—pleasure that is no pleasure, knowledge that knows nothing, greatness that is so little, all going round and round and taking their turn in this game of life.
Cust. What do you hold human life to be, then?
Her. A child at play, handling its toys, and changing them with every caprice.
Cust. And what are men?
Her. Gods—but mortal.
Cust. And the gods?
Her. Men—but immortal.
Cust. You speak in riddles, fellow, and put us off with puzzles. You are as bad as Apollo Loxias, giving oracles that no man can understand.
Her. Yea; I trouble not myself for any of ye.
Cust. Then no man in his senses is like to buy you.
Her. Woe! woe to every man of ye, I say! buyers or not buyers.
Cust. Why, this fellow is pretty near mad!—I'll have nought to do with either of then, for my part.
Merc. (turning to Jupiter). We shall have this pair left on our hands too.
Jup. Put up another.
Merc. Will you have that Athenian there, who talks so much?
Jup. Ay—try him.
Merc. Step out, there!—A highly moral character, gentlemen, and very sensible. Who makes me an offer for this truly pious lot?
[The morality which the satirist puts into the mouth of Socrates, in his replies to the interrogatories of his
