TRYGAEUS. Ah! 'tis a rough job getting to the gods! my legs are as good as broken through it. How small you were, to be sure, when seen from heaven! you had all the appearance too of being great rascals; but seen close, you look even worse.
SERVANT. Is that you, master?
TRYGAEUS. So I have been told.
SERVANT. What has happened to you?
TRYGAEUS. My legs pain me; it is such a plaguey long journey.
SERVANT. Oh! do tell me....
TRYGAEUS. What?
SERVANT. Did you see any other man besides yourself strolling about in heaven?
TRYGAEUS. No, only the souls of two or three dithyrambic poets.
SERVANT. What were they doing up there?
TRYGAEUS. They were seeking to catch some lyric exordia as they flew by immersed in the billows of the air.
SERVANT. Is it true, what they tell us, that men are turned into stars after death?
Studies
