_The Xanthus. The Sea_
_Xan_. O Sea, take me to you; see how horribly I have been treated;
cool my wounds for me.
_Sea_. What is this, Xanthus? who has burned you?
_Xan_. Hephaestus. Oh, I am burned to cinders! oh, oh, oh, I boil!
_Sea_. What made him use his fire upon you?
_Xan_. Why, it was all that son of your Thetis. He was slaughtering the
Phrygians; I tried entreaties, but he went raging on, damming my stream
with their bodies; I was so sorry for the poor wretches, I poured down
to see if I could make a flood and frighten him off them. But
Hephaestus happened to be about, and he must have collected every
particle of fire he had in Etna or anywhere else; on he came at me,
scorched my elms and tamarisks, baked the poor fishes and eels, made me
boil over, and very nearly dried me up altogether. You see what a state
I am in with the burns.
_Sea_. Indeed you are thick and hot, Xanthus, and no wonder; the dead
men's blood accounts for one, and the fire for the other, according to
your story. Well, and serve you right; assaulting my grandson, indeed!
paying no more respect to the son of a Nereid than that!
_Xan_. Was I not to take compassion on the Phrygians? they are my
neighbours.
_Sea_. And was Hephaestus not to take compassion on Achilles? He is the
son of Thetis.