Xanthias.
I know, I know!
We all see what you want. But that's enough!
I won't be Heracles.
Dionysus.
Now don't say that,
Xanthias—old boy!
Xanthias.
And how am I to be
Alcmena's son—a mortal and a slave?
Dionysus.
I know you're angry, and quite justly so.
Hit me if you like; I won't say one word back.
But, mark, if ever again in this wide world
I rob you of these clothes, destruction fall
On me myself, my wife, my little ones,—
And, if you like, on the old bat Archedêmus!
Xanthias.
That oath will do. I take it on those terms.
Chorus.
Now 'tis yours to make repayment
For the honour of this raiment;
Wear it well, as erst you wore;
If it needs some renovating,
Think of whom you're personating,
Glare like Heracles and roar.
Else, if any fear you show, sir,
Any weakness at the core,
Any jesting, back you go, sir,
To the baggage as before!
