Xanthias, after some modest refusals, allows himself to be persuaded, and prepares to follow his fair guide, bidding his master look after the luggage. But Bacchus prefers on this occasion to play the part of Hercules himself, and insists on each resuming their original characters,--the slave warning him that he may come to rue it yet. The warning soon comes true. Before he can get to the palace, he is seized upon by a brace of infernal landladies, at whose establishments Hercules, on his previous visit, has left some little bills unpaid. “Hallo!” says one lady, “here’s the fellow that ate me up sixteen loaves!” “And me a score of fried cutlets at three-halfpence apiece,” says the other, “And all my garlic!” “And my pickled fish, and the new cream-cheeses, which he swallowed rush-baskets and all! and then, when I asked for payment, he only grinned and roared at me like a bull, and threatened me with his sword.” “Just like him!” says Xanthias. After abusing poor Bacchus, and shaking their fists in his face, they go off to fetch some of the infernal lawyers; and Bacchus once more begs Xanthias to stand his friend, and play Hercules again,--he shall really be Hercules for the future,--the part suits him infinitely better. The slave consents, and again they change dresses, when Æacus comes in with the Plutonian police. He points out to them the representative of Hercules--“Handcuff me this fellow that stole the dog!” But Xanthias is not easily handcuffed; he stands on his defence; protests that “he wishes he may die if he was ever that way before;”--he “never touched a hair of the dog’s tail.” If Æacus won’t believe him, there stands his slave--he may take and torture him, after the usual fashion, and see whether he can extract any evidence of guilt. This seems so fair a proposal that Æacus at once agrees to it. “_Æac._ (_to Bac._) Come, you--put down your bundles, and make ready. And mind--let me hear no lies. _Bac._ I’ll tell you what-- I’d advise people not to torture me; I give you notice--I’m a deity; So mind now--you’ll have nobody to blame But your own self. _Æac._ What’s that you’re saying there? _Bac._ Why, that I’m Bacchus, Jupiter’s own son; That fellow there’s a slave (_pointing to Xanthias_). _Æac._ (_to Xanthias_). Do you hear? _Xan._ I hear him: A reason the more to give him a good beating; If he’s immortal, he need never mind it.”--(F.) Æacus proceeds to test their divinity, by administering a lash to each of them in turn; but they endure the ordeal so successfully, that at last he gives it up in despair. “By the Holy Goddess, I’m completely puzzled! I must take you before Proserpine and Pluto-- Being gods themselves, they’re likeliest to know. _Bac._ Why, that’s a lucky thought!--I only wish It had happened to occur before you beat us.”--(F.)