“Inhabitants of Sparta, most hateful of mortals
To all people, masters of tricks,
Lords of lies, devious plotters of evils,
You never have a healthy thought but everything
Is twisted—oh, it is wrong that you’re lucky in Greece.
What don’t you do? Don’t you have the most murders?”
“I once before saw a man with a bold tongue
Railing on sailors to sail in a storm.
But when the storm fell, you couldn’t find a single word
From him as he hid beneath his cloak
And just let any sailor who wanted to walk over him.
This is how some great storm might blow in
Over you and your braying mouth
Ending your loud cry with a bit of cloud.”
“Won’t you come to your senses? Won’t you learn your nature
And ask some other person who is free here
Who can tell us your affairs instead of you?
I can’t understand anything at all when you talk.
I don’t understand this barbarian tongue.”
“The hardest of all modern labors is to protect ourselves from them [the youth].
For they have some kind of a goad in their fingers, this man-hating bloom of youth.
They talk sweetly enough as they circum-ambulate the marketplace with another—
But when they take their seats, they mock the men they addressed sweetly
Scratching deep furrows into them once they’ve found themselves in a group”
“Our conversation will be superfluous if
We praise nobility in human birth.
For long ago at the moment we were first created
And the earth produced mortals one could distinguish
She raised us all up with similar appearance.
We have no special trait. One race
Are the well-born and the low-born.
Time makes some haughty with custom.
But god makes some noble with intelligence
and understanding, not wealth….”