Well, well, you are afraid of Athene and the Gorgon; at least so you say, though you do not mind Zeus’s thunderbolt a bit. But why do you let the Muses go scot free? do they toss their plumes and hold out Gorgons’ heads?

Ah, mother, they make me bashful; they are so grand, always studying and composing; I love to stand there listening to their music,

Let them pass too, because they are grand. And why do you never take a shot at Artemis?

Why, the great thing is that I cannot catch her; she is always over the hills and far away. But besides that, her heart is engaged already.

Where, child?

In hunting stags and fawns; she is so fleet, she catches them up, or else shoots them; she can think of nothing else. Her brother, now, though he is an archer too, and draws a good arrow—

I know, child, you have hit bim often enough.