dew of these virtues, evening brings his labors to an end. He metes out the tribute demanded by his stomach, and then sleeps surrounded by dreams all the sweeter for that his rest follows the toils of the day.
Who would not be the lover of such a youth? Who so blind of sight, or dense of mind? How could one not love him, a Hermes at the palestra, an Apollo with his lyre, as fine a horseman as Castor, manifesting divine virtues in a mortal body. As for me, heavenly gods, may my life eternally be spent seated before such a friend, hearing his gentle voice up close, sharing with him in all things! A lover would wish to see him reach, after joyful years, an old age free of ills, without ever having felt the spite of Fate. But if, as is the wont of human nature, he is laid low by sickness, I would ail with him; and should he put to a stormy sea, I would sail with him; and if a powerful tyrant should cast him in irons, I would be chained with him. Whoever hates him would be my enemy, and I would love those who wish him well. If I were to see bandits or enemies fall upon him, I would take up my weapons and fight with my last ounce of strength. If he were to die, I could not bear to live. My last wish to those dearest to me after him would be that one grave be dug for us both, and our bones be mixed so none could tell apart our ashes.
Nor is my love for those worthy of it the first one written down. The heroes who were close to the gods thought up this law, whereby love born of friendship draws breath till the moment of death. Phocis joined Orestes and Pylades from infancy; they took a god for witness of their mutual love, and sailed through life on a single ship. Together they put Clytemnestra to death, as though both had been Agamemnon's sons; by both was Aegisthus slain. Pylades suffered even more than Orestes, when the latter was hounded by the Furies. When Orestes was accused of being a criminal, Pylades stood by his side. Their loving friendship was not hemmed in by the boundaries of Greece, for they sailed together to the farthest shores of Scythia, one ill and the other nursing him. When they reached the land of the Tauri, the Fury herself, avenger of Orestes' mother's murder, laid out their welcome: barbarians attacking from all sides just as Orestes was laid low by his mad ravings. "But Pylades wiped away the foam and tended him, covering him with a well-woven
