[The Oceanides escape, in a tumult of laughter, through the upper woods, as Hephæstus, limping heavily, and much out of breath, appears from below.]
Hephæstus.
The rogues, the rogues!
Eros.
What a cataract of animal spirits! I am afraid, Hephæstus, that you do not escape, even here, from the echoes of the laughter of heaven.
Heracles [savagely].
Follow them, and strike them down. Take my club, Hephæstus, if you have lost your hammer.
Hephæstus.
Strike them! Strike the darling rogues? I would as soon wrap your too-celebrated tunic about a little playful marmozet. What is the matter with you, Heracles?