_Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus_
_Cr_. Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our
neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we
are going to migrate.
_Pl_. Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community?
_Cr_. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry
over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be
laughing at us, and calling us rude names; 'slaves' and 'garbage,' he
says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out.—In short, he is
a nuisance.
_Pl_. Menippus, what's this I hear?
_Me_. All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not
content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on
talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I
take a positive pleasure in annoying them.
_Pl_. Yes, but you mustn't. They have had terrible losses; they feel it
deeply.
_Me_. Pluto! you are not going to lend _your_ countenance to these
whimpering fools?
_Pl_. It isn't that: but I won't have you quarrelling.
_Me_. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no
misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there
shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down.
_Cr_. Presumption!
_Me_. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men
to fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and forgot
there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of
teeth: for all is lost!
_Cr_. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps—
_Mid_. My gold—
_Sar_. My little comforts—
_Me_. That's right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I'll chime in
with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.