Book 7
13
And Apollodorus the Carystian, in his Stirrer-up of Law-suits, says— O men, whoe'er you are, why do you now Scorn pleasant living, and turn all your thoughts To do each other mischief in fierce war? In God's name, tell me, does some odious fate, Rude and unlettered, destitute of all That can be knowledge call'd, or education, Ignorant of what is bad and what is good, Guide all your destiny?—a fate which settles All your affairs at random by mere chance? I think it must be so: for else, what deity Who bears a Grecian heart, would ever choose To see Greeks by each other thus despoil'd, And falling dead in ghastly heaps of corpses, When she might see them sportive, gay, and jesting, Drinking full cups, and singing to the flute? Tell me, my friend, I pray, and put to shame This most unpolish'd clownish fortune. And, presently afterwards, he says— Does not a life like this deserve the name Of godlike?—Think how far more pleasant all Affairs would be in all the towns of Greece Than now they are, if we were but to change Our fashions, and our habits, and our principles One little bit. Why should we not proclaim, "Whoe'er is more than thirty years of age, Let him come forth and drink. Let all the cavalry Go to a feast at Corinth, for ten days, Crown'd with chaplets, and perfumed most sweetly. Let all who radishes have got to sell Come in the morning here from Megara. Bid all th' allies now hasten to the bath, And mix in cups the rich Eubœan wine? "— Sure this is real luxury and life, But we are slaves to a most clownish fortune.
