Dionysus.
Those two old obols, everywhere at work!
I wonder how they found their way down there?
Heracles.
Oh, Theseus took them!—After that you'll see
Snakes and queer monsters, crowds and crowds.
Dionysus.
Now don't:
Don't play at bogies! You can never move me!
Heracles.
Then deep, deep mire and everlasting filth,
And, wallowing there, such as have wronged a guest
Or picked a wench's pocket while they kissed her,
Beaten their mothers, smacked their fathers' jaws,
Or sworn perjurious oaths before high heaven.
Dionysus.
And with them, I should hope, such as have learned
Kinesias's latest Battle Dance,
Or copied out a speech of Morsimus!
Heracles.
Then you will find a breath about your ears
Of music, and a light before your eyes
Most beautiful—like this—and myrtle groves,
And joyous throngs of women and of men,
And clapping of glad hands.
Dionysus.
And who will they be?
