_Zeus_. You must be jesting, Posidon; you cannot have forgotten that we have no say in the matter? It is the Fates that spin a man’s thread, whether he be destined to the thunderbolt or the sword, to fever or consumption. If it had depended on me, do you suppose I should have let those temple-robbers get off unblasted from Pisa the other day?—two of my curls shorn off, weighing half a dozen pounds apiece. Would _you_ have stood it, when that fisherman from Oreus stole your trident at Geraestus? Moreover, they will think we are sensitive and angry; they will suspect that the reason why we get the man out of the way without waiting to see him matched with Timocles is that we are afraid of his arguments; they will say we are just securing judgement by default. _Pos_. Dear, dear! I thought I had hit upon a good short cut to our object. _Zeus_. Nonsense, there is something fishy about it, Posidon; and it is a dull notion too, to destroy your adversary beforehand; he dies unvanquished, and leaves his argument behind him still debatable and undecided. _Pos_. Then the rest of you must think of something better, if ‘fishy’ is the best word you have for me. _Apol_. If we beardless juniors were competent to address the meeting, _I_ might perhaps have contributed usefully to the discussion. _Mo_. Oh, Apollo, the inquiry is so important that seniority may be waived, and any one allowed his say; a pretty thing to split hairs about legal competence at a supreme crisis! But _you_ are surely qualified by this time; your minority is prehistoric, your name is on the Privy-Council roll, your senatorial rank dates back almost to Cronus. Pray spare us these juvenile airs, and give us your views freely; you need not be bashful about your smooth chin; you have a father’s rights in Asclepius’s great bush of a beard. Moreover, you never had a better opportunity of showing your wisdom, if your philosophic _seances_ with the Muses on Helicon have not been thrown away. _Apol_. Why, it does not lie with you to give me leave, Momus; Zeus must do that; and if he bids, I may find words that shall be not all uncultured, but worthy of my Heliconian studies. _Zeus_. Speak, son; thou hast my leave.