That is how the more tranquil among them live. But if we look closely at those less staid, we would curse Prometheus, all the while reciting Menander's lament:
Prometheus, is justice not well served
To the Caucasian rock to have you bound?
The firebrand to mortals you did give,
But now in the hate of the gods you live,
Reward for placing women on the ground.
Men marry, alas, they tie the knot!
And then come secret passions, the whole lot.
When cheating in the marriage bed lies down,
From it poisons rise, and jealous torment:
Such are the gifts of womankind to men.7
Who would seek such boons? Who would enjoy such a miserable life?
It is only fair now to contrast a boy's manly conduct to that of these foul women. Rising early from his lonely bed he splashes clean water over his eyes, still veiled by the night's sleep, then pins his sacred mantle over his shoulder with a clasp. He leaves his father's house with downcast eyes, not staring at the passers by. He is escorted by his stalwart slaves and tutors, carrying the sacred implements of virtue: not combs with close-set teeth to caress his hair, nor mirrors where shapes reflect as in a portrait, but manyleaved writing tablets, or scrolls relating the virtues of olden days, or, if bound for his music master, his melodious lyre.
After having tempered his mind with philosophical teachings and nourished his soul with all sorts of knowledge, he develops his body with noble athletics. He studies up on Thessalian horses, and, his youth once tamed, he makes use of peace to ready for war, hurling spears and javelins with a sure hand. Then come the games of the palestra.8 Glistening with oil, he wrestles in the dust under the searing noonday sun, his sweat streaming. Then a quick bath and a frugal meal allow him shortly to resume his activities. Anew his tutors return to relate to him the ancient deeds, engraving in his memory the heroes who distinguished themselves by their courage, prudence, restraint, or fairness. After thus watering his soul with the
