The Ferryman desires them to waste no more time now in chattering, and proposes to start at once. Clotho and Mercury count the dead into the boat. First, three hundred infants,—including those who have been deserted and exposed. Charon (who is still very cross) complains of them as "a cargo of very unripe fruit." Mercury next hands him in four hundred old people; "they are ripe enough," he observes, "at any rate—and some rotten." Seven have died for love—besides a great philosopher, who has killed himself for the sake of a good-for-nothing woman. Several have died of a fever—including the physician who attended them. Cyniscus, too, is there, the Cynic philosopher, who has been eating some of Hecate's supper, and a quantity of raw onions besides, and has died of indigestion. His only complaint is that he has been forgotten by the Fates, and allowed to live on earth so long.
Megapenthes, the tyrant, who has made such a determined attempt to escape on the road, entreats Clotho to let him go back to life—only for a little while, if it were but five days, just to finish his new house, and to give some directions to his wife about some money,—he will be sure to come down again soon. He tries in vain to bribe the Inexorable by offers of gold. Or, he will give his son, his only son, as a hostage. Clothe reminds him that his prayer used to be that this son might survive him. That had been his wish, he confesses; but now he knows better. Clotho bids him take comfort; his son will follow him here speedily; he will be put to death by the tyrant who succeeds. At least he desires to know how things will go after
