_Cy_. Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The penny for my fare is not forthcoming; I have nothing but my wallet, look, and this stick. But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or I could take an oar; only give me a good stout one, and you shall have no fault to find with me. _Cha_. To it, then; and I'll ask no other payment of you. _Cy_. Shall I tip them a stave? _Cha_. To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you. _Cy_. I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a song of lamentation. It will throw me out. _Sh_. Oh, my lands, my lands!—Ah, my money, my money!—Farewell, my fine palace!—The thousands that fellow will have to squander!—Ah, my helpless children!—To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah who, will pluck the grapes?—- _Her_. Why, Micyllus, have _you_ never an Oh or an Ah? It is quite improper that any shade should cross the stream, and make no moan. _Mi_. Get along with you. What have I to do with Ohs and Ahs? I'm enjoying the trip! _Her_. Still, just a groan or two. It's expected. _Mi_. Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, Soles, old Soles!—Oh, ancient Boots!—Woe's me! Never again shall I sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter's day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be another's: whose, ah! whose? _Her_. Yes, that will do. We are nearly there. _Cha_. Wait a bit! Fares first, please. Your fare, Micyllus; every one else has paid; one penny. _Mi_. You don't expect to get a penny out of the poor cobbler? You're joking, Charon; or else this is what they call a 'castle in the air.' I know not whether your penny is square or round. _Cha_. A fine paying trip this, I must say! However,—all ashore! I must fetch the horses, cows, dogs, and other livestock. Their turn comes now. _Clo_. You can take charge of them for the rest of the way, Hermes. I am crossing again to see after the Chinamen, Indopatres and Heramithres. They have been fighting about boundaries, and have killed one another by this time. _Her_. Come, shades, let us get on;—follow me, I mean, in single file. _Mi_. Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus _now_? There would be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are alike here, no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I thought so shabby before passes muster here as well as royal purple; the darkness hides both alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you? _Cy_. Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you say? _Mi_. Very good; give me your hand.—I suppose you have been admitted to the mysteries at Eleusis? That must have been something like this, I should think? _Cy_. Pretty much. Look, here comes a torch-bearer; a grim, forbidding dame. A Fury, perhaps? _Mi_. She looks like it, certainly. _Her_. Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four. _Ti_. It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting.