SIMYLUS

So, you’ve come to join us at last, Polystratus, after living to be, I think, almost a hundred?

POLYSTRATUS

Ninety-eight, Simylus.

SIMYLUS

Whatever sort of life did you have for these thirty years after my death? I died when you were about seventy.

POLYSTRATUS

An exceedingly pleasant life, even if you will think it strange.

SIMYLUS

Strange indeed, if you were not only old and weak but also childless, and yet could enjoy life.

POLYSTRATUS

At first, I could do anything. I still could enjoy plenty of pretty boys, and the nicest women, unguents and fragrant wine, and a table to outdo any in Sicily.

SIMYLUS

That’s something new. I knew you to be very sparing.

POLYSTRATUS

Ah, but the good things came pouring in from others, my good fellow; at crack of dawn crowds of folk would start flocking to my doors, and later in the day all kinds of choice gifts from every corner of the earth would arrive.

SIMYLUS

Did you become tyrant, Polystratus, after my time?

POLYSTRATUS

No, but I had thousands of lovers.

SIMYLUS

You make me laugh. Lovers? At your age? With only four teeth in your head?

POLYSTRATUS

Yes indeed, the noblest lovers in the city. Though I was old and bald, as you see, yes, and blear-eyed and snivelling too, they were delighted to court me, and anyone of them I favoured with a mere glance thought himself in heaven.

SIMYLUS

You weren’t another to have a divine passenger, as did Phaon, ¹ when he ferried Aphrodite over from Chios, and have your prayers answered, becoming young, handsome and attractive all over again?

POLYSTRATUS

No, I was the desire of all, though just as you see me now.

SIMYLUS

You’re talking in riddles.

POLYSTRATUS

Yet this great love for rich, childless old men is there for all to see.

SIMYLUS

Now I understand your beauty, you old wonder; it came from the golden Aphrodite.

POLYSTRATUS

And no small enjoyment, Simylus, my lovers have brought me; I was almost worshipped by them. Often I would be coy, and occasionally bar my door to some of them, but they would vie with each other in their zeal for my affection.

SIMYLUS

But what decision did you make about your property in the end?

POLYSTRATUS

I would keep saying in public that I had left each of them as my heir, and each would believe me, and show himself more assiduous than ever in his flattery; but all the time my real will was different and I left them—instructions to go to the devil one and all.

SIMYLUS

And who was the heir under your final will? One of your family, no doubt?

POLYSTRATUS

Good heavens no; it was a pretty boy from Phrygia I’d just bought.

SIMYLUS

What sort of age was he?

POLYSTRATUS

Roughly about twenty.

SIMYLUS

Now I understand how he won your favour.

POLYSTRATUS

Oh well, he deserved to be my heir much more than they did, even if he was a barbarian and a pest. He’s already being courted by the noblest of them all. So he became my heir, and is now numbered among the aristocrats, and, despite his smooth chin and foreign accent, is credited with bluer blood than Codrus, greater beauty than NIreus, and more intelligence than Odysseus.

SIMYLUS

That doesn’t worry me. Let him even be Generalissimo of Greece, if he wishes to, so long as those fellows don’t inherit.

Aeacus

Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and throttling Helen?

Protesilaus

Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half built, and my bride a widow.

Aeacus

You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after such a light-o’-love.

Protesilaus

That is true; he shall answer it.

Menelaus

No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all rights in carrying off his host’s wife with him. He deserves throttling, if you like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and barbarians as well, for all the deaths he brought upon them,

Protesilaus

Ah, now I have it. Here, you—you Paris! you shall not escape my clutches,

Paris

Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft as yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity? against love you know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is to strive; ’tis a spirit that draws us whither it will.

Protesilaus

There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here in these hands!

Aeacus

Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not absolutely deny his responsibility for Paris’s love; but that for your death he refers to yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your bride, fell in love with fame, and, directly the fleet touched the Troad, took that rash senseless leap, which brought you first to shore and to death.

Protesilaus

Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest with me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning.

Aeacus

Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here?