Icaromenippus

Lucian of Samosata

Lucian, Vol. 2. Harmon, A. M., editor. London: William Heinemann, Ltd.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1915.

ZEUS Timon will never again treat you in any such way, for unless the small of his back is completely insensible, his pick has certainly taught him that he should have preferred you to Poverty. It seems to me, however, that you are very fault-finding. Now you are blaming Timon because he flung his doors open for you and let you go abroad freely, neither locking you in nor displaying jealousy ; but at other times it was quite the reverse’; you used to get angry at the rich and say that they locked you up with bolts and keys and seals to such an extent that you could not put your head out into the light of day. At all events that was the lament you used to make to me, saying that you were being stifled in deep darkness. That was why you presented yourself to us pallid and full of worries, with your fingers deformed from the habit of counting on them, and threatened that if you got a chance you would run away. In short, you thought it a terrible thing to lead a virginal life like Danae in a chamber of bronze or iron, and to be brought up under the care of those precise and unscrupulous guardians, Interest and Accounts.

As a matter of fact, you used to say that they acted absurdly in that they loved you to excess, yet did not dare to enjoy ‘you when they might, and instead of giving free rein to their passion when it lay in their power to do so, they kept watch and ward, looking fixedly at the seal and the bolt; for they thought it enjoyment

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enough, not that they were able to enjoy you themselves, but that they were shutting out everyone else from a share in the enjoyment, like the dog in the manger that neither ate the barley herself nor permitted the hungry horse to eat it. Moreover, you laughed them to scorn because they scrimped and saved and, what is strangest of all, were jealous of themselves, all unaware that a cursed valet or a shackle-burnishing steward would slip in by stealth and play havoc, leaving his luckless, unloved master to sit up over his interests beside a dim, narrownecked lamp with a thirsty wick. Why, then, is it not unjust in you, after having found fault with that sort of thing in the past, to charge Timon with the opposite now ?