Men. Let Mercury pay for me, then; it was he put me on board.
Mercury. A very profitable job for me, by Jove! if I'm to pay for all the dead people.
Cha. (to Men). I shan't let you go.
Men. You can haul your boat ashore, then, for that matter, and wait as long as you please; but I don't see how you can take from me what I don't possess.
Cha. Didn't you know you had to pay it?
Men. I knew well enough; but I tell you I hadn't got it. Is a man not to die because he has no money?
Cha. Are you to be the only man, then, who can boast that he has crossed the Styx gratis?
Men. Gratis? Not at all, my good friend,—when I baled the boat, and helped you with the oar, and was the only man on board that didn't howl.
Cha. That has nothing to do with the passage-money; you must pay your obolus. It's against all our rules to do otherwise.
Men. Then take me back to life again.
Cha. Yes—a fine proposal—that I may get a whipping from Æacus for it.
Men. Then don't bother.
Cha. Show me what you've got in your scrip there.
Men. Lentils, if you please, and a bit of supper for Hecate.
Cha. (turning to Mercury in despair). Where on earth did you bring this dog of a Cynic from, Mercury?—chattering, as he did, all the way across, cutting his jokes and laughing at the other passengers, and singing while they were all bemoaning themselves.
