PHILOCLEON. Alas! alas!
BDELYCLEON. Now why this lamentation?
PHILOCLEON. A truce to your promises! What I love is down there, 'tis down there I want to be, there, where the herald cries, "Who has not yet voted? Let him rise!" I want to be the last to leave the urn of all. Oh, my soul, my soul! where art thou? come! oh! dark shadows, make way for me![81] By Heracles, may I reach the Court in time to convict Cleon of theft.
BDELYCLEON. Come, father, in the name of the gods, believe me!
PHILOCLEON. Believe you! Ask me anything, anything, except one.
BDELYCLEON. What is it? Let us hear.
PHILOCLEON. Not to judge any more! Before I consent, I shall have appeared before Pluto.
BDELYCLEON. Very well then, since you find so much pleasure in it, go down there no more, but stay here and deal out justice to your slaves.
PHILOCLEON. But what is there to judge? Are you mad?
BDELYCLEON. Everything as in a tribunal. If a servant opens a door secretly, you inflict upon him a simple fine; 'tis what you have repeatedly done down there. Everything can be arranged to suit you. If it is warm in the morning, you can judge in the sunlight; if it is snowing, then seated at your fire; if it rains, you go indoors; and if you only rise at noon, there will be no Thesmothetes[82] to exclude you from the precincts.