Sea. What is this, Xanthus? who has burned you?
Xan. Hephaestus. Oh, I am burned to cinders! oh, oh, oh, I boil!
Sea. What made him use his fire upon you?
Xan. Why, it was all that son of your Thetis. He was slaughtering the Phrygians; I tried entreaties, but he went raging on, damming my stream with their bodies; I was so sorry for the poor wretches, I poured down to see if I could make a flood and frighten him off them. But Hephaestus happened to be about, and he must have collected every particle of fire he had in Etna or anywhere else; on he came at me, scorched my elms and tamarisks, baked the poor fishes and eels, made me boil over, and very nearly dried me up altogether. You see what a state I am in with the burns.
Sea. Indeed you are thick and hot, Xanthus, and no wonder; the dead men’s blood accounts for one, and the fire for the other, according to your story. Well, and serve you right; assaulting my grandson, indeed! paying no more respect to the son of a Nereid than that!
Xan. Was I not to take compassion on the Phrygians? they are my neighbours.
Sea. And was Hephaestus not to take compassion on Achilles? He is the son of Thetis.
H.
XII
Doris. Thetis