says the mortal servant to him of Olympus; “why, what’s the matter?” “Matter enough,” answers Mercury:-- Why, ye have wrought the very vilest deed; Since Plutus yonder got his sight again, No man doth offer frankincense or bays, Or honey-cake or victim or aught else, To us poor gods. _Car._ Nay, nor will offer, now; Ye took poor care of us when we _were_ pious. _Mer._ As for the other gods, I care not much; But ’tis myself I pity. _Car._ You’re right there. _Mer._ Why, in the good old times, from every shop I got good things,--rich wine-cakes, honey, figs, Fit for a god like Mercury to eat; But now I lie and sleep to cheat my hunger. _Car._ It serves you right; you never did much good. _Mer._ Oh for those noble cheesecakes, rich and brown! _Car._ ’Tis no use calling--cheesecakes an’t in season. _Mer._ O those brave gammons that I once enjoyed! _Car._ Don’t gammon me--be off with you to--heaven! Mercury begs him at last, for old acquaintance’ sake, and in remembrance of the many little scrapes which his pilfering propensities would have brought him into with his master, but that he, the god of craft, helped him out of them,--to have a little fellow-feeling for a servant out of place and thrown upon his own finding. Is there no place for him in Chremylus’s household? What? says Cario; would he leave Olympus and take service with mortals? Certainly he would--the living and the perquisites are so much better. Would he turn deserter? asks the other (deserter being a word of abomination to Greek ears). The god replies in words which seem to be a quotation or a parody from some of the tragic poets-- That soil is fatherland which feeds us best. The dialogue which follows is an amusing play upon the various offices assigned to Mercury, who was a veritable Jack-of-all-trades in the popular theology. The humour is very much lost in any English version, however free:-- _Car._ What place would suit you, now, suppose we hired you? _Mer._ I’ll turn my hand to anything you please; You know I’m called the “Turner.” _Car._ Yes, but now Luck’s on our side, we want no turns at present. _Mer._ I’ll make your bargains for you. _Car._ Thankye, no-- Now we’ve grown rich, we don’t much care for bargains. _Mer._ But I can cheat-- _Car._ On no account--for shame! We well-to-do folks all go in for honesty. _Mer._ Let me be Guide, then. _Car._ Nay, our godship here Has got his sight again, and needs no guiding. _Mer._ Well, Master of the revels? don’t say no-- Wealth must have pleasures,--music, and all that. _Car._ (_ironically turning to the audience_). Why, what a lucky thing it is to be Jack-of-all-trades! Here’s a young man, now, who’s sure to make a living! (_To Mercury._) Well--go and wash these tripes,--be quick--let’s see What sort of training servants get in heaven.