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 foot and pitch me down from heaven, and so I shall have to go limping round with the wine, like him.

Cha. And will you let me go wandering about the earth and losing my way—you, my old friend and messmate? It wouldn't be amiss for you to remember, my lad, how I have never made you bale the boat, or even pull an oar, but you lie snoring on the deck, for all those great broad shoulders; or if you find any talkative fellow among the dead men, you chatter with him all the way over, leaving a poor old fellow like me to pull both oars myself. By your father's beard, now, my good Mercury, don't go away! Show me round this upper world, that I may see something before I go home again. Why, if you leave me here by myself, I shall be no better than the blind men. Just as they go stumbling about in the darkness, so do I in this confounded light. Oblige me now, Mercury, do—and I'll never forget the favour.

Merc. This job will cost me a beating, I plainly foresee—all the wages I shall get for acting as guide will be blows. But I suppose I must oblige you: what can a fellow do when a friend presses him? But as to seeing everything thoroughly, Mr Ferryman, that's impossible—it would take a matter of years. There would have to be a hue and cry sent after me by Jupiter, as a runaway; and it would stop your business in the service of Death, and Pluto's empire would suffer, by your stopping all transportation there for some time; and then Æacus would be in a rage about his fees, when he found not an obol coming in. But I'll manage to let you see what's best worth seeing.