2–1
Asclepius
That comes well from you, whose burns I healed, when you came up all singed not so long ago; between the tunic and the flames, your body was half consumed. Anyhow, it would be enough to mention that I was never a slave like you, never combed wool in Lydia, masquerading in a purple shawl and being slippered by an Omphale, never killed my wife and children in a fit of the spleen.
Heracles
If you don’t stop being rude, I shall soon show you that immortality is not much good. I will take you up and pitch you head over heels out of Heaven, and Apollo himself shall never mend your broken crown.
Zeus
Cease, I say, and let us hear ourselves speak, or I will send you both away from table. Heracles, Asclepius died before you, and has the right to a better place.
Hermes
Why so sad, Apollo?
Apollo
Alas, Hermes,—my love!
Hermes
Oh; that’s bad. What, are you still brooding over that affair of Daphne?
Apollo
No. I grieve for my beloved; the Laconian, the son of Oebalus.
Hermes
Hyacinth? he is not dead?
5
Hermes
Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy!
Apollo
It was the work of my own hand.
Hermes
You must have been mad!
Apollo
Not mad; it was an accident.
10
Hermes
Oh? and how did it happen?
