_Posidon. Alpheus_
_Pos_. What is the meaning of this, Alpheus? unlike others, when you
take your plunge you do not mingle with the brine as a river should;
you do not put an end to your labours by dispersing; you hold together
through the sea, keep your current fresh, and hurry along in all your
original purity; you dive down to strange depths like a gull or a
heron; I suppose you will come to the top again and show yourself
somewhere or other.
_Al_. Do not press me, Posidon; a love affair; and many is the time you
have been in love yourself.
_Pos_. Woman, nymph, or Nereid?
_Al_. All wrong; she is a fountain.
_Pos_. A fountain? and where does she flow?
_Al_. She is an islander—in Sicily. Her name is Arethusa.
_Pos_. Ah, I commend your taste. She is pellucid, and bubbles up in
perfect purity; the water as bright over her pebbles as if it were a
mass of silver.
_Al_. You know my fountain, Posidon, and no mistake. It is to her that
I go.
_Pos_. Go, then; and may the course of love run smooth! But pray where
did you meet her? Arcadia and Syracuse, you know!
_Al_. I am in a hurry; you are detaining me, with these superfluous
questions.
_Pos_. Ah, so I am. Be off to your beloved, rise from the sea, mingle
your channels and be one water.