PLUTUS, 225

to believe that his friend had committed some crime.
When he heard that the god of riches was actu-
ally an inmate in his neighbour’s house, his astonish-
ment was great, nor was it diminished at being told
that Chremylus’s intention was to make his friends
sharers in his good luck. He agreed with the notion
that the god should, if possible, be cured of his blind-
ness, but did not see how it could be done. This,
indeed, puzzled both of the friends, till Chremylus
suggested that the best plan would be to make him
pass a night in the temple of Aésculapius. Scarcely
had they resolved on this course when a strange
visitor appeared, Poverty, a lean and spectral figure,
from whom the two men fled in terror. However,
they plucked up courage, and came back, wondering
what it could be. “A Fury escaped from a tragedy,
perhaps,” said one of them. “It has a mad, tragi-
cal look.”
“No,” replied the other, “it hasn’t got a torch.”
“Who do you think I am?” said the figure.
Chrem. “The landlady of an inn, or an oyster-
girl; you made such an uproar when no one had
hurt you.” ;
“T tell you,” cried the Unknown, “that you are
both intending to do a most villainous thing. Know
that I am Poverty — your old inmate, Poverty.”
Blep. “Good heavens! I’m off.”
Chrem. ‘“ Coward, you are not going to run away?”
Blep. “Yes, but I am.”

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