Have you nothing to say of how I healed your burns, when you came up half-scorched the other day? Between the tunic and the fire after it, your body was in a fine mess. Besides, if nothing else, I was never a slave like you, carding wool in Lydia, wearing purple, and being beaten with Omphale’s A queen of Lydia, as whose slave Heracles had to serve for three years. Lucian describes a painting on this topic in How to Write History 10. golden sandal. What’s more, I never killed my wife Megara. Cf. Euripides’ Hercules Furens. and children in a fit of spleen.

If you don’t stop insulting me, you’ll pretty soon find out that your immortality won’t help you much. I’ll pick you up and throw you head first out of heaven, so that you’ll crack your skull, and not even Apollo the Healer will be able to do anything for you.

Stop it, I say; don’t disturb our dinner-party, or I’ll send you both from the table. But it’s only reasonable, Heracles, that Asclepius should have a place above you, as he died before you.