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the peaceful haven of his old age, thou wert now his delight, now the sweet object of his care. No outlandish revolving stage^[1] turned thee about, no slave-boy wert thou amid Egyptian wares, to utter studied jests and well-conned speeches, and by impudent tricks to seek and slowly win a master. Here was thy home, here wast thou born, both thy parents have long been loved in their master’s house, and for thy joy were they freed, lest thou shouldst complain of thy birth. Nay, no sooner wert thou taken from the womb, when thy lord exultantly raised thee,^[2] and as thy first cry greeted the shining stars appointed thee for his own and held thee close in his bosom and deemed himself thy sire. May the sanctities of parents forgive my words, and do thou suffer me, O Nature, to whom it is given to hallow the earliest ties between soul and soul throughout the world: bonds of blood and lineage are not all; often do alien or adopted children creep further into our hearts than our own kindred. Of necessity we beget sons, of our pleasure do we choose them. Thus by his winning ways the half-beast Chiron supplanted Haemonian Peleus in young Achilles’ favour. Nor did the aged Peleus accompany his son to the fight at Troy, but ’twas Phoenix that stirred not from his pupil’s side. Far off Evander prayed for Pallas’ victorious return, but faithful Acoetes watched the combat. And when his sire for idleness came not from the shining stars, wave-wandering Dictys tended the winged Perseus.^[3] Why should I speak of mothers surpassed in their affection by foster-nurses? Why of thee, O Bacchus, who when a treacherous doom had