<TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns:py="http://codespeak.net/lxml/objectify/pytype" py:pytype="TREE"><text xml:lang="eng"><body><div type="translation" n="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg063.perseus-eng4" xml:lang="eng"><div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg063.perseus-eng4:" n="59"><p><label>Lycinus</label> What an adept at evasion you are, Hermotimus! How you slip through one’s fingers! However, it is all the better this time; you fancied yourself out, but you have flopped into the net again.</p><p><label>Hermotimus</label> What do you mean?</p><p><label>Lycinus</label> You take a thing whose nature is self-evident and universally admitted, like wine, and argue from it to perfectly unlike things, whose nature is obscure and generally debated. In fact I cannot tell what analogy you find between philosophy and wine; there is just one, indeed: philosophers and winemerchants both sell their wares, mostly resorting to adulteration, fraud, and false measures, in the process. But let us look into your real meaning. You say all the wine in a cask is of the same quality—which is perfectly reasonable; further, that any one who draws and tastes quite a small quantity will know at once the quality of the whole—of which the same may be said; I should never have thought of objecting. But mark what comes now: do philosophy and its professors (your own, for instance) give you every day the same remarks on the same subjects, or do they vary them? They vary them a great deal, friend; you would never have stuck to your master through

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your twenty years’ wandering—quite a philosophic Odyssey—
if he had always said the same thing; one hearing would have been enough.

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