_Me_. So _he_ was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was a sham? _Cer_. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a bold face on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of impressing the bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you—bold resolute fellows as far as the entrance; it is inside that the real test comes. _Me_. What did you think of _my_ performance? _Cer_. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the breed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any compulsion or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for yourselves and a curse for the rest. F. XXII _Charon. Menippus. Hermes_ _Ch_. Your fare, you rascal. _Me_. Bawl away, Charon, if it gives you any pleasure. _Ch_. I brought you across: give me my fare. _Me_. I can't, if I haven't got it. _Ch_. And who is so poor that he has not got a penny? _Me_. I for one; I don't know who else. _Ch_. Pay: or, by Pluto, I'll strangle you. _Me_. And I'll crack your skull with this stick. _Ch_. So you are to come all that way for nothing? _Me_. Let Hermes pay for me: he put me on board. _Her_. I dare say! A fine time I shall have of it, if I am to pay for the shades. _Ch_. I'm not going to let you off. _Me_. You can haul up your ship and wait, for all I care. If I have not got the money, I can't pay you, can I? _Ch_. You knew you ought to bring it? _Me_. I knew that: but I hadn't got it. What would you have? I ought not to have died, I suppose? _Ch_. So you are to have the distinction of being the only passenger that ever crossed gratis? _Me_. Oh, come now: gratis! I took an oar, and I baled; and I didn't cry, which is more than can be said for any of the others. _Ch_. That's neither here nor there. I must have my penny; it's only right. _Me_. Well, you had better take me back again to life. _Ch_. Yes, and get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains! I like that. _Me_. Well, don't bother me. _Ch_. Let me see what you have got in that wallet. _Me_. Beans: have some?—and a Hecate's supper. _Ch_. Where did you pick up this Cynic, Hermes? The noise he made on the crossing, too! laughing and jeering at all the rest, and singing, when every one else was at his lamentations. _Her_. Ah, Charon, you little know your passenger! Independence, every inch of him: he cares for no one. 'Tis Menippus. _Ch_. Wait till I catch you—- _Me_. Precisely; I'll wait—till you catch me again. F. XXIII _Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone_ _Pro_. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a lover's boon! _Pl_. What do you want? who are you? _Pro_. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean host, the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and one day's life. _Pl_. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and none shall ever win.