What ails you, Zeus, in lone soliloquyTo pace about all pale and scholar-like?Confide in me, take me to ease your toils:Scorn not the nonsense of a serving-man.

Yea, thou sire of us all, son of Cronus, supreme among rulers,Here at thy knees I beseech it, the grey-eyed Tritogeneia:Speak thy thought, let it not lie hid in thy mind, let us know it.What is the care that consumeth thy heart and thy soul with its gnawing?Wherefore thy deep, deep groans, and the pallor that preys on thy features?Compare this parody on Homer with Iliad 1, 363 (=Od. 1, 45); 8, 31; 3. 35.

There’s nothing dreadful to express in speech,No cruel hap, no stage catastropheThat I do not surpass a dozen lines!A parody on the opening lines of the Orestes of Euripides.

Apollo! what a prelude to your speech!Euripides, Hercules Furens 538.

Do you suppose we don’t know the reason of your. anguish?

You know not: otherwise you ‘Id shriek and scream.From Euripides, according to Porson.

I know that the sum and substance of your troubles is a love-affair; I don’t shriek and scream, though, because I am used to it, as you have already affronted me many a time in this way. It is likely that you have found another Danae or Semele or Europa and are plagued by love, and that you are thinking of turning into a bull or a satyr or a shower of gold, to fall down through the roof into the lap of your sweetheart, for these symptoms—groans and_tears and paleness—belong to nothing but love.

You simple creature, to think that our circumstances permit of love-making and such pastimes!