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PLATO TO ASTER

Thou gazest on the stars—a star to me

Thou[6] art—but oh! that I the heavens might be

And with a thousand eyes still gaze on thee!

PALLADAS

Breathing the thin breath through our nostrils, we

Live, and a little space the sunlight see—

Even all that live—each being an instrument

To which the generous air its life has lent.

If with the hand one quench our draught of breath,

He sends the stark soul shuddering down to death.

We, that are nothing on our pride are fed,

Seeing, but for a little air, we are as dead.

AESOPUS

Is there no help from life save only death?

“Life that such myriad sorrows harboureth

I dare not break, I cannot bear”—one saith.

“Sweet are stars, sun, and moon, and sea, and earth,

For service and for beauty these had birth,

But all the rest of life is little worth—

“Yea, all the rest is pain and grief” saith he

“For if it hap some good thing come to me

An evil end befalls it speedily!”[7]

PHILODEMUS

I loved—and you. I played—who hath not been

Steeped in such play? If I was mad, I ween