than becomes a theologian, or more mordant
than suits with Christian modesty, and they will be crying out that I am
reviving the Old Comedy or Lucian and assailing everything with biting
satire. But I would have those who are offended by the levity and
sportiveness of my theme reflect that it was not I that began this, but
that the same was practised by great writers in former times; seeing
that so many centuries ago Homer made his trifle _The Battle of Frogs
and Mice_, Virgil his _Gnat_ and _Dish of Herbs_ and Ovid his _Nut_;
seeing that Busiris was praised by Polycrates and his critic Isocrates,
Injustice by Glaucon, Thersites and the Quartan Fever by Favorinus,
Baldness by Synesius, the Fly and the Art of Being a Parasite by Lucian;
and that Seneca devised the Apotheosis of the Emperor Claudius, Plutarch
the Dialogue of Gryllus and Ulysses, Lucian and Apuleius the Ass, and
someone unknown the Testament of Grunnius Corocotta the Piglet,
mentioned even by St. Jerome.

So, if they will, let my detractors imagine that I have played an
occasional game of draughts for a pastime or, if they prefer, taken a
ride on a hobby-horse. How unfair it is truly, when we grant every
calling in life its amusements, not to allow the profession of learning
any amusement at all, particularly if triflings bring serious thoughts
in their train and frivolous matters are so treated that a reader not
altogether devoid of perception wins more profit from these than from
the glittering and portentous arguments of certain persons--as when for
instance one man eulogizes rhetoric or philosophy in a painfully
stitched-together oration, another rehearses the praises of some prince,
another urges us to begin a war with the Turks, another foretells the
future, and another proposes a new method of splitting hairs. Just as
there is nothing so trifling as to treat serious matters triflingly, so
there is nothing so delightful as to treat trifling matters in such
fashion that it appears that you have been doing anything but trifle. As
to me, the judgement is in other hands--and yet, unless I am altogether
misled by self-love, I have sung the praise of Folly and that not
altogether foolishly.

And now to reply to the charge of mordacity. It has ever been the
privilege of wits to satirize the life of society with impunity,
provided that licence does not degenerate into frenzy. Wherefore the
more do I marvel at the fastidiousness of men's ears in these times,