Zeus the Tragedian (15-16)

Hermes Well, are you never going to begin?

Zeus I imagine, men of Olympus, that you would gladly give considerable sums to obtain an idea of what this matter may be with reference to which you are now summoned. This being the case, you will do well to lend me your ears with all eagerness. Now the present crisis, deities, wellnigh declares, with audible voice, that we must give all our energies to considering the matters before us, but, as a matter of fact, we seem to me to treat them with negligence. But I should like-my Demosthenes fails me—to explain to you why I was so much disturbed as to call an assembly. Yesterday, as you are aware, Mnesitheos, the ship-master, offered a sacrifice of thanksgiving for his ship that was almost lost off Kaphereus, and we feasted in the Peiraieusas many of us, that is, as Mnesitheos had invited to the banquet. After the libations you dispersed in different directions, pursuing your own devices, while I, seeing that it was not yet late, went up to the city to stroll about at dusk in the Kerameikos, pondering on the meanness of Mnesitheos. For he offered up, by way of feast to sixteen gods, one cock, aged and asthmatic at that, and four grains of frankincense, pretty well decayed, so

that it went out immediately on the embers, and not enough fragrance came out of the smoke to tickle the tip of your nose. And yet when his ship was actually going on the rocks and within. the reef he promised whole hecatombs.

Well, revolving this in my mind, I turned up near the Painted Porch, and there I saw a great crowd of men gathered, some inside the porch itself, but most of them in the open air, and some were shouting, stretched out on the benches. I guessed what was the case: that they were philosophers of the eristic order, and I determined to stand by and listen to what they might say. I happened to have a cloud wrapped round me—a thick one-so I took on an exterior of their sort, drew forth my beard, and presented no bad imitation of a philosopher. And so I elbowed my way through the crowd and got inside without being recognized, and I found a violent controversy going on between that fox Damis the Epicurean and Timokles the Stoic, the best of men. Timokles was in a perspiration, and had lost his voice already with screaming, and Damis was exasperating him still further by sardonic mockery. Now, if you will believe it, their whole discussion was about us. Damis (confound him) declared that we have no forethought for men or guardianship of their affairs, asserting that we do not exist at all, for this was plainly the purport

of his speech. And some there were who applauded him.