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Those two old obols, everywhere at work!

I wonder how they found their way down there?

Oh, Theseus took them!—After that you'll see

Snakes and queer monsters, crowds and crowds.

Now don't:

Don't play at bogies! You can never move me!

Then deep, deep mire and everlasting filth,

And, wallowing there, such as have wronged a guest

Or picked a wench's pocket while they kissed her,

Beaten their mothers, smacked their fathers' jaws,

Or sworn perjurious oaths before high heaven.

And with them, I should hope, such as have learned

Kinesias's latest Battle Dance,

Or copied out a speech of Morsimus!

Then you will find a breath about your ears

Of music, and a light before your eyes

Most beautiful—like this—and myrtle groves,

And joyous throngs of women and of men,

And clapping of glad hands.

And who will they be?