1. Plato, Gorgias, None (5th cent. BCE - 4th cent. BCE)
| 471a. ΠΩΛ. ἄθλιος ἄρα οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ Ἀρχέλαος κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον; ΣΩ. εἴπερ γε, ὦ φίλε, ἄδικος. ΠΩΛ. ἀλλὰ μὲν δὴ πῶς οὐκ ἄδικος; ᾧ γε προσῆκε μὲν τῆς ἀρχῆς οὐδὲν ἣν νῦν ἔχει, ὄντι ἐκ γυναικὸς ἣ ἦν δούλη Ἀλκέτου τοῦ Περδίκκου ἀδελφοῦ, καὶ κατὰ μὲν τὸ δίκαιον δοῦλος ἦν Ἀλκέτου, καὶ εἰ ἐβούλετο τὰ δίκαια ποιεῖν, ἐδούλευεν ἂν Ἀλκέτῃ καὶ ἦν εὐδαίμων κατὰ τὸν σὸν λόγον. νῦν δὲ θαυμασίως ὡς ἄθλιος γέγονεν, ἐπεὶ τὰ μέγιστα ἠδίκηκεν· | 471a. POLUS: Then this Archelaus, on your statement, is wretched? SOCRATES: Yes, my friend, supposing he is unjust. POLUS: Well, but how can he be other than unjust? He had no claim to the throne which he now occupies, being the son of a woman who was a slave of Perdiccas' brother Alcetas, and in mere justice he was Alcetas' slave; and if he wished to do what is just, he would be serving Alcetas and would be happy, by your account; but, as it is, he has become a prodigy of wretchedness 471a. Pol. Then this Archelaus, on your statement, is wretched? Soc. Yes, my friend, supposing he is unjust. Pol. Well, but how can he be other than unjust? He had no claim to the throne which he now occupies, being the son of a woman who was a slave of Perdiccas’ brother Alcetas, and in mere justice he was Alcetas’ slave; and if he wished to do what is just, he would be serving Alcetas and would be happy, by your account; but, as it is, he has become a prodigy of wretchedness |
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2. Plato, Republic, None (5th cent. BCE - 4th cent. BCE)
| 441a. ὄντα γένη, χρηματιστικόν, ἐπικουρητικόν, βουλευτικόν, οὕτως καὶ ἐν ψυχῇ τρίτον τοῦτό ἐστι τὸ θυμοειδές, ἐπίκουρον ὂν τῷ λογιστικῷ φύσει, ἐὰν μὴ ὑπὸ κακῆς τροφῆς διαφθαρῇ; | 441a. three existing kinds that composed its structure, the moneymakers, the helpers, the counsellors, so also in the soul there exists a third kind, this principle of high spirit, which is the helper of reason by nature unless it is corrupted by evil nurture?”“We have to assume it as a third,” he said. “Yes,” said I, “provided it shall have been shown to be something different from the rational, as it has been shown to be other than the appetitive.”“That is not hard to be shown,” he said; “for that much one can see in children, that they are from their very birth chock-full of rage and high spirit, but as for reason 441a. three existing kinds that composed its structure, the moneymakers, the helpers, the counsellors, so also in the soul there exists a third kind, this principle of high spirit, which is the helper of reason by nature unless it is corrupted by evil nurture? We have to assume it as a third, he said. Yes, said I, provided it shall have been shown to be something different from the rational, as it has been shown to be other than the appetitive. That is not hard to be shown, he said; for that much one can see in children, that they are from their very birth chock-full of rage and high spirit, but as for reason |
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3. Xenophon, Memoirs, 1.4.11-1.4.14 (5th cent. BCE - 4th cent. BCE)
| 1.4.11. εὖ ἴσθι, ἔφη, ὅτι, εἰ νομίζοιμι θεοὺς ἀνθρώπων τι φροντίζειν, οὐκ ἂν ἀμελοίην αὐτῶν. ἔπειτʼ οὐκ οἴει φροντίζειν; οἳ πρῶτον μὲν μόνον τῶν ζῴων ἄνθρωπον ὀρθὸν ἀνέστησαν· ἡ δὲ ὀρθότης καὶ προορᾶν πλέον ποιεῖ δύνασθαι καὶ τὰ ὕπερθεν μᾶλλον θεᾶσθαι καὶ ἧττον κακοπαθεῖν καὶ ὄψιν καὶ ἀκοὴν καὶ στόμα ἐνεποίησαν· ἔπειτα τοῖς μὲν ἄλλοις ἑρπετοῖς πόδας ἔδωκαν, οἳ τὸ πορεύεσθαι μόνον παρέχουσιν, ἀνθρώπῳ δὲ καὶ χεῖρας προσέθεσαν, αἳ τὰ πλεῖστα οἷς εὐδαιμονέστεροι ἐκείνων ἐσμὲν ἐξεργάζονται. 1.4.12. καὶ μὴν γλῶττάν γε πάντων τῶν ζῴων ἐχόντων, μόνην τὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐποίησαν οἵαν ἄλλοτε ἀλλαχῇ ψαύουσαν τοῦ στόματος ἀρθροῦν τε τὴν φωνὴν καὶ σημαίνειν πάντα ἀλλήλοις ἃ βουλόμεθα. τὸ δὲ καὶ τὰς τῶν ἀφροδισίων ἡδονὰς τοῖς μὲν ἄλλοις ζῴοις δοῦναι περιγράψαντας τοῦ ἔτους χρόνον, ἡμῖν δὲ συνεχῶς μέχρι γήρως ταῦτα παρέχειν. 1.4.13. οὐ τοίνυν μόνον ἤρκεσε τῷ θεῷ τοῦ σώματος ἐπιμεληθῆναι, ἀλλʼ, ὅπερ μέγιστόν ἐστι, καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν κρατίστην τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ ἐνέφυσε. τίνος γὰρ ἄλλου ζῴου ψυχὴ πρῶτα μὲν θεῶν τῶν τὰ μέγιστα καὶ κάλλιστα συνταξάντων ᾔσθηται ὅτι εἰσί; τί δὲ φῦλον ἄλλο ἢ ἄνθρωποι θεοὺς θεραπεύουσι; ποία δὲ ψυχὴ τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης ἱκανωτέρα προφυλάττεσθαι ἢ λιμὸν ἢ δίψος ἢ ψύχη ἢ θάλπη, ἢ νόσοις ἐπικουρῆσαι, ἢ ῥώμην ἀσκῆσαι, ἢ πρὸς μάθησιν ἐκπονῆσαι, ἢ ὅσα ἂν ἀκούσῃ ἢ ἴδῃ ἢ μάθῃ ἱκανωτέρα ἐστὶ διαμεμνῆσθαι; 1.4.14. οὐ γὰρ πάνυ σοι κατάδηλον ὅτι παρὰ τἆλλα ζῷα ὥσπερ θεοὶ ἄνθρωποι βιοτεύουσι, φύσει καὶ τῷ σώματι καὶ τῇ ψυχῇ κρατιστεύοντες; οὔτε γὰρ βοὸς ἂν ἔχων σῶμα, ἀνθρώπου δὲ γνώμην ἐδύνατʼ ἂν πράττειν ἃ ἐβούλετο, οὔθʼ ὅσα χεῖρας ἔχει, ἄφρονα δʼ ἐστί, πλέον οὐδὲν ἔχει. σὺ δʼ ἀμφοτέρων τῶν πλείστου ἀξίων τετυχηκὼς οὐκ οἴει σοῦ θεοὺς ἐπιμελεῖσθαι; ἀλλʼ ὅταν τί ποιήσωσι, νομιεῖς αὐτοὺς σοῦ φροντίζειν; | 1.4.11. I assure you, that if I believed that the gods pay any heed to man, I would not neglect them. Then do you think them unheeding? In the first place, man is the only living creature that they have caused to stand upright; and the upright position gives him a wider range of vision in front and a better view of things above, and exposes him less to injury. Secondly, to grovelling creatures they have given feet that afford only the power of moving, whereas they have endowed man with hands, which are the instruments to which we chiefly owe our greater happiness. 1.4.11. I assure you, that if I believed that the gods pay any heed to man, I would not neglect them." "Then do you think them unheeding? In the first place, man is the only living creature that they have caused to stand upright; and the upright position gives him a wider range of vision in front and a better view of things above, and exposes him less to injury. Secondly, to grovelling creatures they have given feet that afford only the power of moving, whereas they have endowed man with hands, which are the instruments to which we chiefly owe our greater happiness. 1.4.12. Again, though all creatures have a tongue, the tongue of man alone has been formed by them to be capable of contact with different parts of the mouth, so as to enable us to articulate the voice and express all our wants to one another. Once more, for all other creatures they have prescribed a fixed season of sexual indulgence; in our case the only time limit they have set is old age. 1.4.12. Again, though all creatures have a tongue, the tongue of man alone has been formed by them to be capable of contact with different parts of the mouth, so as to enable us to articulate the voice and express all our wants to one another. Once more, for all other creatures they have prescribed a fixed season of sexual indulgence; in our case the only time limit they have set is old age. 1.4.13. Nor was the deity content to care for man’s body. What is of yet higher moment, he has implanted in him the noblest type of soul. For in the first place what other creature’s soul has apprehended the existence of gods who set in order the universe, greatest and fairest of things? And what race of living things other than man worships gods? And what soul is more apt than man’s to make provision against hunger and thirst, cold and heat, to relieve sickness and promote health, to acquire knowledge by toil, and to remember accurately all that is heard, seen, or learned? 1.4.13. Nor was the deity content to care for man's body. What is of yet higher moment, he has implanted in him the noblest type of soul. For in the first place what other creature's soul has apprehended the existence of gods who set in order the universe, greatest and fairest of things? And what race of living things other than man worships gods? And what soul is more apt than man's to make provision against hunger and thirst, cold and heat, to relieve sickness and promote health, to acquire knowledge by toil, and to remember accurately all that is heard, seen, or learned? 1.4.14. For is it not obvious to you that, in comparison with the other animals, men live like gods, by nature peerless both in body and in soul? For with a man’s reason and the body of an ox we could not carry out our wishes, and the possession of hands without reason is of little worth. Do you, then, having received the two most precious gifts, yet think that the gods take no care of you? What are they to do, to make you believe that they are heedful of you? 1.4.14. For is it not obvious to you that, in comparison with the other animals, men live like gods, by nature peerless both in body and in soul? For with a man's reason and the body of an ox we could not carry out our wishes, and the possession of hands without reason is of little worth. Do you, then, having received the two most precious gifts, yet think that the gods take no care of you? What are they to do, to make you believe that they are heedful of you? |
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4. Aristotle, Politics, None (4th cent. BCE - 4th cent. BCE)
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5. Aristotle, Rhetoric, 3.10.6 (4th cent. BCE - 4th cent. BCE)
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6. Cicero, On The Ends of Good And Evil, 1.30, 1.66-1.71 (2nd cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
| 1.30. omne animal, simul atque natum sit, voluptatem appetere eaque gaudere ut summo bono, dolorem aspernari ut summum malum et, quantum possit, a se repellere, idque facere nondum depravatum ipsa natura incorrupte atque integre iudicante. itaque negat opus esse ratione neque disputatione, quam ob rem voluptas expetenda, fugiendus dolor sit. sentiri haec haec ħ BE hoc NV putat, ut calere ignem, nivem esse albam, dulce mel. dulce esse mel R mel dulce A quorum nihil oportere oportere V oporteret exquisitis rationibus confirmare, tantum tantum om. BE satis esse esse satis A admonere. interesse enim inter inter om. BE argumentum argumentumque BE argumentatum R augmentatum A conclusionemque rationis et inter mediocrem animadversionem atque admonitionem. altera occulta quaedam et quasi involuta aperiri, altera prompta promta AR et aperta iudicari. indicari NV etenim quoniam detractis de homine sensibus reliqui nihil est, necesse est quid aut ad naturam aut ad naturam AR ad naturam ( om. aut) BE aut naturam ( om. ad) N 1 aut secundum naturam N 2 aut verum (compend scr) V aut contra sit a natura ipsa iudicari. post iudicari add. in V voluptatem etiam per se expetendam esse et dolorem ipsum per se esse fugiendum; idem in N ab alt. m. in marg. adscr. posito post iudicari signo eo- demque in marg. ea quid percipit aut quid iudicat, quo aut petat aut fugiat aliquid, praeter voluptatem et et aut NV dolorem? 1.66. Tribus igitur igitur ergo BE modis video esse a nostris a nostris esse BE de amicitia disputatum. alii cum eas voluptates, quae ad amicos pertinerent, negarent esse per se ipsas tam expetendas, quam nostras expeteremus, quo loco videtur quibusdam stabilitas amicitiae vacillare, tuentur tamen eum locum seque facile, ut mihi videtur, expediunt. ut enim virtutes, de quibus ante dictum est, sic amicitiam negant posse a voluptate discedere. nam cum solitudo et vita sine amicis insidiarum et metus plena sit, ratio ipsa monet amicitias comparare, quibus partis confirmatur confirmetur ABE animus et a spe et a spe ad spem et ABE pariendarum voluptatum seiungi non potest. 1.67. atque ut odia, odiā BE invidiae, invidiae A 2 invidie (e ab alt. m. in ras. scr. ) N invidiā B invidia A 1 EV, R ( sequente una litt. erasa, quae vi-detur fuisse e) despicationes adversantur voluptatibus, sic amicitiae non modo fautrices fidelissimae, sed etiam effectrices sunt voluptatum tam amicis quam sibi, quibus non solum praesentibus fruuntur, sed etiam spe eriguntur consequentis ac posteri temporis. quod quia nullo modo sine amicitia firmam et perpetuam iucunditatem vitae tenere possumus possumus etiam B neque vero ipsam amicitiam tueri, nisi nisi ipsi ARV aeque amicos et nosmet ipsos diligamus, idcirco et hoc ipsum efficitur in amicitia, et amicitia et amicitia om. R, A 1 (ab alt. m. in mg. exteriore sinistro ita add. amicitia, ut a ligatore et desectum esse possit) cōnect. BE cum voluptate conectitur. nam et laetamur amicorum laetitia aeque atque ut RNV atque nostra et pariter dolemus angoribus. 1.68. quocirca eodem modo sapiens erit affectus erga amicum, quo in se ipsum, quosque labores propter suam voluptatem susciperet, susciperet susceperit R (suam susceperit voluptatem), NV eosdem suscipiet suscipiet susciperet BE propter amici voluptatem. quaeque de virtutibus dicta sunt, quem ad modum eae eae A hc B hec E hee RV ea N semper voluptatibus inhaererent, eadem de amicitia dicenda sunt. praeclare enim Epicurus his paene verbis: 'Eadem', his paene verbis eadem eadem hys pene verbis BE hiis pene eadem verbis V inquit, scientia scientia sententia BE confirmavit animum, ne quod aut sempiternum aut diuturnum timeret malum, quae perspexit in hoc ipso vitae spatio amicitiae praesidium esse firmissimum. 1.69. Sunt autem quidam Epicurei timidiores paulo contra vestra convicia, nostra convitia V convicia nostra BE sed tamen satis acuti, qui verentur ne, si amicitiam propter nostram voluptatem expetendam putemus, tota amicitia quasi claudicare videatur. itaque primos congressus copulationesque et consuetudinum instituendarum voluntates fieri propter voluptatem; voluntates A voluptates R voluptatum NV om. BE voluptatem voluptates R cum autem usus progrediens familiaritatem effecerit, tum amorem efflorescere tantum, ut, etiamsi nulla sit utilitas ex amicitia, tamen ipsi amici propter se ipsos amentur. etenim si loca, si fana, si urbes, si gymnasia, si campum, si canes, si equos, si ludicra si ludicras A 2 si ludicrica R exercendi aut vedi consuetudine consuetudines A consuetudinēs R adamare solemus, quanto id in hominum consuetudine facilius fieri poterit poterit edd. potuerit et iustius? 1.70. Sunt autem, qui dicant foedus esse quoddam sapientium, sapientum V sap ia (= sapientia, pro sap iu = sapientiū) R ut ne minus amicos quam minus amicos quam P. Man. minus quidem amicos quam ARNV minus quam amicos BE se ipsos diligant. quod et posse fieri fieri posse BE intellegimus et saepe etiam etiam Dav. enim videmus, et perspicuum est nihil ad iucunde vivendum reperiri posse, quod coniunctione tali sit aptius. Quibus ex omnibus iudicari potest non modo non impediri rationem amicitiae, si summum bonum in voluptate ponatur, sed sine hoc institutionem omnino amicitiae non posse reperiri. et 26 repp. A 1.71. Quapropter si ea, quae dixi, sole ipso illustriora et clariora sunt, si omnia dixi hausta omnia dixi hausta = nihil dixi nisi quod haustum esset e fonte naturae, si tota oratio nostra omnem sibi fidem sensibus confirmat, id est incorruptis atque integris testibus, si infantes pueri, mutae etiam bestiae paene loquuntur magistra ac duce natura nihil esse prosperum nisi voluptatem, nihil asperum nisi dolorem, de quibus neque depravate iudicant neque corrupte, depravatae ... corruptae A nonne ei maximam gratiam habere debemus, qui hac exaudita quasi voce naturae sic eam firme graviterque comprehenderit, ut omnes bene sanos in viam placatae, tranquillae, quietae, beatae vitae deduceret? Qui quod tibi parum videtur eruditus, ea causa est, quod nullam eruditionem esse duxit, nisi quae beatae vitae disciplinam iuvaret. | |
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7. Cicero, On The Nature of The Gods, 2.130-2.153 (2nd cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
| 2.130. Moreover the skill and industry of man also contribute to the preservation and security of certain animals and plants. For there are many species of both which could not survive without man's care. "Also a plentiful variety of conveniences is found in different regions for the productive cultivation of the soil by man. Egypt is watered by the Nile, which corps the land completely flooded all the summer and afterwards retires leaving the soil soft and covered with mud, in readiness for sowing. Mesopotamia is fertilized by the Euphrates, which as it were imports into it new fields every year. The Indus, the largest river in the world, not only manures and softens the soil but actually sows it with seed, for it is said to bring down with it a great quantity of seeds resembling corn. 2.131. But how bountiful is nature that has provided for us such an abundance of various and delicious food; and this varying with the different seasons, so that we may be constantly pleased with change, and satisfied with abundance! How seasonable and useful to man, to beasts, and even to vegetables, are the Etesian winds she has bestowed, which moderate intemperate heat, and render navigation more sure and speedy! Many things must be omitted on a subject so copious — and still a great deal must be said — for it is impossible to relate the great utility of rivers, the flux and reflux of the sea, the mountains clothed with grass and trees, the salt-pits remote from the sea-coasts, the earth replete with salutary medicines, or, in short, the innumerable designs of nature necessary for sustece and the enjoyment of life. We must not forget the vicissitudes of day and night, ordained for the health of animated beings, giving them a time to labor and a time to rest. Thus, if we every way examine the universe, it is apparent, from the greatest reason, that the whole is admirably governed by a divine providence for the safety and preservation of all beings. If it should be asked for whose sake this mighty fabric was raised, shall we say for trees and other vegetables, which, though destitute of sense, are supported by nature? That would be absurd. Is it for beasts? Nothing can be less probable than that the Gods should have taken such pains for beings void of speech and understanding. For whom, then, will any one presume to say that the world was made? Undoubtedly for reasonable beings; these are the Gods and men, who are certainly the most perfect of all beings, as nothing is equal to reason. It is therefore credible that the universe, and all things in it, were made for the Gods and for men. But we may yet more easily comprehend that the Gods have taken great care of the interests and welfare of men, if we examine thoroughly into the structure of the body, and the form and perfection of human nature. 2.131. And I could produce a number of other remarkable examples in a variety of places, and instance a variety of lands each prolific in a different kind of produce. But how great is the benevolence of nature, in giving birth to such an abundance and variety of delicious articles of food, and that not at one season only of the year, so that we have continually the delights of both novelty and plenty! How seasonable moreover and how some not for the human race alone but also for the animal and the various vegetable species is her gift of the Etesian winds! their breath moderates the excessive heat of summer, entirely also guide our ships across the sea upon a swift and steady course. Many instances must be passed over [and yet many are given]. 2.132. For it is impossible to recount the conveniences afforded by rivers, the ebb and flow . . . of the tides of the sea, the mountains clothed with forests, the salt-beds lying far inland from the sea‑coast, the copious stores of health-giving medicines that the earth contains, and all the countless arts necessary for livelihood and for life. Again the alternation of day and night contributes to the preservation of living creatures by affording one time for activity and another for repose. Thus every line of reasoning goes to prove that all things in this world of ours are marvellously governed by divine intelligence and wisdom for the safety and preservation of all. 2.133. Here somebody will ask, for whose sake was all this vast system contrived? For the sake of the trees and plants, for these, though without sensation, have their sustece from nature? But this at any rate is absurd. Then for the sake of the animals? It is no more likely that the gods took all this trouble for the sake of dumb, irrational creatures/ For whose sake then shall one pronounce the world to have been created? Doubtless for the sake of those living beings which have the use of reason; these are the gods and mankind, who assuredly surpass all other things in excellence, since the most excellent of all things is reason. Thus we are led to believe that the world and all the things that it contains were made for the sake of gods and men. "And that man has been cared for by divine providence will be more readily understood if we survey the whole structure of man and all the conformation and perfection of human nature. 2.134. There are three things absolutely necessary for the support of life — to eat, to drink, and to breathe. For these operations the mouth is most aptly framed, which, by the assistance of the nostrils, draws in the more air. The teeth are there placed to divide and grind the food. The fore-teeth, being sharp and opposite to each other, cut it asunder, and the hind-teeth (called the grinders) chew it, in which office the tongue seems to assist. At the root of the tongue is the gullet, which receives whatever is swallowed: it touches the tonsils on each side, and terminates at the interior extremity of the palate. When, by the motions of the tongue, the food is forced into this passage, it descends, and those parts of the gullet which are below it are dilated, and those above are contracted. There is another passage, called by physicians the rough artery, which reaches to the lungs, for the entrance and return of the air we breathe; and as its orifice is joined to the roots of the tongue a little above the part to which the gullet is annexed, it is furnished with a sort of coverlid, lest, by the accidental falling of any food into it, the respiration should be stopped. As the stomach, which is beneath the gullet, receives the meat and drink, so the lungs and the heart draw in the air from without. The stomach is wonderfully composed, consisting almost wholly of nerves; it abounds with membranes and fibres, and detains what it receives, whether solid or liquid, till it is altered and digested. It sometimes contracts, sometimes dilates. It blends and mixes the food together, so that it is easily concocted and digested by its force of heat, and by the animal spirits is distributed into the other parts of the body. 2.134. There are three things requisite for the maintece of animal life, food, drink and breath; and for the reception of all of these the mouth is most consummately adapted, receiving as it does an abundant supply of breath through the nostrils which communicate with it. The structure of the teeth within the mouth serves to chew the food, and it is divided up and softened by them. The front teeth are sharp, and bite our viands into pieces; the back teeth, called molars, masticate them, the process of mastication apparently being assisted also by the tongue. 2.135. Next to the tongue comes the gullet, which is attached to its roots, and into which in the first place pass that substances that have been received in the mouth. The gullet is adjacent to the tonsils on either side of it, and reaches as far as the back or innermost part of the palate. The action and movements of the tongue drive and thrust the food down into the gullet, which receives it and drives it further down, the parts of the gullet below the food that is being swallowed dilating and the parts above it contracting. 2.136. As to the lungs, they are of a soft and spongy substance, which renders them the most commodious for respiration; they alternately dilate and contract to receive and return the air, that what is the chief animal sustece may be always fresh. The juice, by which we are nourished, being separated from the rest of the food, passes the stomach and intestines to the liver, through open and direct passages, which lead from the mesentery to the gates of the liver (for so they call those vessels at the entrance of it). There are other passages from thence, through which the food has its course when it has passed the liver. When the bile, and those humors which proceed from the kidneys, are separated from the food, the remaining part turns to blood, and flows to those vessels at the entrance of the liver to which all the passages adjoin. The chyle, being conveyed from this place through them into the vessel called the hollow vein, is mixed together, and, being already digested and distilled, passes into the heart; and from the heart it is communicated through a great number of veins to every part of the body. It is not difficult to describe how the gross remains are detruded by the motion of the intestines, which contract and dilate; but that must be declined, as too indelicate for discourse. Let us rather explain that other wonder of nature, the air, which is drawn into the lungs, receives heat both by that already in and by the coagitation of the lungs; one part is turned back by respiration, and the other is received into a place called the ventricle of the heart. There is another ventricle like it annexed to the heart, into which the blood flows from the liver through the hollow vein. Thus by one ventricle the blood is diffused to the extremities through the veins, and by the other the breath is communicated through the arteries; and there are such numbers of both dispersed through the whole body that they manifest a divine art. Why need I speak of the bones, those supports of the body, whose joints are so wonderfully contrived for stability, and to render the limbs complete with regard to motion and to every action of the body? Or need I mention the nerves, by which the limbs are governed — their many interweavings, and their proceeding from the heart, from whence, like the veins and arteries, they have their origin, and are distributed through the whole corporeal frame? 2.136. The windpipe, or trachea as it is termed by physicians, has an orifice attached to the roots of the tongue a little above the point where the tongue is joined to the gullet; it reaches to the lungs, and receives the air inhaled by breathing, and also exhales it and passes it out from the lungs; it is covered by a sort of lid, provided for the purpose of preventing a morsel of food from accidentally falling into it and impeding the breath. Below the gullet lies the stomach, which is constructed as the receptacle of food and drink, whereas breath is inhaled by the lungs and heart. The stomach performs a number of remarkable operations; its structure consists principally of muscular fibres, and it is manifold and twisted; it compresses and contains the dry or moist nutriment that it receives, enabling it to be assimilated and digested; at one moment is astricted and at another relaxed, thus pressing and mixing together all that is passed into it, so that by means of the abundant heat which it possesses, and by its crushing the food, and also by the op of the breath, everything is digested and worked up so as to be easily distributed throughout the rest of the body. The lungs on the contrary are soft and of a loose and spongy consistency, well adapted to absorb the breath; which they inhale and exhale by alternately contracting and expanding, to provide frequent draughts of that aerial nutriment which is the chief support of animal life. 2.137. The alimentary juice secreted from the rest of the food by the stomach flows from the bowels to the liver through certain ducts or channels reaching to the liver, to which they are attached, and connecting up what are called the doorways of the liver with the middle intestine. From the liver different channels pass in different directions, and through these falls the food passed down from the liver. From this food is secreted bile, and the liquids excreted by the kidneys; the residue turns into blood be flows to the aforesaid doorways of the liver, to which all its channels lead. Flowing through these doorways the food at this very point pours into the so‑called vena cava or hollow vein, and through this, being now completely worked up and digested, flows to the heart, and from the heart is distributed all over the body through a rather large number of veins that reach to every part of the frame. 2.138. It would not be difficult to indicate the way in which the residue of the food is excreted by the alternate astriction and relaxation of the bowels; however this topic must be passed over lest my discourse should be somewhat offensive. Rather let me unfold the following instance of the incredible skilfulness of nature's handiwork. The air drawn into the lungs by breathing is warmed in the first instance by the breath itself and then by contact with the lungs; part of it is returned by the act of respiration, and part is received by a certain part of the heart called the cardiac ventricle, adjacent to which is a second similar vessel into which the blood flows from the liver three the vena cava mentioned above; and in this manner from these organs both the blood is diffused through the veins and the breath through the arteries all over the body. Both of these sets of vessels are very numerous and are closely interwoven with the tissues of the entire body; they testify to an extraordinary degree of skilful and divine craftsmanship. 2.139. Why need I speak about the bones, which are the framework of the body? their marvellous cartilages are nicely adapted to secure stability, and fitted to end off the joints and to allow of movement and bodily activity of every sort. Add thereto the nerves or sinews which hold the joints together and whose ramifications pervade the entire body; like the veins and arteries these lead from the heart as their starting-point and pass to all parts of the body. 2.140. To this skill of nature, and this care of providence, so diligent and so ingenious, many reflections may be added, which show what valuable things the Deity has bestowed on man. He has made us of a stature tall and upright, in order that we might behold the heavens, and so arrive at the knowledge of the Gods; for men are not simply to dwell here as inhabitants of the earth, but to be, as it were, spectators of the heavens and the stars, which is a privilege not granted to any other kind of animated beings. The senses, which are the interpreters and messengers of things, are placed in the head, as in a tower, and wonderfully situated for their proper uses; for the eyes, being in the highest part, have the office of sentinels, in discovering to us objects; and the ears are conveniently placed in a high part of the person, being appointed to receive sound, which naturally ascends. The nostrils have the like situation, because all scent likewise ascends; and they have, with great reason, a near vicinity to the mouth, because they assist us in judging of meat and drink. The taste, which is to distinguish the quality of what we take; is in that part of the mouth where nature has laid open a passage for what we eat and drink. But the touch is equally diffused through the whole body, that we may not receive any blows, or the too rigid attacks of cold and heat, without feeling them. And as in building the architect averts from the eyes and nose of the master those things which must necessarily be offensive, so has nature removed far from our senses what is of the same kind in the human body. 2.140. Many further illustrations could be given of this wise and careful providence of nature, to illustrate the lavishness and splendour of the gifts bestowed by the gods on men. First, she has raised them from the ground to stand tall and upright, so that they might be able to behold the sky and so gain a knowledge of the gods. For men are sprung from the earth not as its inhabitants and denizens, but to be as it were the spectators of things supernal and heavenly, in the contemplation whereof no other species of animal participates. Next, the senses, posted in the citadel of the head as the reporters and messengers of the outer world, both in structure and position are marvellously adapted to their necessary services. The eyes as the watchmen have the highest station, to give them the widest outlook for the performance of their function. 2.141. The ears also, having the duty of perceiving sound, the nature of which is to rise, are rightly placed in the upper part of the body. The nostrils likewise are rightly placed high inasmuch as all smells travel upwards, but also, because they have much to do with discriminating food and drink, they have with good reason been brought into the neighbourhood of the mouth. Taste, which has the function of distinguishing the flavors of our various viands, is situated in that part of the face where nature has made an aperture for the passage of food and drink. The sense of touch is evenly diffused over all the body, to enable us to perceive all sorts of contacts and even the minutest impacts of both cold and heat. And just as architects relegate the drains of houses to the rear, away from the eyes and nose of the masters, since otherwise they would inevitably be somewhat offensive, so nature has banished the corresponding organs of the body far away from the neighbourhood of the senses. 2.142. What artificer but nature, whose direction is incomparable, could have exhibited so much ingenuity in the formation of the senses? In the first place, she has covered and invested the eyes with the finest membranes, which she hath made transparent, that we may see through them, and firm in their texture, to preserve the eyes. She has made them slippery and movable, that they might avoid what would offend them, and easily direct the sight wherever they will. The actual organ of sight, which is called the pupil, is so small that it can easily shun whatever might be hurtful to it. The eyelids, which are their coverings, are soft and smooth, that they may not injure the eyes; and are made to shut at the apprehension of any accident, or to open at pleasure; and these movements nature has ordained to be made in an instant: they are fortified with a sort of palisade of hairs, to keep off what may be noxious to them when open, and to be a fence to their repose when sleep closes them, and allows them to rest as if they were wrapped up in a case. Besides, they are commodiously hidden and defended by eminences on every side; for on the upper part the eyebrows turn aside the perspiration which falls from the head and forehead; the cheeks beneath rise a little, so as to protect them on the lower side; and the nose is placed between them as a wall of separation. The hearing is always open, for that is a sense of which we are in need even while we are sleeping; and the moment that any sound is admitted by it we are awakened even from sleep. It has a winding passage, lest anything should slip into it, as it might if it were straight and simple. Nature also hath taken the same precaution in making there a viscous humor, that if any little creatures should endeavor to creep in, they might stick in it as in bird-lime. The ears (by which we mean the outward part) are made prominent, to cover and preserve the hearing, lest the sound should be dissipated and escape before the sense is affected. Their entrances are hard and horny, and their form winding, because bodies of this kind better return and increase the sound. This appears in the harp, lute, or horn; and from all tortuous and enclosed places sounds are returned stronger. 2.142. Again what artificer but nature, who is unsurpassed in her cunning, could have attained such skilfulness in the construction of the senses? First, she has clothed and walled the eyes with membranes of the finest texture, which she has made on the one hand transparent so that we may be able to see through them, and on the other hand firm of substance, to serve as the outer cover of the eye. The eyes she has made mobile and smoothly turning, so as both to avoid any threatened injury and to direct their gaze easily in any direction they desire. The actually organ of vision, called the pupil or 'little doll,' is so small as easily to avoid objects that might injure it; and the lids, which are the covers of the eyes, are very soft to the touch so as not to hurt the pupil, and very neatly constructed as to be able both to shut the eyes in order that nothing may impinge upon them and to open them; and nature has provided that this process can be repeated again and again with extreme rapidity. 2.143. The eyelids are furnished with a palisade of hairs, whereby to ward off any impinging object while the eyes are open, and so that while they are closed in sleep, when we do not need the eyes for seeing, they may be as it were tucked up for repose. Moreover the eyes are in advantageously retired position, and shielded on all sides by surrounding prominences; for first the parts above them are covered by the eyebrows which prevent sweat from flowing down from the scalp and forehead; then the cheeks, which are placed beneath them and which slightly project, protect them from below; and the hose is so placed as to seem to be a wall separating the eyes from one another. 2.144. The organ of hearing on the other hand is always open, since we require this sense even when asleep, and when it receives a sound, we are aroused even from sleep. The auditory passage is winding, to prevent anything from being able to enter, as it might if the passage were clear and straight; it has further been provided that even the tiniest insect that may attempt to intrude may be caught in the sticky wax of the ears. On the outside project the organs which we call ears, which are constructed both to cover and protect the sense-organ and to prevent the sounds that reach them from sliding past and being lost before they strike the sense. The apertures of the ears are hard and gristly, and much convoluted, because things with these qualities reflect and amplify sound; this is why tortoise-shell or horn gives resoce to a lyre, and always why winding passages and enclosures have an echo which is louder than the original sound. 2.145. The nostrils, in like manner, are ever open, because we have a continual use for them; and their entrances also are rather narrow, lest anything noxious should enter them; and they have always a humidity necessary for the repelling dust and many other extraneous bodies. The taste, having the mouth for an enclosure, is admirably situated, both in regard to the use we make of it and to its security. Besides, every human sense is much more exquisite than those of brutes; for our eyes, in those arts which come under their judgment, distinguish with great nicety; as in painting, sculpture, engraving, and in the gesture and motion of bodies. They understand the beauty, proportion, and, as I may so term it, the becomingness of colors and figures; they distinguish things of greater importance, even virtues and vices; they know whether a man is angry or calm, cheerful or sad, courageous or cowardly, bold or timorous. The judgment of the ears is not less admirably and scientifically contrived with regard to vocal and instrumental music. They distinguish the variety of sounds, the measure, the stops, the different sorts of voices, the treble and the base, the soft and the harsh, the sharp and the flat, of which human ears only are capable to judge. There is likewise great judgment in the smell, the taste, and the touch; to indulge and gratify which senses more arts have been invented than I could wish: it is apparent to what excess we have arrived in the composition of our perfumes, the preparation of our food, and the enjoyment of corporeal pleasures. 2.145. Similarly the nostrils, which to serve the purposes required of them have to be always open, have narrower apertures, to prevent the entrance of anything that may harm them; and they are always moist, which is useful to guard them against dust and many other things. The sense of taste is admirably shielded, being enclosed in the mouth in a manner well suited for the performance of its function and for its protection against harm. "And all the senses of man far excel those of the lower animals. In the first place our eyes have a finer perception of many things in the arts which appeal to the sense of sight, painting, modelling and sculpture, and also in bodily movements and gestures; since the eyes judge beauty and arrangement and so to speak propriety of colour and shape; and also other more important matters, for they also recognize virtues and vices, the angry and the friendly, the joyful and the sad, the brave man and the coward, the bold and the craven. 2.146. The ears are likewise marvellously skilful organs of discrimination; they judge differences of tone, of pitch and of key in the music of the voice and of wind and stringed instruments, and many different qualities of voice, sonorous and dull, smooth and rough, bass and treble, flexible and hard, distinctions discriminated by the human ear alone. Likewise the nostrils, the taste and in some measure the touch have highly sensitive faculties of discrimination. And the arts invented to appeal to and indulge these senses are even more numerous than I could wish. The developments of perfumery and of the meretricious adornment of the person are obvious examples. 2.147. Again, he who does not perceive the soul and mind of man, his reason, prudence, and discernment, to be the work of a divine providence, seems himself to be destitute of those faculties. While I am on this subject, Cotta, I wish I had your eloquence: how would you illustrate so fine a subject! You would show the great extent of the understanding; how we collect our ideas, and join those which follow to those which precede; establish principles, draw consequences, define things separately, and comprehend them with accuracy; from whence you demonstrate how great is the power of intelligence and knowledge, which is such that even God himself has no qualities more admirable. How valuable (though you Academics despise and even deny that we have it) is our knowledge of exterior objects, from the perception of the senses joined to the application of the mind; by which we see in what relation one thing stands to another, and by the aid of which we have invented those arts which are necessary for the support and pleasure of life. How charming is eloquence! How divine that mistress of the universe, as you call it! It teaches us what we were ignorant of, and makes us capable of teaching what we have learned. By this we exhort others; by this we persuade them; by this we comfort the afflicted; by this we deliver the affrighted from their fear; by this we moderate excessive joy; by this we assuage the passions of lust and anger. This it is which bound men by the chains of right and law, formed the bonds of civil society, and made us quit a wild and savage life. And it will appear incredible, unless you carefully observe the facts, how complete the work of nature is in giving us the use of speech; for, first of all, there is an artery from the lungs to the bottom of the mouth, through which the voice, having its original principle in the mind, is transmitted. Then the tongue is placed in the mouth, bounded by the teeth. It softens and modulates the voice, which would otherwise be confusedly uttered; and, by pushing it to the teeth and other parts of the mouth, makes the sound distinct and articulate. We Stoics, therefore, compare the tongue to the bow of an instrument, the teeth to the strings, and the nostrils to the sounding-board. 2.147. Coming now to the actual mind and intellect of man, his reason, wisdom and foresight, one who cannot see that these owe their perfection to divine providence must in my view himself be devoid of these very faculties. While discussing this topic I could wish, Cotta, that I had the gift of your eloquence. How could not you describe first our powers of understanding, and then our faculty of conjoining premisses and consequences in a single act of apprehension, the faculty I mean that enables us to judge what conclusion follows from any given propositions and to put the inference in syllogistic form, and also to delimit particular terms in a succinct definition; whence we arrive at an understanding of the potency and the nature of knowledge, which is the most excellent part even of the divine nature. Again, how remarkable are the faculties which you Academics invalidate and abolish, our sensory and intellectual perception and comprehension of external objects; 2.148. it is by collating and comparing our precepts that we also create the arts that serve either practical necessities or the purpose of amusement. Then take the gift of speech, the queen of arts as you are fond of calling it — what a glorious, what a divine faculty it is! In the first place it enables us both to learn things we do not know and to teach things we do know to others; secondly it is our instrument for exhortation and persuasion, for consoling the afflicted and assuaging the fears of the terrified, for curbing passion and quenching appetite and anger; it is this that has united us in the bonds of justice, law and civil order, this that has sped us from savagery and barbarism. 2.149. Now careful consideration will show that the mechanism of speech displays a skill on nature's part that surpasses belief. In the first place there is an artery passing from the lugns to the back of the mouth, which is the channel by which the voice, originating from the mind, is caught and uttered. Next, the tongue is placed in the mouth and confined by the teeth; it modulates and defines the inarticulate flow of the voice and renders its sounds district and clear by striking the teeth and other parts of the mouth. Accordingly my school is fond of comparing the tongue to the quill of a lyre, the teeth to the strings, and the nostrils to the horns which echo the notes of the strings when the instrument is played. 2.150. But how commodious are the hands which nature has given to man, and how beautifully do they minister to many arts! For, such is the flexibility of the joints, that our fingers are closed and opened without any difficulty. With their help, the hand is formed for painting, carving, and engraving; for playing on stringed instruments, and on the pipe. These are matters of pleasure. There are also works of necessity, such as tilling the ground, building houses, making cloth and habits, and working in brass and iron. It is the business of the mind to invent, the senses to perceive, and the hands to execute; so that if we have buildings, if we are clothed, if we live in safety, if we have cities, walls, habitations, and temples, it is to the hands we owe them. By our labor, that is, by our hands, variety and plenty of food are provided; for, without culture, many fruits, which serve either for present or future consumption, would not be produced; besides, we feed on flesh, fish, and fowl, catching some, and bringing up others. We subdue four-footed beasts for our carriage, whose speed and strength supply our slowness and inability. On some we put burdens, on others yokes. We convert the sagacity of the elephant and the quick scent of the dog to our own advantage. Out of the caverns of the earth we dig iron, a thing entirely necessary for the cultivation of the ground. We discover the hidden veins of copper, silver, and gold, advantageous for our use and beautiful as ornaments. We cut down trees, and use every kind of wild and cultivated timber, not only to make fire to warm us and dress our meat, but also for building, that we may have houses to defend us from the heat and cold. With timber likewise we build ships, which bring us from all parts every commodity of life. We are the only animals who, from our knowledge of navigation, can manage what nature has made the most violent — the sea and the winds. Thus we obtain from the ocean great numbers of profitable things. We are the absolute masters of what the earth produces. We enjoy the mountains and the plains. The rivers and the lakes are ours. We sow the seed, and plant the trees. We fertilize the earth by overflowing it. We stop, direct, and turn the rivers: in short, by our hands we endeavor, by our various operations in this world, to make, as it were, another nature. 2.150. Then what clever servants for a great variety of arts are the hands which nature has bestowed on man! The flexibility of the joints enables the fingers to close and open with equal ease, and to perform every motion without difficulty. Thus by the manipulation of the fingers the hand is enabled to paint, to model, to carve, and to draw forth the notes of the lyre and of the flute. And beside these arts of recreation there are those of utility, I mean agriculture and building, the weaving and stitching of garments, and the various modes of working bronze and iron; hence we realize that it was by applying the hand of the artificer to the discoveries of thought and observations of the senses that all our conveniences were attained, and we were enabled to have shelter, clothing and protection, and possessed cities, fortifications, houses and temples. 2.151. Moreover men's industry, that is to say the work of their hands, porticus us also our food in variety and abundance. It is the hand that gathers the divers products of the fields, whether to be consumed immediately or to be stored in repositories for the days to come; and our diet also includes flesh, fish and fowl, obtained partly by the chase and partly by breeding. We also tame the four-footed animals to carry us on their backs, their swiftness and strength bestowing strength and swiftness upon ourselves. We cause certain beasts to bear our burdens or to carry a yoke, we divert to our service the marvellously acute senses of elephants and the keen scent of hounds; we collect from the caves of the earth the iron which we need for tilling the land, we discover the deeply hidden veins of copper, silver and gold which serve us both for use and for adornment; we cut up a multitude of trees both wild and cultivated for timber which we employ partly by setting fire to it to warm our busy and cook our food, partly for building so as to shelter ourselves with houses and banish heat and cold. 2.152. Timber moreover is of great value for constructing ships, whose voyages supply an abundance of sustece of all sorts from all parts of the earth; and we alone have the power of controlling the most violent of nature's offspring, the sea and the winds, thanks to the science of navigation, and we use and enjoy many products of the sea. Likewise the entire command of the commodities produced on land is vested in mankind. We enjoy the fruits of the plains and of the mountains, the rivers and the lakes are ours, we sow corn, we plant trees, we fertilize the soil by irrigation, we confine the rivers and straighten or divert their courses. In fine, by means of our hands we essay to create as it were a second world within the world of nature. 2.153. But what shall I say of human reason? Has it not even entered the heavens? Man alone of all animals has observed the courses of the stars, their risings and settings. By man the day, the month, the year, is determined. He foresees the eclipses of the sun and moon, and foretells them to futurity, marking their greatness, duration, and precise time. From the contemplation of these things the mind extracts the knowledge of the Gods — a knowledge which produces piety, with which is connected justice, and all the other virtues; from which arises a life of felicity, inferior to that of the Gods in no single particular, except in immortality, which is not absolutely necessary to happy living. In explaining these things, I think that I have sufficiently demonstrated the superiority of man to other animated beings; from whence we should infer that neither the form and position of his limbs nor that strength of mind and understanding could possibly be the effect of chance. 2.153. Then moreover hasn't man's reason penetrated even to the sky? We alone of living creatures know the risings and settings and the courses of the stars, the human race has set limits to the day, the month and the year, and has learnt the eclipses of the sun and moon and foretold for all future time their occurrence, their extent and their dates. And contemplating the heavenly bodies the mind arrives at a knowledge of the gods, from which arises piety, with its comrades justice and the rest of the virtues, the sources of a life of happiness that vies with and resembles the divine existence and leaves us inferior to the celestial beings in nothing else save immortality, which is immaterial for happiness. I think that my exposition of these matters has been sufficient to prove how widely man's nature surpasses all other living creatures; and this should make it clear that neither such a conformation and arrangement of the members nor such power of mind and intellect can possibly have been created by chance. |
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8. Philodemus of Gadara, De Ira \ , 7.16-7.24 (2nd cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
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9. Horace, Sermones, 1.4.31-1.4.32, 1.4.110 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
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10. Lucretius Carus, On The Nature of Things, 1.1-1.49, 1.136-1.145, 1.922-1.934, 1.947, 2.1-2.19, 2.33, 2.40-2.49, 2.253-2.258, 2.263-2.265, 2.398-2.399, 2.504, 3.11, 3.28-3.29, 3.296-3.307, 3.580-3.581, 3.660-3.663, 3.670-3.678, 3.687, 3.731-3.732, 3.741-3.753, 3.760-3.770, 3.828-3.1094, 4.3, 4.22, 4.547-4.548, 4.638-4.641, 4.678-4.683, 4.714-4.721, 4.962-4.1132, 4.1134-4.1287, 5.999-5.1010, 5.1226-5.1232, 6.777-6.778, 6.786-6.787, 6.821-6.823 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
1.1. Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divomque voluptas 1.2. alma Venus, caeli subter labentia signa 1.3. quae mare navigerum, quae terras frugiferentis 1.4. concelebras, per te quoniam genus omne animantum 1.5. concipitur visitque exortum lumina solis: 1.6. te, dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila caeli 1.7. adventumque tuum, tibi suavis daedala tellus 1.8. summittit flores, tibi rident aequora ponti 1.9. placatumque nitet diffuso lumine caelum. 1.10. nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei 1.11. et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni 1.12. aeriae primum volucris te, diva, tuumque 1.13. significant initum perculsae corda tua vi. 1.14. et rapidos trat amnis: ita capta lepore 1.15. inde ferae pecudes persultant pabula laeta 1.16. te sequitur cupide quo quamque inducere pergis. 1.17. denique per maria ac montis fluviosque rapacis 1.18. frondiferasque domos avium camposque virentis 1.19. omnibus incutiens blandum per pectora amorem 1.20. efficis ut cupide generatim saecla propagent. 1.21. quae quoniam rerum naturam sola gubernas 1.22. nec sine te quicquam dias in luminis oras 1.23. exoritur neque fit laetum neque amabile quicquam 1.24. te sociam studeo scribendis versibus esse 1.25. quos ego de rerum natura pangere conor 1.26. Memmiadae nostro, quem tu, dea, tempore in omni 1.27. omnibus ornatum voluisti excellere rebus. 1.28. quo magis aeternum da dictis, diva, leporem. 1.29. effice ut interea fera moenera militiai 1.30. per maria ac terras omnis sopita quiescant; 1.31. nam tu sola potes tranquilla pace iuvare 1.32. mortalis, quoniam belli fera moenera Mavors 1.33. armipotens regit, in gremium qui saepe tuum se 1.34. reiicit aeterno devictus vulnere amoris 1.35. atque ita suspiciens tereti cervice reposta 1.36. pascit amore avidos inhians in te, dea, visus 1.37. eque tuo pendet resupini spiritus ore. 1.38. hunc tu, diva, tuo recubantem corpore sancto 1.39. circum fusa super, suavis ex ore loquellas 1.40. funde petens placidam Romanis, incluta, pacem; 1.41. nam neque nos agere hoc patriai tempore iniquo 1.42. possumus aequo animo nec Memmi clara propago 1.43. talibus in rebus communi desse saluti. 1.44. omnis enim per se divum natura necessest 1.45. immortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur 1.46. semota ab nostris rebus seiunctaque longe; 1.47. nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis 1.48. ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri 1.49. nec bene promeritis capitur nec tangitur ira. 1.136. Nec me animi fallit Graiorum obscura reperta 1.137. difficile inlustrare Latinis versibus esse 1.138. multa novis verbis praesertim cum sit agendum 1.139. propter egestatem linguae et rerum novitatem; 1.140. sed tua me virtus tamen et sperata voluptas 1.141. suavis amicitiae quemvis efferre laborem 1.142. suadet et inducit noctes vigilare serenas 1.143. quaerentem dictis quibus et quo carmine demum 1.144. clara tuae possim praepandere lumina menti 1.145. res quibus occultas penitus convisere possis. 1.922. nec me animi fallit quam sint obscura; sed acri 1.923. percussit thyrso laudis spes magna meum cor 1.924. et simul incussit suavem mi in pectus amorem 1.925. Musarum, quo nunc instinctus mente vigenti 1.926. avia Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante 1.927. trita solo. iuvat integros accedere fontis 1.928. atque haurire iuvatque novos decerpere flores 1.929. insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam 1.930. unde prius nulli velarint tempora Musae; 1.931. primum quod magnis doceo de rebus et artis 1.932. religionum animum nodis exsolvere pergo 1.933. deinde quod obscura de re tam lucida pango 1.934. carmina musaeo contingens cuncta lepore. 1.947. et quasi musaeo dulci contingere melle 2.1. Suave, mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis 2.2. e terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; 2.3. non quia vexari quemquamst iucunda voluptas 2.4. sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suavest. 2.5. per campos instructa tua sine parte pericli; 2.6. suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri 2.7. sed nihil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere 2.8. edita doctrina sapientum templa serena 2.9. despicere unde queas alios passimque videre 2.10. errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae 2.11. certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate 2.12. noctes atque dies niti praestante labore 2.13. ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri. 2.14. o miseras hominum mentes, o pectora caeca! 2.15. qualibus in tenebris vitae quantisque periclis 2.16. degitur hoc aevi quod cumquest! nonne videre 2.17. nihil aliud sibi naturam latrare, nisi ut qui 2.18. corpore seiunctus dolor absit, mente fruatur 2.19. iucundo sensu cura semota metuque? 2.33. tempora conspergunt viridantis floribus herbas. 2.40. si non forte tuas legiones per loca campi 2.41. fervere cum videas belli simulacra cientis 2.42. subsidiis magnis et opum vi constabilitas 2.43. ornatas armis stlattas pariterque animatas 2.44. his tibi tum rebus timefactae religiones 2.45. effugiunt animo pavidae mortisque timores 2.46. tum vacuum pectus lincunt curaque solutum. 2.47. quod si ridicula haec ludibriaque esse videmus 2.48. re veraque metus hominum curaeque sequaces 2.49. nec metuunt sonitus armorum nec fera tela 2.253. nec declido faciunt primordia motus 2.254. principium quoddam, quod fati foedera rumpat 2.255. ex infinito ne causam causa sequatur 2.256. libera per terras unde haec animantibus exstat 2.257. unde est haec, inquam, fatis avolsa voluntas 2.258. per quam progredimur quo ducit quemque voluptas 2.263. nonne vides etiam patefactis tempore puncto 2.264. carceribus non posse tamen prorumpere equorum 2.265. vim cupidam tam de subito quam mens avet ipsa? 2.398. /| 1.1. BOOK I: PROEM: Mother of Rome, delight of Gods and men, Dear Venus that beneath the gliding stars Makest to teem the many-voyaged main And fruitful lands- for all of living things Through thee alone are evermore conceived, Through thee are risen to visit the great sun- Before thee, Goddess, and thy coming on, Flee stormy wind and massy cloud away, For thee the daedal Earth bears scented flowers, For thee waters of the unvexed deep Smile, and the hollows of the serene sky Glow with diffused radiance for thee! For soon as comes the springtime face of day, And procreant gales blow from the West unbarred, First fowls of air, smit to the heart by thee, Foretoken thy approach, O thou Divine, And leap the wild herds round the happy fields Or swim the bounding torrents. Thus amain, Seized with the spell, all creatures follow thee Whithersoever thou walkest forth to lead, And thence through seas and mountains and swift streams, Through leafy homes of birds and greening plains, Kindling the lure of love in every breast, Thou bringest the eternal generations forth, Kind after kind. And since 'tis thou alone Guidest the Cosmos, and without thee naught Is risen to reach the shining shores of light, Nor aught of joyful or of lovely born, Thee do I crave co-partner in that verse Which I presume on Nature to compose For Memmius mine, whom thou hast willed to be Peerless in every grace at every hour- Wherefore indeed, Divine one, give my words Immortal charm. Lull to a timely rest O'er sea and land the savage works of war, For thou alone hast power with public peace To aid mortality; since he who rules The savage works of battle, puissant Mars, How often to thy bosom flings his strength O'ermastered by the eternal wound of love- And there, with eyes and full throat backward thrown, Gazing, my Goddess, open-mouthed at thee, Pastures on love his greedy sight, his breath Hanging upon thy lips. Him thus reclined Fill with thy holy body, round, above! Pour from those lips soft syllables to win Peace for the Romans, glorious Lady, peace! For in a season troublous to the state Neither may I attend this task of mine With thought untroubled, nor mid such events The illustrious scion of the Memmian house Neglect the civic cause. 1.136. I know how hard it is in Latin verse To tell the dark discoveries of the Greeks, Chiefly because our pauper-speech must find Strange terms to fit the strangeness of the thing; Yet worth of thine and the expected joy of thy sweet friendship do persuade me on To bear all toil and wake the clear nights through, Seeking with what of words and what of song I may at last most gloriously uncloud For thee the light beyond, wherewith to view The core of being at the centre hid. SUBSTANCE IS ETERNAL This terror, then, this darkness of the mind, Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light, Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse, But only Nature's aspect and her law, Which, teaching us, hath this exordium: Nothing from nothing ever yet was born. Fear holds dominion over mortality Only because, seeing in land and sky So much the cause whereof no wise they know, Men think Divinities are working there. Meantime, when once we know from nothing still Nothing can be create, we shall divine More clearly what we seek: those elements From which alone all things created are, And how accomplished by no tool of Gods. Suppose all sprang from all things: any kind Might take its origin from any thing, No fixed seed required. Men from the sea Might rise, and from the land the scaly breed, And, fowl full fledged come bursting from the sky; The horned cattle, the herds and all the wild Would haunt with varying offspring tilth and waste; Nor would the same fruits keep their olden trees, But each might grow from any stock or limb By chance and change. Indeed, and were there not For each its procreant atoms, could things have Each its unalterable mother old? But, since produced from fixed seeds are all, Each birth goes forth upon the shores of light From its own stuff, from its own primal bodies. And all from all cannot become, because In each resides a secret power its own. Again, why see we lavished o'er the lands At spring the rose, at summer heat the corn, The vines that mellow when the autumn lures, If not because the fixed seeds of things At their own season must together stream, And new creations only be revealed When the due times arrive and pregt earth Safely may give unto the shores of light Her tender progenies? But if from naught Were their becoming, they would spring abroad Suddenly, unforeseen, in alien months, With no primordial germs, to be preserved From procreant unions at an adverse hour. 2.1. BOOK II: PROEM 'Tis sweet, when, down the mighty main, the winds Roll up its waste of waters, from the land To watch another's labouring anguish far, Not that we joyously delight that man Should thus be smitten, but because 'tis sweet To mark what evils we ourselves be spared; 'Tis sweet, again, to view the mighty strife of armies embattled yonder o'er the plains, Ourselves no sharers in the peril; but naught There is more goodly than to hold the high Serene plateaus, well fortressed by the wise, Whence thou may'st look below on other men And see them ev'rywhere wand'ring, all dispersed In their lone seeking for the road of life; Rivals in genius, or emulous in rank, Pressing through days and nights with hugest toil For summits of power and mastery of the world. O wretched minds of men! O blinded hearts! In how great perils, in what darks of life Are spent the human years, however brief!- O not to see that nature for herself Barks after nothing, save that pain keep off, Disjoined from the body, and that mind enjoy Delightsome feeling, far from care and fear! Therefore we see that our corporeal life Needs little, altogether, and only such As takes the pain away, and can besides Strew underneath some number of delights. More grateful 'tis at times (for nature craves No artifice nor luxury), if forsooth There be no golden images of boys Along the halls, with right hands holding out The lamps ablaze, the lights for evening feasts, And if the house doth glitter not with gold Nor gleam with silver, and to the lyre resound No fretted and gilded ceilings overhead, Yet still to lounge with friends in the soft grass Beside a river of water, underneath A big tree's boughs, and merrily to refresh Our frames, with no vast outlay- most of all If the weather is laughing and the times of the year Besprinkle the green of the grass around with flowers. Nor yet the quicker will hot fevers go, If on a pictured tapestry thou toss, Or purple robe, than if 'tis thine to lie Upon the poor man's bedding. Wherefore, since Treasure, nor rank, nor glory of a reign Avail us naught for this our body, thus Reckon them likewise nothing for the mind: Save then perchance, when thou beholdest forth Thy legions swarming round the Field of Mars, Rousing a mimic warfare- either side Strengthened with large auxiliaries and horse, Alike equipped with arms, alike inspired; Or save when also thou beholdest forth Thy fleets to swarm, deploying down the sea: For then, by such bright circumstance abashed, Religion pales and flees thy mind; O then The fears of death leave heart so free of care. But if we note how all this pomp at last Is but a drollery and a mocking sport, And of a truth man's dread, with cares at heels, Dreads not these sounds of arms, these savage swords But among kings and lords of all the world Mingles undaunted, nor is overawed By gleam of gold nor by the splendour bright of purple robe, canst thou then doubt that this Is aught, but power of thinking?- when, besides The whole of life but labours in the dark. For just as children tremble and fear all In the viewless dark, so even we at times Dread in the light so many things that be No whit more fearsome than what children feign, Shuddering, will be upon them in the dark. This terror then, this darkness of the mind, Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light, Nor glittering arrows of morning can disperse, But only nature's aspect and her law. ATOMIC MOTIONS Now come: I will untangle for thy steps Now by what motions the begetting bodies of the world-stuff beget the varied world, And then forever resolve it when begot, And by what force they are constrained to this, And what the speed appointed unto them Wherewith to travel down the vast ie: Do thou remember to yield thee to my words. For truly matter coheres not, crowds not tight, Since we behold each thing to wane away, And we observe how all flows on and off, As 'twere, with age-old time, and from our eyes How eld withdraws each object at the end, Albeit the sum is seen to bide the same, Unharmed, because these motes that leave each thing Diminish what they part from, but endow With increase those to which in turn they come, Constraining these to wither in old age, And those to flower at the prime (and yet Biding not long among them). Thus the sum Forever is replenished, and we live As mortals by eternal give and take. The nations wax, the nations wane away; In a brief space the generations pass, And like to runners hand the lamp of life One unto other. 2.398. And note, besides, that liquor of honey or milk Yields in the mouth agreeable taste to tongue, Whilst nauseous wormwood, pungent centaury, With their foul flavour set the lips awry; Thus simple 'tis to see that whatsoever Can touch the senses pleasingly are made of smooth and rounded elements, whilst those Which seem the bitter and the sharp, are held Entwined by elements more crook'd, and so Are wont to tear their ways into our senses, And rend our body as they enter in. In short all good to sense, all bad to touch, Being up-built of figures so unlike, Are mutually at strife- lest thou suppose That the shrill rasping of a squeaking saw Consists of elements as smooth as song Which, waked by nimble fingers, on the strings The sweet musicians fashion; or suppose That same-shaped atoms through men's nostrils pierce When foul cadavers burn, as when the stage Is with Cilician saffron sprinkled fresh, And the altar near exhales Panchaean scent; Or hold as of like seed the goodly hues of things which feast our eyes, as those which sting Against the smarting pupil and draw tears, Or show, with gruesome aspect, grim and vile. For never a shape which charms our sense was made Without some elemental smoothness; whilst Whate'er is harsh and irksome has been framed Still with some roughness in its elements. Some, too, there are which justly are supposed To be nor smooth nor altogether hooked, With bended barbs, but slightly angled-out, To tickle rather than to wound the sense- And of which sort is the salt tartar of wine And flavours of the gummed elecampane. Again, that glowing fire and icy rime Are fanged with teeth unlike whereby to sting Our body's sense, the touch of each gives proof. For touch- by sacred majesties of Gods!- Touch is indeed the body's only sense- Be't that something in-from-outward works, Be't that something in the body born Wounds, or delighteth as it passes out Along the procreant paths of Aphrodite; Or be't the seeds by some collision whirl Disordered in the body and confound By tumult and confusion all the sense- As thou mayst find, if haply with the hand Thyself thou strike thy body's any part. On which account, the elemental forms Must differ widely, as enabled thus To cause diverse sensations. And, again, What seems to us the hardened and condensed Must be of atoms among themselves more hooked, Be held compacted deep within, as 'twere By branch-like atoms- of which sort the chief Are diamond stones, despisers of all blows, And stalwart flint and strength of solid iron, And brazen bars, which, budging hard in locks, Do grate and scream. But what are liquid, formed of fluid body, they indeed must be of elements more smooth and round- because Their globules severally will not cohere: To suck the poppy-seeds from palm of hand Is quite as easy as drinking water down, And they, once struck, roll like unto the same. But that thou seest among the things that flow Some bitter, as the brine of ocean is, Is not the least a marvel... For since 'tis fluid, smooth its atoms are And round, with painful rough ones mixed therein; Yet need not these be held together hooked: In fact, though rough, they're globular besides, Able at once to roll, and rasp the sense. And that the more thou mayst believe me here, That with smooth elements are mixed the rough (Whence Neptune's salt astringent body comes), There is a means to separate the twain, And thereupon dividedly to see How the sweet water, after filtering through So often underground, flows freshened forth Into some hollow; for it leaves above The primal germs of nauseating brine, Since cling the rough more readily in earth. Lastly, whatso thou markest to disperse Upon the instant- smoke, and cloud, and flame- Must not (even though not all of smooth and round) Be yet co-linked with atoms intertwined, That thus they can, without together cleaving, So pierce our body and so bore the rocks. Whatever we see... Given to senses, that thou must perceive They're not from linked but pointed elements. 3.670. And besides, If soul immortal is, and winds its way Into the body at the birth of man, Why can we not remember something, then, of life-time spent before? why keep we not Some footprints of the things we did of, old? But if so changed hath been the power of mind, That every recollection of things done Is fallen away, at no o'erlong remove Is that, I trow, from what we mean by death. Wherefore 'tis sure that what hath been before Hath died, and what now is is now create. Moreover, if after the body hath been built Our mind's live powers are wont to be put in, Just at the moment that we come to birth, And cross the sills of life, 'twould scarcely fit For them to live as if they seemed to grow Along with limbs and frame, even in the blood, But rather as in a cavern all alone. (Yet all the body duly throngs with sense.) But public fact declares against all this: For soul is so entwined through the veins, The flesh, the thews, the bones, that even the teeth Share in sensation, as proven by dull ache, By twinge from icy water, or grating crunch Upon a stone that got in mouth with bread. Wherefore, again, again, souls must be thought Nor void of birth, nor free from law of death; Nor, if, from outward, in they wound their way, Could they be thought as able so to cleave To these our frames, nor, since so interwove, Appears it that they're able to go forth Unhurt and whole and loose themselves unscathed From all the thews, articulations, bones. But, if perchance thou thinkest that the soul, From outward winding in its way, is wont To seep and soak along these members ours, Then all the more 'twill perish, being thus With body fused- for what will seep and soak Will be dissolved and will therefore die. For just as food, dispersed through all the pores of body, and passed through limbs and all the frame, Perishes, supplying from itself the stuff For other nature, thus the soul and mind, Though whole and new into a body going, Are yet, by seeping in, dissolved away, Whilst, as through pores, to all the frame there pass Those particles from which created is This nature of mind, now ruler of our body, Born from that soul which perished, when divided Along the frame. 3.741. Again, why is't there goes Impetuous rage with lion's breed morose, And cunning with foxes, and to deer why given The ancestral fear and tendency to flee, And why in short do all the rest of traits Engender from the very start of life In the members and mentality, if not Because one certain power of mind that came From its own seed and breed waxes the same Along with all the body? But were mind Immortal, were it wont to change its bodies, How topsy-turvy would earth's creatures act! The Hyrcan hound would flee the onset oft of antlered stag, the scurrying hawk would quake Along the winds of air at the coming dove, And men would dote, and savage beasts be wise; For false the reasoning of those that say Immortal mind is changed by change of body- For what is changed dissolves, and therefore dies. For parts are re-disposed and leave their order; Wherefore they must be also capable of dissolution through the frame at last, That they along with body perish all. But should some say that always souls of men Go into human bodies, I will ask: How can a wise become a dullard soul? And why is never a child's a prudent soul? And the mare's filly why not trained so well As sturdy strength of steed? We may be sure They'll take their refuge in the thought that mind Becomes a weakling in a weakling frame. Yet be this so, 'tis needful to confess The soul but mortal, since, so altered now Throughout the frame, it loses the life and sense It had before. Or how can mind wax strong Coequally with body and attain The craved flower of life, unless it be The body's colleague in its origins? Or what's the purport of its going forth From aged limbs?- fears it, perhaps, to stay, Pent in a crumbled body? Or lest its house, Outworn by venerable length of days, May topple down upon it? But indeed For an immortal perils are there none. 3.870. Hence, where thou seest a man to grieve because When dead he rots with body laid away, Or perishes in flames or jaws of beasts, Know well: he rings not true, and that beneath Still works an unseen sting upon his heart, However he deny that he believes. His shall be aught of feeling after death. For he, I fancy, grants not what he says, Nor what that presupposes, and he fails To pluck himself with all his roots from life And cast that self away, quite unawares Feigning that some remainder's left behind. For when in life one pictures to oneself His body dead by beasts and vultures torn, He pities his state, dividing not himself Therefrom, removing not the self enough From the body flung away, imagining Himself that body, and projecting there His own sense, as he stands beside it: hence He grieves that he is mortal born, nor marks That in true death there is no second self Alive and able to sorrow for self destroyed, Or stand lamenting that the self lies there Mangled or burning. For if it an evil is Dead to be jerked about by jaw and fang of the wild brutes, I see not why 'twere not Bitter to lie on fires and roast in flames, Or suffocate in honey, and, reclined On the smooth oblong of an icy slab, Grow stiff in cold, or sink with load of earth Down-crushing from above. 3.894. Thee now no more The joyful house and best of wives shall welcome, Nor little sons run up to snatch their kisses And touch with silent happiness thy heart. Thou shalt not speed in undertakings more, Nor be the warder of thine own no more. Poor wretch," they say, "one hostile hour hath ta'en Wretchedly from thee all life's many guerdons," But add not, "yet no longer unto thee Remains a remt of desire for them" If this they only well perceived with mind And followed up with maxims, they would free Their state of man from anguish and from fear. "O even as here thou art, aslumber in death, So shalt thou slumber down the rest of time, Released from every harrying pang. But we, We have bewept thee with insatiate woe, Standing beside whilst on the awful pyre Thou wert made ashes; and no day shall take For us the eternal sorrow from the breast." But ask the mourner what's the bitterness That man should waste in an eternal grief, If, after all, the thing's but sleep and rest? For when the soul and frame together are sunk In slumber, no one then demands his self Or being. Well, this sleep may be forever, Without desire of any selfhood more, For all it matters unto us asleep. Yet not at all do those primordial germs Roam round our members, at that time, afar From their own motions that produce our senses- Since, when he's startled from his sleep, a man Collects his senses. Death is, then, to us Much less- if there can be a less than that Which is itself a nothing: for there comes Hard upon death a scattering more great of the throng of matter, and no man wakes up On whom once falls the icy pause of life. This too, O often from the soul men say, Along their couches holding of the cups, With faces shaded by fresh wreaths awry: "Brief is this fruit of joy to paltry man, Soon, soon departed, and thereafter, no, It may not be recalled."- As if, forsooth, It were their prime of evils in great death To parch, poor tongues, with thirst and arid drought, Or chafe for any lack. 3.931. Once more, if Nature Should of a sudden send a voice abroad, And her own self inveigh against us so: "Mortal, what hast thou of such grave concern That thou indulgest in too sickly plaints? Why this bemoaning and beweeping death? For if thy life aforetime and behind To thee was grateful, and not all thy good Was heaped as in sieve to flow away And perish unavailingly, why not, Even like a banqueter, depart the halls, Laden with life? why not with mind content Take now, thou fool, thy unafflicted rest? But if whatever thou enjoyed hath been Lavished and lost, and life is now offence, Why seekest more to add- which in its turn Will perish foully and fall out in vain? O why not rather make an end of life, of labour? For all I may devise or find To pleasure thee is nothing: all things are The same forever. Though not yet thy body Wrinkles with years, nor yet the frame exhausts Outworn, still things abide the same, even if Thou goest on to conquer all of time With length of days, yea, if thou never diest"- What were our answer, but that Nature here Urges just suit and in her words lays down True cause of action? Yet should one complain, Riper in years and elder, and lament, Poor devil, his death more sorely than is fit, Then would she not, with greater right, on him Cry out, inveighing with a voice more shrill: "off with thy tears, and choke thy whines, buffoon! Thou wrinklest- after thou hast had the sum of the guerdons of life; yet, since thou cravest ever What's not at hand, contemning present good, That life has slipped away, unperfected And unavailing unto thee. And now, Or ere thou guessed it, death beside thy head Stands- and before thou canst be going home Sated and laden with the goodly feast. But now yield all that's alien to thine age,- Up, with good grace! make room for sons: thou must." Justly, I fancy, would she reason thus, Justly inveigh and gird: since ever the old Outcrowded by the new gives way, and ever The one thing from the others is repaired. Nor no man is consigned to the abyss of Tartarus, the black. For stuff must be, That thus the after-generations grow,- Though these, their life completed, follow thee; And thus like thee are generations all- Already fallen, or some time to fall. So one thing from another rises ever; And in fee-simple life is given to none, But unto all mere usufruct. Look back: Nothing to us was all fore-passed eld of time the eternal, ere we had a birth. And Nature holds this like a mirror up of time-to-be when we are dead and gone. And what is there so horrible appears? Now what is there so sad about it all? Is't not serener far than any sleep? 3.978. And, verily, those tortures said to be In Acheron, the deep, they all are ours Here in this life. No Tantalus, benumbed With baseless terror, as the fables tell, Fears the huge boulder hanging in the air: But, rather, in life an empty dread of Gods Urges mortality, and each one fears Such fall of fortune as may chance to him. Nor eat the vultures into TityusProstrate in Acheron, nor can they find, Forsooth, throughout eternal ages, aught To pry around for in that mighty breast. However hugely he extend his bulk- Who hath for outspread limbs not acres nine, But the whole earth- he shall not able be To bear eternal pain nor furnish food From his own frame forever. But for us A Tityus is he whom vultures rend Prostrate in love, whom anxious anguish eats, Whom troubles of any unappeased desires Asunder rip. We have before our eyes Here in this life also a SisyphusIn him who seeketh of the populace The rods, the axes fell, and evermore Retires a beaten and a gloomy man. For to seek after power- an empty name, Nor given at all- and ever in the search To endure a world of toil, O this it is To shove with shoulder up the hill a stone Which yet comes rolling back from off the top, And headlong makes for levels of the plain. Then to be always feeding an ingrate mind, Filling with good things, satisfying never- As do the seasons of the year for us, When they return and bring their progenies And varied charms, and we are never filled With the fruits of life- O this, I fancy, 'tis To pour, like those young virgins in the tale, Waters into a sieve, unfilled forever. . . . . . . Cerberus and Furies, and that Lack of Light . . . . . . Tartarus, out-belching from his mouth the surge of horrible heat- the which are nowhere, nor Indeed can be: but in this life is fear of retributions just and expiations For evil acts: the dungeon and the leap From that dread rock of infamy, the stripes, The executioners, the oaken rack, The iron plates, bitumen, and the torch. And even though these are absent, yet the mind, With a fore-fearing conscience, plies its goads And burns beneath the lash, nor sees meanwhile What terminus of ills, what end of pine Can ever be, and feareth lest the same But grow more heavy after death. of truth, The life of fools is Acheron on earth. 3.1024. This also to thy very self sometimes Repeat thou mayst: "Lo, even good Ancus left The sunshine with his eyes, in divers things A better man than thou, O worthless hind; And many other kings and lords of rule Thereafter have gone under, once who swayed O'er mighty peoples. And he also, he- Who whilom paved a highway down the sea, And gave his legionaries thoroughfare Along the deep, and taught them how to cross The pools of brine afoot, and did contemn, Trampling upon it with his cavalry, The bellowings of ocean- poured his soul From dying body, as his light was ta'en. And Scipio's son, the thunderbolt of war, Horror of Carthage, gave his bones to earth, Like to the lowliest villein in the house. Add finders-out of sciences and arts; Add comrades of the Heliconian dames, Among whom Homer, sceptered o'er them all, Now lies in slumber sunken with the rest. Then, too, Democritus, when ripened eld Admonished him his memory waned away, of own accord offered his head to death. Even Epicurus went, his light of life Run out, the man in genius who o'er-topped The human race, extinguishing all others, As sun, in ether arisen, all the stars. Wilt thou, then, dally, thou complain to go?- For whom already life's as good as dead, Whilst yet thou livest and lookest?- who in sleep Wastest thy life- time's major part, and snorest Even when awake, and ceasest not to see The stuff of dreams, and bearest a mind beset By baseless terror, nor discoverest oft What's wrong with thee, when, like a sotted wretch, Thou'rt jostled along by many crowding cares, And wanderest reeling round, with mind aswim. 3.1053. If men, in that same way as on the mind They feel the load that wearies with its weight, Could also know the causes whence it comes, And why so great the heap of ill on heart, O not in this sort would they live their life, As now so much we see them, knowing not What 'tis they want, and seeking ever and ever A change of place, as if to drop the burden. The man who sickens of his home goes out, Forth from his splendid halls, and straight- returns, Feeling i'faith no better off abroad. He races, driving his Gallic ponies along, Down to his villa, madly,- as in haste To hurry help to a house afire.- At once He yawns, as soon as foot has touched the threshold, Or drowsily goes off in sleep and seeks Forgetfulness, or maybe bustles about And makes for town again. In such a way Each human flees himself- a self in sooth, As happens, he by no means can escape; And willy-nilly he cleaves to it and loathes, Sick, sick, and guessing not the cause of ail. Yet should he see but that, O chiefly then, Leaving all else, he'd study to divine The nature of things, since here is in debate Eternal time and not the single hour, Mortal's estate in whatsoever remains After great death. 3.1076. And too, when all is said, What evil lust of life is this so great Subdues us to live, so dreadfully distraught In perils and alarms? one fixed end of life abideth for mortality; Death's not to shun, and we must go to meet. Besides we're busied with the same devices, Ever and ever, and we are at them ever, And there's no new delight that may be forged By living on. But whilst the thing we long for Is lacking, that seems good above all else; Thereafter, when we've touched it, something else We long for; ever one equal thirst of life Grips us agape. And doubtful 'tis what fortune The future times may carry, or what be That chance may bring, or what the issue next Awaiting us. Nor by prolonging life Take we the least away from death's own time, Nor can we pluck one moment off, whereby To minish the aeons of our state of death. Therefore, O man, by living on, fulfil As many generations as thou may: Eternal death shall there be waiting still; And he who died with light of yesterday Shall be no briefer time in death's No-more Than he who perished months or years before. 4.962. And to whate'er pursuit A man most clings absorbed, or what the affairs On which we theretofore have tarried much, And mind hath strained upon the more, we seem In sleep not rarely to go at the same. The lawyers seem to plead and cite decrees, Commanders they to fight and go at frays, Sailors to live in combat with the winds, And we ourselves indeed to make this book, And still to seek the nature of the world And set it down, when once discovered, here In these my country's leaves. Thus all pursuits, All arts in general seem in sleeps to mock And master the minds of men. And whosoever Day after day for long to games have given Attention undivided, still they keep (As oft we note), even when they've ceased to grasp Those games with their own senses, open paths Within the mind wherethrough the idol-films of just those games can come. And thus it is For many a day thereafter those appear Floating before the eyes, that even awake They think they view the dancers moving round Their supple limbs, and catch with both the ears The liquid song of harp and speaking chords, And view the same assembly on the seats, And manifold bright glories of the stage- So great the influence of pursuit and zest, And of the affairs wherein 'thas been the wont of men to be engaged-nor only men, But soothly all the animals. Behold, Thou'lt see the sturdy horses, though outstretched, Yet sweating in their sleep, and panting ever, And straining utmost strength, as if for prize, As if, with barriers opened now... And hounds of huntsmen oft in soft repose Yet toss asudden all their legs about, And growl and bark, and with their nostrils sniff The winds again, again, as though indeed They'd caught the scented foot-prints of wild beasts, And, even when wakened, often they pursue The phantom images of stags, as though They did perceive them fleeing on before, Until the illusion's shaken off and dogsCome to themselves again. And fawning breed of house-bred whelps do feel the sudden urge To shake their bodies and start from off the ground, As if beholding stranger-visages. And ever the fiercer be the stock, the more In sleep the same is ever bound to rage. But flee the divers tribes of birds and vex With sudden wings by night the groves of gods, When in their gentle slumbers they have dreamed of hawks in chase, aswooping on for fight. Again, the minds of mortals which perform With mighty motions mighty enterprises, often in sleep will do and dare the same In manner like. Kings take the towns by storm, Succumb to capture, battle on the field, Raise a wild cry as if their throats were cut Even then and there. And many wrestle on And groan with pains, and fill all regions round With mighty cries and wild, as if then gnawed By fangs of panther or of lion fierce. Many amid their slumbers talk about Their mighty enterprises, and have often Enough become the proof of their own crimes. Many meet death; many, as if headlong From lofty mountains tumbling down to earth With all their frame, are frenzied in their fright; And after sleep, as if still mad in mind, They scarce come to, confounded as they are By ferment of their frame. The thirsty man, Likewise, he sits beside delightful spring Or river and gulpeth down with gaping throat Nigh the whole stream. And oft the innocent young, By sleep o'ermastered, think they lift their dress By pail or public jordan and then void The water filtered down their frame entire And drench the Babylonian coverlets, Magnificently bright. Again, those males Into the surging channels of whose years Now first has passed the seed (engendered Within their members by the ripened days) Are in their sleep confronted from without By idol-images of some fair form- Tidings of glorious face and lovely bloom, Which stir and goad the regions turgid now With seed abundant; so that, as it were With all the matter acted duly out, They pour the billows of a potent stream And stain their garment. 4.1037. And as said before, That seed is roused in us when once ripe age Has made our body strong... As divers causes give to divers things Impulse and irritation, so one force In human kind rouses the human seed To spurt from man. As soon as ever it issues, Forced from its first abodes, it passes down In the whole body through the limbs and frame, Meeting in certain regions of our thews, And stirs amain the genitals of man. The goaded regions swell with seed, and then Comes the delight to dart the same at what The mad desire so yearns, and body seeks That object, whence the mind by love is pierced. For well-nigh each man falleth toward his wound, And our blood spurts even toward the spot from whence The stroke wherewith we are strook, and if indeed The foe be close, the red jet reaches him. Thus, one who gets a stroke from Venus' shafts- Whether a boy with limbs effeminate Assault him, or a woman darting love From all her body- that one strains to get Even to the thing whereby he's hit, and longs To join with it and cast into its frame The fluid drawn even from within its own. For the mute craving doth presage delight. THE PASSION OF LOVE This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us: From this, engender all the lures of love, From this, O first hath into human hearts Trickled that drop of joyance which ere long Is by chill care succeeded. Since, indeed, Though she thou lovest now be far away, Yet idol-images of her are near And the sweet name is floating in thy ear. But it behooves to flee those images; And scare afar whatever feeds thy love; And turn elsewhere thy mind; and vent the sperm, Within thee gathered, into sundry bodies, Nor, with thy thoughts still busied with one love, Keep it for one delight, and so store up Care for thyself and pain inevitable. For, lo, the ulcer just by nourishing Grows to more life with deep inveteracy, And day by day the fury swells aflame, And the woe waxes heavier day by day- Unless thou dost destroy even by new blows The former wounds of love, and curest them While yet they're fresh, by wandering freely round After the freely-wandering Venus, or Canst lead elsewhere the tumults of thy mind. 4.1073. Nor doth that man who keeps away from love Yet lack the fruits of Venus; rather takes Those pleasures which are free of penalties. For the delights of Venus, verily, Are more unmixed for mortals sane-of-soul Than for those sick-at-heart with love-pining. Yea, in the very moment of possessing, Surges the heat of lovers to and fro, Restive, uncertain; and they cannot fix On what to first enjoy with eyes and hands. The parts they sought for, those they squeeze so tight, And pain the creature's body, close their teeth often against her lips, and smite with kiss Mouth into mouth,- because this same delight Is not unmixed; and underneath are stings Which goad a man to hurt the very thing, Whate'er it be, from whence arise for him Those germs of madness. But with gentle touch Venus subdues the pangs in midst of love, And the admixture of a fondling joy Doth curb the bites of passion. For they hope That by the very body whence they caught The heats of love their flames can be put out. But nature protests 'tis all quite otherwise; For this same love it is the one sole thing of which, the more we have, the fiercer burns The breast with fell desire. For food and drink Are taken within our members; and, since they Can stop up certain parts, thus, easily Desire of water is glutted and of bread. But, lo, from human face and lovely bloom Naught penetrates our frame to be enjoyed Save flimsy idol-images and vain- A sorry hope which oft the winds disperse. As when the thirsty man in slumber seeks To drink, and water ne'er is granted him Wherewith to quench the heat within his members, But after idols of the liquids strives And toils in vain, and thirsts even whilst he gulps In middle of the torrent, thus in love Venus deludes with idol-images The lovers. Nor they cannot sate their lust By merely gazing on the bodies, nor They cannot with their palms and fingers rub Aught from each tender limb, the while they stray Uncertain over all the body. Then, At last, with members intertwined, when they Enjoy the flower of their age, when now Their bodies have sweet presage of keen joys, And Venus is about to sow the fields of woman, greedily their frames they lock, And mingle the slaver of their mouths, and breathe Into each other, pressing teeth on mouths- Yet to no purpose, since they're powerless To rub off aught, or penetrate and pass With body entire into body- for oft They seem to strive and struggle thus to do; So eagerly they cling in Venus' bonds, Whilst melt away their members, overcome By violence of delight. But when at last Lust, gathered in the thews, hath spent itself, There come a brief pause in the raging heat- But then a madness just the same returns And that old fury visits them again, When once again they seek and crave to reach They know not what, all powerless to find The artifice to subjugate the bane. In such uncertain state they waste away With unseen wound. 4.1121. To which be added too, They squander powers and with the travail wane; Be added too, they spend their futile years Under another's beck and call; their duties Neglected languish and their honest name Reeleth sick, sick; and meantime their estates Are lost in Babylonian tapestries; And unguents and dainty Sicyonian shoes Laugh on her feet; and (as ye may be sure) Big emeralds of green light are set in gold; And rich sea-purple dress by constant wear Grows shabby and all soaked with Venus' sweat; And the well-earned ancestral property Becometh head-bands, coifs, and many a time The cloaks, or garments Alidensian Or of the Cean isle. And banquets, set With rarest cloth and viands, are prepared- And games of chance, and many a drinking cup, And unguents, crowns and garlands. All in vain, Since from amid the well-spring of delights Bubbles some drop of bitter to torment Among the very flowers- when haply mind Gnaws into self, now stricken with remorse For slothful years and ruin in baudels, Or else because she's left him all in doubt By launching some sly word, which still like fire Lives wildly, cleaving to his eager heart; Or else because he thinks she darts her eyes Too much about and gazes at another,- And in her face sees traces of a laugh. 4.1141. These ills are found in prospering love and true; But in crossed love and helpless there be such As through shut eyelids thou canst still take in- Uncounted ills; so that 'tis better far To watch beforehand, in the way I've shown, And guard against enticements. For to shun A fall into the hunting-snares of love Is not so hard, as to get out again, When tangled in the very nets, and burst The stoutly-knotted cords of Aphrodite. Yet even when there enmeshed with tangled feet, Still canst thou scape the danger-lest indeed Thou standest in the way of thine own good, And overlookest first all blemishes of mind and body of thy much preferred, Desirable dame. For so men do, Eyeless with passion, and assign to them Graces not theirs in fact. And thus we see Creatures in many a wise crooked and ugly The prosperous sweethearts in a high esteem; And lovers gird each other and advise To placate Venus, since their friends are smit With a base passion- miserable dupes Who seldom mark their own worst bane of all. The black-skinned girl is "tawny like the honey"; The filthy and the fetid's "negligee"; The cat-eyed she's "a little Pallas," she; The sinewy and wizened's "a gazelle"; The pudgy and the pigmy is "piquant, One of the Graces sure"; the big and bulky O she's "an Admiration, imposante"; The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly lisps"; The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous, The spiteful spit-fire, is "a sparkling wit"; And she who scarcely lives for scrawniness Becomes "a slender darling"; "delicate" Is she who's nearly dead of coughing-fit; The pursy female with protuberant breasts She is "like Ceres when the goddess gave Young Bacchus suck"; the pug-nosed lady-love "A Satyress, a feminine Silenus"; The blubber-lipped is "all one luscious kiss"- A weary while it were to tell the whole. But let her face possess what charm ye will, Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,- Forsooth there still are others; and forsooth We lived before without her; and forsooth She does the same things- and we know she does- All, as the ugly creature, and she scents, Yes she, her wretched self with vile perfumes; Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle at Behind her back. But he, the lover, in tears Because shut out, covers her threshold o'er often with flowers and garlands, and anoints Her haughty door-posts with the marjoram, And prints, poor fellow, kisses on the doors- Admitted at last, if haply but one whiff Got to him on approaching, he would seek Decent excuses to go out forthwith; And his lament, long pondered, then would fall Down at his heels; and there he'd damn himself For his fatuity, observing how He had assigned to that same lady more- Than it is proper to concede to mortals. And these our Venuses are 'ware of this. Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide All the-behind-the-scenes of life from those Whom they desire to keep in bonds of love- In vain, since ne'ertheless thou canst by thought Drag all the matter forth into the light And well search out the cause of all these smiles; And if of graceful mind she be and kind, Do thou, in thy turn, overlook the same, And thus allow for poor mortality. 4.1192. Nor sighs the woman always with feigned love, Who links her body round man's body locked And holds him fast, making his kisses wet With lips sucked into lips; for oft she acts Even from desire, and, seeking mutual joys, Incites him there to run love's race-course through. Nor otherwise can cattle, birds, wild beasts, And sheep and mares submit unto the males, Except that their own nature is in heat, And burns abounding and with gladness takes Once more the Venus of the mounting males. And seest thou not how those whom mutual pleasure Hath bound are tortured in their common bonds? How often in the cross-roads dogs that pant To get apart strain eagerly asunder With utmost might?- When all the while they're fast In the stout links of Venus. But they'd ne'er So pull, except they knew those mutual joys- So powerful to cast them unto snares And hold them bound. Wherefore again, again, Even as I say, there is a joint delight. 4.1209. And when perchance, in mingling seed with his, The female hath o'erpowered the force of male And by a sudden fling hath seized it fast, Then are the offspring, more from mothers' seed, More like their mothers; as, from fathers' seed, They're like to fathers. But whom seest to be Partakers of each shape, one equal blend of parents' features, these are generate From fathers' body and from mothers' blood, When mutual and harmonious heat hath dashed Together seeds, aroused along their frames By Venus' goads, and neither of the twain Mastereth or is mastered. Happens too That sometimes offspring can to being come In likeness of their grandsires, and bring back often the shapes of grandsires' sires, because Their parents in their bodies oft retain Concealed many primal germs, commixed In many modes, which, starting with the stock, Sire handeth down to son, himself a sire; Whence Venus by a variable chance Engenders shapes, and diversely brings back Ancestral features, voices too, and hair. A female generation rises forth From seed paternal, and from mother's body Exist created males: since sex proceeds No more from singleness of seed than faces Or bodies or limbs of ours: for every birth Is from a twofold seed; and what's created Hath, of that parent which it is more like, More than its equal share; as thou canst mark,- Whether the breed be male or female stock. 4.1233. Nor do the powers divine grudge any man The fruits of his seed-sowing, so that never He be called "father" by sweet children his, And end his days in sterile love forever. What many men suppose; and gloomily They sprinkle the altars with abundant blood, And make the high platforms odorous with burnt gifts, To render big by plenteous seed their wives- And plague in vain godheads and sacred lots. For sterile are these men by seed too thick, Or else by far too watery and thin. Because the thin is powerless to cleave Fast to the proper places, straightaway It trickles from them, and, returned again, Retires abortively. And then since seed More gross and solid than will suit is spent By some men, either it flies not forth amain With spurt prolonged enough, or else it fails To enter suitably the proper places, Or, having entered, the seed is weakly mixed With seed of the woman: harmonies of VenusAre seen to matter vastly here; and some Impregnate some more readily, and from some Some women conceive more readily and become Pregt. And many women, sterile before In several marriage-beds, have yet thereafter Obtained the mates from whom they could conceive The baby-boys, and with sweet progeny Grow rich. And even for husbands (whose own wives, Although of fertile wombs, have borne for them No babies in the house) are also found Concordant natures so that they at last Can bulwark their old age with goodly sons. A matter of great moment 'tis in truth, That seeds may mingle readily with seeds Suited for procreation, and that thick Should mix with fluid seeds, with thick the fluid. And in this business 'tis of some import Upon what diet life is nourished: For some foods thicken seeds within our members, And others thin them out and waste away. And in what modes the fond delight itself Is carried on- this too importeth vastly. For commonly 'tis thought that wives conceive More readily in manner of wild-beasts, After the custom of the four-foot breeds, Because so postured, with the breasts beneath And buttocks then upreared, the seeds can take Their proper places. Nor is need the least For wives to use the motions of blandishment; For thus the woman hinders and resists Her own conception, if too joyously Herself she treats the Venus of the man With haunches heaving, and with all her bosom Now yielding like the billows of the sea- Aye, from the ploughshare's even course and track She throws the furrow, and from proper places Deflects the spurt of seed. And courtesans Are thuswise wont to move for their own ends, To keep from pregcy and lying in, And all the while to render Venus more A pleasure for the men- the which meseems Our wives have never need of. 4.1278. Sometimes too It happens- and through no divinity Nor arrows of Venus- that a sorry chit of scanty grace will be beloved by man; For sometimes she herself by very deeds, By her complying ways, and tidy habits, Will easily accustom thee to pass With her thy life-time- and, moreover, lo, Long habitude can gender human love, Even as an object smitten o'er and o'er By blows, however lightly, yet at last Is overcome and wavers. Seest thou not, Besides, how drops of water falling down Against the stones at last bore through the stones? | |
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11. Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.76-1.86 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. CE)
| 1.76. Sanctius his animal mentisque capacius altae 1.77. deerat adhuc et quod dominari in cetera posset. 1.78. Natus homo est, sive hunc divino semine fecit 1.79. ille opifex rerum, mundi melioris origo 1.80. sive recens tellus seductaque nuper ab alto 1.81. aethere cognati retinebat semina caeli; 1.82. quam satus Iapeto mixtam pluvialibus undis 1.83. finxit in effigiem moderantum cuncta deorum. 1.84. Pronaque cum spectent animalia cetera terram 1.85. os homini sublime dedit, caelumque videre 1.86. iussit et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus. | 1.76. and brought the lightning on destructive wind 1.77. that also waft the cold. Nor did the great 1.78. Artificer permit these mighty wind 1.79. to blow unbounded in the pathless skies 1.80. but each discordant brother fixed in space 1.81. although His power can scarce restrain their rage 1.82. to rend the universe. At His command 1.83. to far Aurora, Eurus took his way 1.84. to Nabath, Persia , and that mountain range 1.85. first gilded by the dawn; and Zephyr's flight 1.86. was towards the evening star and peaceful shores |
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12. Vergil, Aeneis, 1.546-1.549, 4.538-4.539, 4.548-4.549, 4.560-4.583, 4.590-4.629 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
| 1.546. Quem si fata virum servant, si vescitur aura 1.547. aetheria, neque adhuc crudelibus occubat umbris 1.548. non metus; officio nec te certasse priorem 1.549. paeniteat. Sunt et Siculis regionibus urbes 4.538. iussa sequar? Quiane auxilio iuvat ante levatos 4.539. et bene apud memores veteris stat gratia facti? 4.548. Tu lacrimis evicta meis, tu prima furentem 4.549. his, germana, malis oneras atque obicis hosti. 4.560. Nate dea, potes hoc sub casu ducere somnos 4.561. nec, quae te circum stent deinde pericula, cernis 4.562. demens, nec Zephyros audis spirare secundos? 4.563. Illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat 4.564. certa mori, varioque irarum fluctuat aestu. 4.565. Non fugis hinc praeceps, dum praecipitare potestas? 4.566. Iam mare turbari trabibus, saevasque videbis 4.567. conlucere faces, iam fervere litora flammis 4.568. si te his attigerit terris Aurora morantem. 4.569. Heia age, rumpe moras. Varium et mutabile semper 4.570. femina. Sic fatus, nocti se immiscuit atrae. 4.571. Tum vero Aeneas, subitis exterritus umbris 4.572. corripit e somno corpus, sociosque fatigat: 4.573. Praecipites vigilate, viri, et considite transtris; 4.574. solvite vela citi. Deus aethere missus ab alto 4.575. festinare fugam tortosque incidere funes 4.576. ecce iterum stimulat. Sequimur te, sancte deorum 4.577. quisquis es, imperioque iterum paremus ovantes. 4.578. Adsis o placidusque iuves, et sidera caelo 4.579. dextra feras. Dixit, vaginaque eripit ensem 4.580. fulmineum, strictoque ferit retinacula ferro. 4.581. Idem omnes simul ardor habet, rapiuntque ruuntque; 4.582. litora deseruere; latet sub classibus aequor; 4.583. adnixi torquent spumas et caerula verrunt. 4.590. flaventesque abscissa comas, Pro Iuppiter, ibit 4.591. hic ait et nostris inluserit advena regnis? 4.592. Non arma expedient, totaque ex urbe sequentur 4.593. deripientque rates alii navalibus? Ite 4.594. ferte citi flammas, date vela, impellite remos!— 4.595. Quid loquor, aut ubi sum? Quae mentem insania mutat? 4.596. Infelix Dido, nunc te facta impia tangunt. 4.597. Tum decuit, cum sceptra dabas.—En dextra fidesque 4.598. quem secum patrios aiunt portare Penates 4.599. quem subiisse umeris confectum aetate parentem! 4.600. Non potui abreptum divellere corpus, et undis 4.601. spargere? Non socios, non ipsum absumere ferro 4.602. Ascanium, patriisque epulandum ponere mensis?— 4.603. Verum anceps pugnae fuerat fortuna:—fuisset. 4.604. Quem metui moritura? Faces in castra tulissem 4.605. implessemque foros flammis, natumque patremque 4.606. cum genere extinxem, memet super ipsa dedissem. 4.607. Sol, qui terrarum flammis opera omnia lustras 4.608. tuque harum interpres curarum et conscia Iuno 4.609. nocturnisque Hecate triviis ululata per urbes 4.610. et Dirae ultrices, et di morientis Elissae 4.611. accipite haec, meritumque malis advertite numen 4.612. et nostras audite preces. Si tangere portus 4.613. infandum caput ac terris adnare necesse est 4.614. et sic fata Iovis poscunt, hic terminus haeret: 4.615. at bello audacis populi vexatus et armis 4.616. finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iuli 4.617. auxilium imploret, videatque indigna suorum 4.618. funera; nec, cum se sub leges pacis iniquae 4.619. tradiderit, regno aut optata luce fruatur 4.620. sed cadat ante diem, mediaque inhumatus harena. 4.621. Haec precor, hanc vocem extremam cum sanguine fundo. 4.622. Tum vos, o Tyrii, stirpem et genus omne futurum 4.623. exercete odiis, cinerique haec mittite nostro 4.624. munera. Nullus amor populis, nec foedera sunto. 4.625. Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor 4.626. qui face Dardanios ferroque sequare colonos 4.627. nunc, olim, quocumque dabunt se tempore vires. 4.628. Litora litoribus contraria, fluctibus undas 4.629. imprecor, arma armis; pugnent ipsique nepotesque. | 1.546. I bring thee tidings that thy comrades all 1.547. are safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyed 1.548. by favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie; 1.549. or else in vain my parents gave me skill 4.538. death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call 4.539. with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I 4.548. irresolute with horror, while his soul 4.549. framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape 4.560. ply well their task and push into the sea 4.561. the lofty ships. Now floats the shining keel 4.562. and oars they bring all leafy from the grove 4.563. with oak half-hewn, so hurried was the flight. 4.564. Behold them how they haste—from every gate 4.565. forth-streaming!—just as when a heap of corn 4.566. is thronged with ants, who, knowing winter nigh 4.567. refill their granaries; the long black line 4.568. runs o'er the levels, and conveys the spoil 4.569. in narrow pathway through the grass; a part 4.570. with straining and assiduous shoulder push 4.571. the kernels huge; a part array the file 4.572. and whip the laggards on; their busy track 4.573. warms quick and eager with unceasing toil. 4.574. O Dido, how thy suffering heart was wrung 4.575. that spectacle to see! What sore lament 4.576. was thine, when from the towering citadel 4.577. the whole shore seemed alive, the sea itself 4.578. in turmoil with loud cries! Relentless Love 4.579. to what mad courses may not mortal hearts 4.580. by thee be driven? Again her sorrow flies 4.581. to doleful plaint and supplication vain; 4.582. again her pride to tyrant Love bows down 4.583. lest, though resolved to die, she fail to prove 4.590. my sorrow asks thee, Anna! Since of thee 4.591. thee only, did that traitor make a friend 4.592. and trusted thee with what he hid so deep — 4.593. the feelings of his heart; since thou alone 4.594. hast known what way, what hour the man would yield 4.595. to soft persuasion—therefore, sister, haste 4.596. and humbly thus implore our haughty foe: 4.597. ‘I was not with the Greeks what time they swore 4.598. at Aulis to cut off the seed of Troy ; 4.599. I sent no ships to Ilium . Pray, have I 4.600. profaned Anchises' tomb, or vexed his shade?’ 4.601. Why should his ear be deaf and obdurate 4.602. to all I say? What haste? May he not make 4.603. one last poor offering to her whose love 4.604. is only pain? O, bid him but delay 4.605. till flight be easy and the winds blow fair. 4.606. I plead no more that bygone marriage-vow 4.607. by him forsworn, nor ask that he should lose 4.608. his beauteous Latium and his realm to be. 4.609. Nothing but time I crave! to give repose 4.610. and more room to this fever, till my fate 4.611. teach a crushed heart to sorrow. I implore 4.612. this last grace. (To thy sister's grief be kind!) 4.614. Such plaints, such prayers, again and yet again 4.615. betwixt the twain the sorrowing sister bore. 4.616. But no words move, no lamentations bring 4.617. persuasion to his soul; decrees of Fate 4.618. oppose, and some wise god obstructs the way 4.619. that finds the hero's ear. oft-times around 4.620. the aged strength of some stupendous oak 4.621. the rival blasts of wintry Alpine winds 4.622. mite with alternate wrath: Ioud is the roar 4.623. and from its rocking top the broken boughs 4.624. are strewn along the ground; but to the crag 4.625. teadfast it ever clings; far as toward heaven 4.626. its giant crest uprears, so deep below 4.627. its roots reach down to Tartarus:—not less 4.628. the hero by unceasing wail and cry 4.629. is smitten sore, and in his mighty heart |
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13. Vergil, Eclogues, 2.4, 2.65-2.73 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
| 2.4. the thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove 2.65. you too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near 2.66. for so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon 2.67. you are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gift 2.68. alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield 2.69. hould gifts decide the day. Alack! alack! 2.70. What misery have I brought upon my head!— 2.71. loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane 2.72. and the wild boar upon my crystal springs! 2.73. Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now 2. the shepherd Corydon with love was fired,for fair Alexis, his own master's joy:,no room for hope had he, yet, none the less,,the thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove,still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,,to woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.,“Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?,Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.,Now even the cattle court the cooling shade,and the green lizard hides him in the thorn:,now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,,pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,,wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,,save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,,still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.,Better have borne the petulant proud disdain,of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,,albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!,Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;,white privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.,You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am,care not to ask—how rich in flocks, or how,in snow-white milk abounding: yet for me,roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;,summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.,I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,,what time he went to call his cattle home,on Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I,so ill to look on: lately on the beach,I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,,and, if that mirror lie not, would not fear,daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.,Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.,Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,,shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand,round up the straggling flock! There you with me,in silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.,Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;,for sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.,Nor with the reed's edge fear you to make rough,your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn,what did Amyntas do?—what did he not?,A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact,in lessening lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:,‘Mine once,’ quoth he, ‘now yours, as heir to own.’,Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.,Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find,in a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,,from a sheep's udders suckled twice a day—,these still I keep for you; which Thestilis,implores me oft to let her lead away;,and she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.,Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs,bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,,plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,,now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower,and fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine—,with cassia then, and other scented herbs,,blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off,with yellow marigold. I too will pick,quinces all silvered-o'er with hoary down,,chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,,and waxen plums withal: this fruit no less,shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck,you too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,,for so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,,you are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts,alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,,should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!,What misery have I brought upon my head!—,loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,,and the wild boar upon my crystal springs!,Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,,and Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.,Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,,us before all things let the woods delight.,The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,,the wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself,in wanton sport the flowering cytisus,,and Corydon Alexis, each led on,by their own longing. See, the ox comes home,with plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow,to twice their length with the departing sun,,yet me love burns, for who can limit love?,Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?,Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;,why haste you not to weave what need requires,of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,,elsewhere some new Alexis you will find.” |
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14. Vergil, Georgics, 3.242-3.283, 4.8-4.50, 4.125-4.146, 4.205, 4.210-4.214, 4.228-4.280 (1st cent. BCE - 1st cent. BCE)
| 3.242. Omne adeo genus in terris hominumque ferarumque 3.243. et genus aequoreum, pecudes pictaeque volucres 3.244. in furias. ignemque ruunt. Amor omnibus idem. 3.245. Tempore non alio catulorum oblita leaena 3.246. saevior erravit campis, nec funera volgo 3.247. tam multa informes ursi stragemque dedere 3.248. per silvas; tum saevus aper, tum pessima tigris; 3.249. heu male tum Libyae solis erratur in agris. 3.250. Nonne vides, ut tota tremor pertemptet equorum 3.251. corpora, si tantum notas odor attulit auras? 3.252. Ac neque eos iam frena virum neque verbera saeva 3.253. non scopuli rupesque cavae atque obiecta retardant 3.254. flumina correptosque unda torquentia montis. 3.255. Ipse ruit dentesque Sabellicus exacuit sus 3.256. et pede prosubigit terram, fricat arbore costas 3.257. atque hinc atque illinc umeros ad volnera durat. 3.258. Quid iuvenis, magnum cui versat in ossibus ignem 3.259. durus amor? Nempe abruptis turbata procellis 3.260. nocte natat caeca serus freta; quem super ingens 3.261. porta tonat caeli et scopulis inlisa reclamant 3.262. aequora; nec miseri possunt revocare parentes 3.263. nec moritura super crudeli funere virgo. 3.264. Quid lynces Bacchi variae et genus acre luporum 3.265. atque canum? Quid, quae imbelles dant proelia cervi? 3.266. Scilicet ante omnis furor est insignis equarum; 3.267. et mentem Venus ipsa dedit, quo tempore Glauci 3.268. Potniades malis membra absumpsere quadrigae. 3.269. Illas ducit amor trans Gargara transque sotem 3.270. Ascanium; superant montis et flumina trat. 3.271. Continuoque avidis ubi subdita flamma medullis 3.272. vere magis, quia vere calor redit ossibus: illae 3.273. ore omnes versae in Zephyrum stant rupibus altis 3.274. exceptantque levis auras et saepe sine ullis 3.275. coniugiis vento gravidae, mirabile dictu 3.276. saxa per et scopulos et depressas convallis 3.277. diffugiunt, non, Eure, tuos, neque solis ad ortus 3.278. in Borean caurumque, aut unde nigerrimus auster 3.279. nascitur et pluvio contristat frigore caelum. 3.280. Hic demum, hippomanes vero quod nomine dicunt 3.281. pastores, lentum destillat ab inguine virus 3.282. hippomanes, quod saepe malae legere novercae 3.283. miscueruntque herbas et non innoxia verba. 4.8. Principio sedes apibus statioque petenda 4.9. quo neque sit ventis aditus—nam pabula venti 4.10. ferre domum prohibent—neque oves haedique petulci 4.11. floribus insultent aut errans bucula campo 4.12. decutiat rorem et surgentes atterat herbas. 4.13. Absint et picti squalentia terga lacerti 4.14. pinguibus a stabulis meropesque aliaeque volucres 4.15. et manibus Procne pectus signata cruentis; 4.16. omnia nam late vastant ipsasque volantes 4.17. ore ferunt dulcem nidis immitibus escam. 4.18. At liquidi fontes et stagna virentia musco 4.19. adsint et tenuis fugiens per gramina rivus 4.20. palmaque vestibulum aut ingens oleaster inumbret 4.21. ut, cum prima novi ducent examina reges 4.22. vere suo ludetque favis emissa iuventus 4.23. vicina invitet decedere ripa calori 4.24. obviaque hospitiis teneat frondentibus arbos. 4.25. In medium, seu stabit iners seu profluet umor 4.26. transversas salices et grandia conice saxa 4.27. pontibus ut crebris possint consistere et alas 4.28. pandere ad aestivum solem, si forte morantes 4.29. sparserit aut praeceps Neptuno immerserit Eurus. 4.30. Haec circum casiae virides et olentia late 4.31. serpylla et graviter spirantis copia thymbrae 4.32. floreat inriguumque bibant violaria fontem. 4.33. Ipsa autem, seu corticibus tibi suta cavatis 4.34. seu lento fuerint alvaria vimine texta 4.35. angustos habeant aditus: nam frigore mella 4.36. cogit hiems, eademque calor liquefacta remittit. 4.37. Utraque vis apibus pariter metuenda; neque illae 4.38. nequiquam in tectis certatim tenuia cera 4.39. spiramenta linunt fucoque et floribus oras 4.40. explent collectumque haec ipsa ad munera gluten 4.41. et visco et Phrygiae servant pice lentius Idae. 4.42. Saepe etiam effossis, si vera est fama, latebris 4.43. sub terra fovere larem, penitusque repertae 4.44. pumicibusque cavis exesaeque arboris antro. 4.45. Tu tamen et levi rimosa cubilia limo 4.46. ungue fovens circum et raras superinice frondes. 4.47. Neu propius tectis taxum sine, neve rubentes 4.48. ure foco cancros, altae neu crede paludi 4.49. aut ubi odor caeni gravis aut ubi concava pulsu 4.50. saxa sot vocisque offensa resultat imago. 4.125. Namque sub Oebaliae memini me turribus arcis 4.126. qua niger umectat flaventia culta Galaesus 4.127. Corycium vidisse senem, cui pauca relicti 4.128. iugera ruris erant, nec fertilis illa iuvencis 4.129. nec pecori opportuna seges nec commoda Baccho. 4.130. Hic rarum tamen in dumis olus albaque circum 4.131. lilia verbenasque premens vescumque papaver 4.132. regum aequabat opes animis seraque revertens 4.133. nocte domum dapibus mensas onerabat inemptis. 4.134. Primus vere rosam atque autumno carpere poma 4.135. et cum tristis hiems etiamnum frigore saxa 4.136. rumperet et glacie cursus frenaret aquarum 4.137. ille comam mollis iam tondebat hyacinthi 4.138. aestatem increpitans seram Zephyrosque morantes. 4.139. Ergo apibus fetis idem atque examine multo 4.140. primus abundare et spumantia cogere pressis 4.141. mella favis; illi tiliae atque uberrima pinus 4.142. quotque in flore novo pomis se fertilis arbos 4.143. induerat, totidem autumno matura tenebat. 4.144. Ille etiam seras in versum distulit ulmos 4.145. eduramque pirum et spinos iam pruna ferentes 4.146. iamque ministrantem platanum potantibus umbras. 4.205. tantus amor florum et generandi gloria mellis. 4.210. Praeterea regem non sic Aegyptus et ingens 4.211. Lydia nec populi Parthorum aut Medus Hydaspes 4.212. observant. Rege incolumi mens omnibus una est; 4.213. amisso rupere fidem constructaque mella 4.214. diripuere ipsae et crates solvere favorum. 4.228. Si quando sedem angustam servataque mella 4.229. thesauris relines, prius haustu sparsus aquarum 4.230. ora fove fumosque manu praetende sequaces. 4.231. Bis gravidos cogunt fetus, duo tempora messis 4.232. Taygete simul os terris ostendit honestum 4.233. Pleas et Oceani spretos pede reppulit amnes 4.234. aut eadem sidus fugiens ubi Piscis aquosi 4.235. tristior hibernas caelo descendit in undas. 4.236. Illis ira modum supra est, laesaeque venenum 4.237. morsibus inspirant et spicula caeca relinquunt 4.238. adfixae venis animasque in vulnere ponunt. 4.239. Sin duram metues hiemem parcesque futuro 4.240. contunsosque animos et res miserabere fractas 4.241. at suffire thymo cerasque recidere ies 4.242. quis dubitet? nam saepe favos ignotus adedit 4.243. stellio et lucifugis congesta cubilia blattis 4.244. immunisque sedens aliena ad pabula fucus 4.245. aut asper crabro imparibus se immiscuit armis 4.246. aut dirum tiniae genus, aut invisa Minervae 4.247. laxos in foribus suspendit aranea casses. 4.248. Quo magis exhaustae fuerint, hoc acrius omnes 4.249. incumbent generis lapsi sarcire ruinas 4.250. complebuntque foros et floribus horrea texent. 4.251. Si vero, quoniam casus apibus quoque nostros 4.252. vita tulit, tristi languebunt corpora morbo— 4.253. quod iam non dubiis poteris cognoscere signis: 4.254. continuo est aegris alius color, horrida vultum 4.255. deformat macies, tum corpora luce carentum 4.256. exportant tectis et tristia funera ducunt; 4.257. aut illae pedibus conexae ad limina pendent 4.258. aut intus clausis cunctantur in aedibus, omnes 4.259. ignavaeque fame et contracto frigore pigrae. 4.260. Tum sonus auditur gravior, tractimque susurrant 4.261. frigidus ut quondam silvis immurmurat Auster 4.262. ut mare sollicitum stridit refluentibus undis 4.263. aestuat ut clausis rapidus fornacibus ignis: 4.264. hic iam galbaneos suadebo incendere odores 4.265. mellaque harundineis inferre canalibus, ultro 4.266. hortantem et fessas ad pabula nota vocantem. 4.267. Proderit et tunsum gallae admiscere saporem 4.268. Arentesque rosas aut igni pinguia multo 4.269. defruta vel psithia passos de vite racemos 4.270. Cecropiumque thymum et grave olentia centaurea. 4.271. Est etiam flos in pratis, cui nomen amello 4.272. fecere agricolae, facilis quaerentibus herba; 4.273. namque uno ingentem tollit de caespite silvam 4.274. aureus ipse, sed in foliis, quae plurima circum 4.275. funduntur, violae sublucet purpura nigrae; 4.276. saepe deum nexis ornatae torquibus arae 4.277. asper in ore sapor; tonsis in vallibus illum 4.278. pastores et curva legunt prope flumina Mellae. 4.279. Huius odorato radices incoque Baccho 4.280. pabulaque in foribus plenis adpone canistris. | 3.242. The north wind stoops, and scatters from his path 3.243. Dry clouds and storms of |
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15. Juvenal, Satires, 15.131-15.174 (1st cent. CE - 2nd cent. CE)
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16. Plutarch, It Is Impossible To Live Pleasantly In The Manner of Epicurus, None (1st cent. CE - 2nd cent. CE)
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17. Tertullian, On The Apparel of Women, 2.1-2.2 (2nd cent. CE - 3rd cent. CE)
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18. Diogenes Laertius, Lives of The Philosophers, 6.22, 10.118 (3rd cent. CE - 3rd cent. CE)
| 6.22. Through watching a mouse running about, says Theophrastus in the Megarian dialogue, not looking for a place to lie down in, not afraid of the dark, not seeking any of the things which are considered to be dainties, he discovered the means of adapting himself to circumstances. He was the first, say some, to fold his cloak because he was obliged to sleep in it as well, and he carried a wallet to hold his victuals, and he used any place for any purpose, for breakfasting, sleeping, or conversing. And then he would say, pointing to the Stoa of Zeus and the Pompeion, that the Athenians had provided him with places to live in. 10.118. When on the rack, however, he will give vent to cries and groans. As regards women he will submit to the restrictions imposed by the law, as Diogenes says in his epitome of Epicurus' ethical doctrines. Nor will he punish his servants; rather he will pity them and make allowance on occasion for those who are of good character. The Epicureans do not suffer the wise man to fall in love; nor will he trouble himself about funeral rites; according to them love does not come by divine inspiration: so Diogenes in his twelfth book. The wise man will not make fine speeches. No one was ever the better for sexual indulgence, and it is well if he be not the worse. |
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19. Epicurus, Letter To Menoeceus, 131
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20. Epicurus, Letters, 398
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21. Epicurus, Letters, 398
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