Therefore

 

my wrongs have driven me to this outlying
farm, where, dressed in skins, I till the soil as a
hired labourer at four obols a day, philosophizing
with the solitude and with my pick. By so doing, I
expect to gain at least thus much, that I shall no
longer see a great many people enjoying undeserved
success; for that, certainly, would be more painful.
Come then, son of Cronus and Rhea, shake off at
length that deep, sound sleep, for you have slumbered
longer than Epimenides; Epimenides of Crete fell asleep in a cave and did not wake for forty years or more. fan your thunderbolt
into flame or kindle it afresh from Aetna, and make
a great blaze, evincing anger worthy of a stalwart
and youthful Zeus—unless indeed the tale is true
that the Cretans tell about you and your tomb in
their island.