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 Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor? Are you a demi-god? are you the son Of Hercules? begone! complain no more. Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts? Do your wits wander? are you mad? Alas! So was Alcmæon, whilst the world adored His father as their God. Your eyes are dim; What then? the eyes of Œdipus were dark, Totally dark. You mourn a son; he's dead; Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort, And match your loss with hers. You're lame of foot; Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes, And make no more complaint. But you are old, Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus; Hear what a king endured, and learn content. Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs, The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear, And wash out all afflictions but its own.—

From the same. (Book vi. § 3, p. 355.)

Bid me say anything rather than this; But on this theme Demosthenes himself Shall sooner check the torrent of his speech Than I—Demosthenes! that angry orator, That bold Briareus, whose tremendous throat, Charged to the teeth with battering-rams and spears, Beats down opposers; brief in speech was he, But, crost in argument, his threat'ning eyes Flash'd fire, whilst thunder vollied from his lips.

(Book vi. § 4, p. 355.)

I once believed the Gorgons fabulous: But in the agora quickly changed my creed, And turn'd almost to stone, the pests beholding Standing behind the fish stalls. Forced I am To look another way when I accost them, Lest if I saw the fish they ask so much for, I should at once grow marble.—