_Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone_
_Pro_. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a
lover's boon!
_Pl_. What do you want? who are you?
_Pro_. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean
host, the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and
one day's life.
_Pl_. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and
none shall ever win.
_Pro_. Nay, dread lord, 'tis not life I love, but the bride that I left
new wedded in my chamber that day I sailed away—ah me, to be slain by
Hector as my foot touched land! My lord, that yearning gives me no
peace. I return content, if she might look on me but for an hour.
_Pl_. Did you miss your dose of Lethe, man?
_Pro_. Nay, lord; but this prevailed against it.
_Pl_. Oh, well, wait a little; she will come to you one day; it is so
simple; no need for you to be going up.
_Pro_. My heart is sick with hope deferred; thou too, O Pluto, hast
loved; thou knowest what love is.
_Pl_. What good will it do you to come to life for a day, and then
renew your pains?
_Pro_. I think to win her to come with me, and bring two dead for one.
_Pl_. It may not be; it never has been.
_Pro_. Bethink thee, Pluto. 'Twas for this same cause that ye gave
Orpheus his Eurydice; and Heracles had interest enough to be granted
Alcestis; she was of my kin.
_Pl_. Would you like to present that bare ugly skull to your fair
bride? will she admit you, when she cannot tell you from another man? I
know well enough; she will be frightened and run from you, and you will
have gone all that way for nothing.
_Per_. Husband, doctor that disease yourself: tell Hermes, as soon as
Protesilaus reaches the light, to touch him with his wand, and make him
young and fair as when he left the bridal chamber.
_Pl_. Well, I cannot refuse a lady. Hermes, take him up and turn him
into a bridegroom. But mind, you sir, a strictly temporary one.