Book 8
39
For, as Eubulus says, in the Ixion,— As if a man at a luxurious feast, When cheese-cakes are before him, chooses nought But anise, parsley, and such silly fare, And ill-dress'd cardamums . . . . so, too, this Pot-friend, Ulpian,—to use a would of my fellow-Megalopolitan, Cercidas,—appears to me to eat nothing that a man ought to eat, but to watch those who are eating, to see if they have passed over any spine or any callous or gristly morsel of the meat set before them; never once considering what the admirable and brilliant Aeschylus has said, who called his tragedies, Relics of the noble banquets of Homer. But Aeschylus was one of the greatest of philosophers,—a man who, being once defeated undeservedly, as Theophrastus or Chamæleon (whichever was really the author of the book), in his treatise on Pleasure, has related, said that he committed his tragedies to time, well knowing that he should hereafter receive the honour due to him.
