Clo. Don't put yourself in a passion, Charon; look, here he comes, close by, bringing a large company with him—driving them before him, I should rather say, with his rod, like a flock of goats. But what's this? I see one of the party with his hands tied, and another laughing, and another with a wallet on his back and a club in his hand, looking very savage, and hurrying the rest on. And don't you see how Mercury himself is actually running down with sweat, and how dusty his feet are; he's quite out of breath, panting, with his mouth open.—What's the matter, Mercury? What are you so hurried about? You seem quite done up.
(Enter Mercury, very hot, with a large company of Ghosts.)
Merc. Matter, Clotho? Why, I've been hunting this runaway here, till I suppose you thought I had run away myself to-day, and deserted my ship.
Clo. Who is he? and what did he want to run away for?
Merc. That's plain enough—because he wanted to live a little longer. He's a king or a tyrant of some sort, and from what I can make out from his howlings and lamentations, he complains that he is being taken away from a position of great enjoyment.
Clo. So the fool tried to run away, did he?—when the thread of his life was already spun out!
Merc. Tried to run away, did you say? Why, unless that stout fellow there, he with the club, had helped me, so that we contrived between us to catch him and
