Dialogues of the Gods (2.1-2.2)

Good day to you, Hermes, Daddy mine.

And a bad day to you. But how am I your daddy?

Aren’t you Hermes of Cyllene?

Yes. How, then, are you my son?

I’m your bastard boy, your love-child.

Oh quite so, when some billy-goat, I suppose, led a nanny astray! How could you be mine, you with your horns and ugly snout and shaggy beard and a goat’s cloven hooves and a tail over your behind?

When you jeer at me, daddy, you’re mocking your own son, or rather yourself for producing such creatures as your children. It’s not my fault.

Who do you say your mother was? Perhaps I led a nanny astray without knowing it.

No, not a nanny. But try to remember if you ever forced your attentions on a freeborn girl in Arcadia. Why are you biting your nails and thinking so hard? Why so puzzled? I’m speaking of Icarius’ girl, Penelope. [*]

Then what possessed her to produce in you a child not like me but like a goat?

I’ll tell you what she said herself. When she was packing me off to Arcadia, she said, “My boy, I, Penelope, a true blue Spartan, am your mother, but your father, let me tell you, is a god, Hermes, son of Maia and Zeus. Don’t worry because you have horns and a goat’s shanks, for when your father came courting me, he made himself into a goat so that no one would notice him. That’s why you’ve turned out like the goat.”

Ah, yes. I do remember doing something like that. Am I, then, to be called your father? I, who am so proud of my good looks! I, who’ve still got a smooth chin! Am I to be laughed at by all for having such a bonny boy?