Interrogation

      Adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology, vii, 470

Q.

Tell the stern one on the bench above,
he who hath no eyes but hears all,
what name you call yourself, and who
and of what place your father.

 A.
I tremble before thee, judge of all!

 Q.
Speak freely. He is but one of many.
Few they are, who meet the owner
of this forbidding and barren place.

 A.
Well, then, I was — and am — Philaulus.
Eucratides, my father, from Kos —
if he my father was — who knows?

 Q.
A cautious and a wise reply! What
livelihood took up the bulk of years?

 A.
These hands have never pulled
a plough, nor grappled the ropes
that hold a sail aloft. Instead
I tried to be wise among the wise —
a teacher, that is to say.

Q.
Full-haired your head,
well-trimmed, your beard.
A full count have you
of fingers and toes. How, then,
did you depart from life?
Did old age creep up upon you,
or some sudden sickness, or fall? 

A.
From what the sages taught me,
I mixed the Cean potion of death.
Of my free will I enter Hades.
The boatman’s coins I had,
and suitable prayers, I hope,
preceded me.

 Q.
                      So, were you old?

 A.
Ah, very old. All whom I loved
with the fire in my body, are gone,
and my world had gone to grayness.
All that I had to teach — subsumed
it was in newer sciences. It was time.

 Q. Wise the law that permitted this.
Wise is he who places no burden
of care on those around him.
Until a certain time,
     you must wait here,
till that of earth
     that still weighs down
the soul, passes. Worthy the life
you led in line
     with wisdom and reason.
Welcome, brother, to Hades!