3–1
Apollo
Ah, and you don’t know what a glib young chatterbox he is; and, if he has his way, he is to be our errand-boy! Yesterday he challenged Eros—tripped up his heels somehow, and had him on his back in a twinkling; before the applause was over, he had taken the opportunity of a congratulatory hug from Aphrodite to steal her girdle; Zeus had not done laughing before— the sceptre was gone. If the thunderbolt had not been too heavy, and very hot, he would have made away with that too.
Hephaestus
The child has some spirit in him, by your account.
Apollo
Spirit, yes—and some music, moreover, young as he is.
Hephaestus
How can you tell that?
Apollo
He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere or other, and contrived an instrument with it. He fitted horns to it, with a cross-bar, stuck in pegs, inserted a bridge, and played a sweet tuneful thing that made an old harper like me quite envious. Even at night, Maia was saying, he does not stay in Heaven; he goes down poking his nose into Hades—on a thieves’ errand, no doubt. Then he has a pair of wings, and he has made himself a magic wand, which he uses for marshalling souls—convoying the dead to their place.
Hephaestus
Ah, I gave him that, for a toy.
Apollo
And by way of payment he stole—
Hephaestus
Well thought on; I must go and get them; you may be right about the baby-linen.
What are your orders, Zeus? You sent for me, and here I am; with such an edge to my axe as would cleave a stone at one blow.
Zeus
Ah; that’s right, Hephaestus. Just split my head in half, will you?
