HERA
Admirers of boys may talk like that, but I hope I’ll never be so mad as to give my lips to that Phrygian softie. Oh, the effeminate creature!
ZEUS
Please don’t abuse my little darling, noble Hera. This effeminate foreigner, this softie, is more delightful and desirable to me than—I won’t say it, for fear that I make you still angrier.
HERA
Well, you can go ahead and marry him, for all I care. But I hope you remember how you’re showering tipsy abuse on me because of this wine-boy.
ZEUS
What nonsense! I suppose we ought to have our wine from your son, Hephaestus, hobbling about, straight from the forge, still filthy from the sparks, having just put down his tongs. I suppose I should take the cup from those dirty fingers of his, and between each mouthful of wine give him a kiss? Why, even you, his own mother, wouldn’t want to kiss his face, all black with soot. That would be nicer, wouldn’t it? Hephaestus was a much more suitable wine-waiter for the table of the gods, I suppose, and Ganymede should be packed off home to Ida? He’s too clean, and has rosy fingers, he’s not clumsy when he offers the drink, and what annoys you most of all, his kiss is sweeter than the nectar.
