Book 2

Eros: You might let me off, Zeus! I suppose it was rather too bad of me; but there!—I am but a child; a wayward child.

Zeus: A child, and born before Iapetus was ever thought of? You bad old man! Just because you have no beard, and no white hairs, are you going to pass yourself off for a child?

Eros: Well, and what such mighty harm has the old man ever done you, that you should talk of chains?

Zeus: Ask your own guilty conscience, what harm. The pranks you have played me! Satyr, bull, swan, eagle, shower of gold,—I have been everything in my time; and I have you to thank for it. You never by any chance make the women in love with me; no one is ever smitten with my charms, that I have noticed. No, there must be magic in it always; I must be kept well out of sight. They like the bull or the swan well enough: but once let them set eyes on me, and they are frightened out of their lives.

Eros: Well, of course. They are but mortals; the sight of Zeus is too much for them.

Zeus: Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo?

Eros: Daphne ran away from him, anyhow; in spite of his beautiful hair and his smooth chin. Now, shall I tell you the way to win hearts? Keep that aegis of yours quiet, and leave the thunderbolt at home; make yourself as smart as you can; curl your hair and tie it up with a bit of ribbon, get a purple cloak, and gold-bespangled shoes, and march forth to the music of flute and drum;—and see if you don’t get a finer following than Dionysus, for all his Maenads.

Zeus: Pooh! I'll win no hearts on such terms.

Eros: Oh, in that case, don’t fall in love. Nothing could be simpler.

Zeus: I dare say; but I like being in love, only I don’t like all this fuss. Now mind; if I let you off, it is on this understanding.

Francis George Fowler