“There once was an old freedman who fasted, and rinsed
His hands, then ran sober from shrine to shrine, and prayed:
‘Save me, me alone (it's not much to ask, he'd add) from d**h,
It's easy for all you gods!' His hearing and sight were sound:
But as to his mind, his master when selling him,
Couldn't vouch for that, unless he's litigious. This crew
Chrysippus would cla** with mad Menenius' clan.
A mother whose child's been bedridden for five months, prays:
‘Jupiter, who brings and takes away our great sorrows,
If the quartan fever would leave my child, on the day
You appoint for fasts he'll stand naked in the Tiber
At dawn.' If chance or the doctor will see the patient
Free from all danger, his crazy mother will k** him
By having him stand on that freezing river-bank
Making quite sure that his fever returns. What illness
Has struck her mind? Superstition, fear of the gods.”
‘These were the weapons Stertinius the eighth wise man,
Gave me as his friend, so none could abuse me unscathed.
Who calls me mad will receive the same from me, in reply,
And learn to see his hidden pack of faults, that hangs behind.'