In general, we consider that the real Heracles
was a wise man who achieved everything by
eloquence and applied persuasion as his principal
force. His arrows represent words, I suppose, keen,
sure and swift, which make their wounds in souls.
In fact, you yourselves admit that words are
winged.” Homer, passim. 

 
Thus far the Celt. And when I was debating
with myself on the question of appearing here, considering whether it was proper for a man of my age,
who had long ago given up lecturing in public, once
more to subject himself to the verdict of so large a
jury, it chanced in the nick of time that I
remembered the picture. Until then I had been







 

afraid that some of you might think I was doing an
altogether boyish thing and at my age shewing the
rashness of youth; and that then some young fellow
full of Homer might rebuke me by saying “Your
strength is gone” and “Bitter old age has you in his
clutch” and “Your squire is feeble and your steeds
are slow,” Iliad 8, 108 f. (spoken to Nestor). aiming the last quip at my feet. But
when I remember that old Heracles, I am moved to
undertake anything, and am not ashamed to be so
bold, since I am no older than the picture.

 

Goodbye,
then, to strength, speed, beauty and all manner of
physical excellence! Let your god of love, O Tean
poet,
 Anacreon (frg. 23 Bergk): the poem is lost. 
glance at my grizzled chin and flit by me if he
will on his gold-gleaming pinions: Hippoclides will
not mind!
 Hippoclides of Athens, one of many suitors for the hand
of the daughter of Clisthenes, tyrant of Sicyon, was preferred
above them all. But at the feast which was to have announced his engagement he danced so well and so unwisely that Clisthenes was disgusted and said ‘Son of
Tisander, you have danced yourself out of the match!”
“Hippoclides does not mind!” was the answer he received.
“Hence the proverb,” as Herodotus says (6, 126-131). 
Now should certainly be the time for
eloquence to flourish and flower and reach its fulness,
to drag as many as it can by the ears and to let fly
many arrows. At least there is no fear that its
quiver will unexpectedly run short! You see what encouragement I apply to my age
and my infirmities. This it is which gave me the
heart to drag my pinnace, long ago laid up, to
the water, provision her as best I could and set sail
on the high seas once more. Be it your part, ye gods, to blowme fair, for now if ever do I need a
breeze
 that fills the sail, a good companion. Odyss. 11,7; 12, 149. 
 If
anyone thinks me worthy, I would have him apply
to me the words of Homer:
 How stout a thigh the old man’s rags reveal! Odyss. 18, 74