—
The Hanging Road.
Bac. No, that's too close and stifling.
Her. Then there's an easy, fair, well-beaten track,
As you go by the Pestle and Mortar.
Bac. What, the Hemlock?
Her. To be sure.
Bac. That's much too cold,—it will never do.
They tell me it strikes a chill to the legs and feet.
