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Enter female servant of Persephone.

O dearest Heracles, you've returned! Come right in.
When the goddess heard you'd arrived, right off
she had us bake loaves of bread, and boil two or three pots
of ground pea soup; and roast a whole ox;
bake cakes and cookies; do come in.

Fine, I'm much obliged, but...

By Apollo, I will not
let you go away, since she's also
stewing up some flesh of fowls, and cooked
desserts, and mixed her sweetest wine.
So please come in.

Very nice, but...

You're kidding.
I won't let go of you. There's also a flute-girl for you
inside, a beauty, and other dancing girls
some two or three.

What'd you say? dancing girls?

Ripe to bursting and freshly plucked.
Come inside, since the cook was just about to take off
the fillets, and the table's coming in.

Go on, and first tell the dancing girls
who are inside that I myself am coming in:
Follow, slave, and bring my baggage.

You, stop! You're not really serious,
since I dressed you up as Heracles for a joke.
Stop fooling around, Xanthias;
Pick the bags back up and bring them along.

What? surely you don't intend to take away from me
what you gave me yourself.

No maybes, I'm doing it.
Take off the hide.

I'll sue you!
and entrust my case to the gods.

Which gods?
To expect that you—isn't it vain and foolish?
that you, a slave and mortal, could be Alcmena's son?

Well, never mind, fine; take them, but maybe soon
you'll need me, if god so wills.

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