Book 13
14
And Theophilus, in his Man fond of the Flute, says— Who says that lovers are devoid of sense? He is himself no better than a fool: For if you take away from life its pleasures, You leave it nothing but impending death. And I myself am now indeed in love With a fair maiden playing on the harp; And tell me, pray, am I a fool for that. She's fair, she's tall, she's skilful in her art; And I'm more glad when I see her, than you When you divide your salaries among you. But Aristophon, in his Pythagorean, says— Now, is not Love deservedly cast out From his place among the twelve immortal gods? For he did sow the seeds of great confusion, And quarrels dire, among that heavenly ban When he was one of them. And, as he was Bold and impertinent, they clipp'd his wing That he might never soar again to heaven; And then they banished him to us below; And for the wings which he did boast before Them they did give to Victory, a spoil Well won, and splendid, from her enemy. Amphis, too, in his Dithyrambic, speaks thus of loving— What say'st thou?—dost thou think that all your words Could e'er persuade me that that man's a lover Who falls in love with a girl's manners only And never thinks what kind of face she's got? I call him mad; nor can I e'er believe That a poor man, who often sees a rich one, Forbears to covet some of his great riches. But Alexis says in his Helena— The man who falls in love with beauty's flower, And taketh heed of nothing else, may be A lover of pleasure, but not of his love; And he does openly disparage Love, And causes him to be suspect to others.
