into two parts: for two of them proceed from an
opinion of good, one of which is an exulting pleasure, that is to say,
a joy elated beyond measure, arising from an opinion of some present
great good; the other is a desire which may fairly be called even a
lust, and is an immoderate inclination after some conceived great good
without any obedience to reason. Therefore these two kinds, the
exulting pleasure and the lust, have their rise from an opinion of
good, as the other two, fear and grief, have from an opinion of evil.
For fear is an opinion of some great evil impending over us, and grief
is an opinion of some great evil present; and, indeed, it is a freshly
conceived opinion of an evil so great that to grieve at it seems right:
it is of that kind that he who is uneasy at it thinks he has good
reason to be so. Now we should exert, our utmost efforts to oppose
these perturbations--which are, as it were, so many furies let loose
upon us and urged on by folly--if we are desirous to pass this share of
life that is allotted to us with ease and satisfaction. But of the
other feelings I shall speak elsewhere: our business at present is to
drive away grief if we can, for that shall be the object of our present
discussion, since you have said that it was your opinion that a wise
man might be subject to grief, which I can by no means allow of; for it
is a frightful, miserable, and detestable thing, which we should fly
from with our utmost efforts--with all our sails and oars, as I may
say.

XII. That descendant of Tantalus, how does he appear to you--he who
sprung from Pelops, who formerly stole Hippodamia from her
father-in-law, King Oenomaus, and married her by force?--he who was
descended from Jupiter himself, how broken-hearted and dispirited does
he not seem!

Stand off, my friends, nor come within my shade,
That no pollutions your sound hearts pervade,
So foul a stain my body doth partake.

Will you condemn yourself, Thyestes, and deprive yourself of life, on
account of the greatness of another's crime? What do you think of that
son of Phoebus? Do you not look upon him as unworthy of his own
father's light?

Hollow his eyes, his body worn away,
His furrow'd cheeks his frequent tears betray;
His beard neglected, and his hoary hairs
Rough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cares.

O foolish AEetes! these are evils which you yourself have been the cause
of, and are not occasioned by any ac