Book 4

1. Damagetus

I am a wrestler neither from Messene nor from Argos; Sparta, glory of men, is my homeland. Those are men of art; but I, as befits the sons of the Lacedaemonians, prevail by force.

2. Simonides

Know, when you behold him, Theognetus the Olympic victor, the boy, the skilful charioteer of the wrestling-ring, fairest to look upon, and in the contest no worse than his form, who crowned the city of his noble fathers.

3. Simonides

At the Isthmus and at Pytho Diophon, son of Philon, won the long jump, the foot-race, the discus, the javelin, the wrestling.

4. Anonymous Epigrammatists

What words might Hector speak as he is wounded by the Greeks Cast now at my body after my death, since even hares insult the corpse of a dead lion.

5. Alcaeus

Xerxes too led the Persian army to the land of Hellas, and Titus led one from broad Italy; but the one came to lay the slave's yoke upon the neck of Europe, the other to free Hellas from slavery.

6. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The lord of Europe, who both on sea and on dry land was as much a king over mortals as Zeus over the immortals, to Hecate of the wayside dedicated the spoils of bold Ciroadas, and of his children, and of all the Odrysian land, this son of Demetrius of the goodly ash-spear; but the glory of Philip has again gone close to the thrones of the gods.

6a. Panteleus

Panteleus On Callimachus and Cynegirus O empty toil and fruitless war! What shall we say to our king of these immortals? O king, why did you send me against immortal warriors? We strike, they do not fall; we wound, they do not fear. One man alone has plundered a whole army; and in their midst he stands all bloody, the unwearied image of Ares, he stands like a tree upon iron roots, and will not fall; but soon he comes, within the ships. Cast off, helmsman; let us flee the threats of the dead.

7. Alcaeus

Mixing a harmonious sound with the soft pipes, Dorotheus breathed out the woes of the Dardanians, and the thunder-pang of Semele's labour, and he breathed the deeds of the horse, touching the ever-living Graces; he alone, among the prophets of holy Dionysus, escaped the swift wings of blame, a Theban by birth, son of Sosicles; and in the temple of Lyaeus he set up his mouth-band and his reeds.

8. Alcaeus

No more upon pine-nurturing Phrygia, as once, will you play, sounding your strain through the well-bored reeds, nor any more in your hands shall the work of Tritonian Athena, as before, blossom forth, nymph-born Satyr. For now your hands are bound in inescapable fetters, because, a mortal, you matched yourself against Phoebus in a divine contest. And the pipes, sounding sweet as the lyre, gave you from the contest not a crown, but death.

9. Anonymous Epigrammatists

O belly, you dog-fly, through whom flatterers and parasites sell the law of freedom for a bowl of broth.

10. . . .

11. Hermocreon

Sit beneath this shady plane-tree, stranger, as you pass by, whose leaves Zephyrus stirs with his gentle breath, where Nicagoras set me up, glorious Hermes son of Maia, guardian of the fruitful field and of its goods.

12. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Come, and sit beneath my pine, which, leaning toward the soft west winds, makes its honeyed murmur; behold too the honey-dripping spring, where, piping, I bring sweet sleep with my lonely reeds.

13. Plato

Sit beside this lofty, vocal pine that shivers its cone beneath the thick west winds, and beside my plashing streams the pipe shall bring deep slumber upon your charmed eyelids.

14. Zenodotus

Who carved Love and set him beside the fountains, thinking to quench this fire with water?

15. Anonymous Epigrammatists

He who once was ever drunk with the wine-spring of Bromius, the goat-footed Satyr, companion of the revellers, bound in fetters about his double legs, forges arms for the child of the goddess Thetis, plying no skilful work of his craft, but rescuing a poor livelihood from his toils.

15a. Anonymous Epigrammatists

a. Where are those cups of yours, glutton? Where the fair frames of the thyrsus, and the revels, leaping-footed Satyr? Who fastened upon you, near the carving-knives, the foot-binding band, and set you, who once swathed yourself in the swaddling-clothes of Bromius? b. Unseemly want, and all-daring necessity, which set me beside Hephaestus, a drinker of cinders.

16. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Everything in excess is unfitting; for there is an old saying, that even of honey the surplus turns to gall.

17. Anonymous Epigrammatists

O Pan, sound the holy strain for the feeding flocks, sending your curved lip over the golden reeds, that the goats may carry to the house of Clymenus their udders heavy with the gifts of white milk, and that for you the husband of the she-goats, standing fairly at your altars, may belch crimson blood from his shaggy breast.

18. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Delight your mind by borrowing; but to the moneylenders leave the finger-bending pain of counting their pebbles.

19. Anonymous Epigrammatists

"Peace to all," said the bishop as he came in. How can he give to all what he alone holds within?

19a. Herodicus

Flee, you followers of Aristarchus, over the broad back of the sea, flee Hellas, more cowardly than the tawny fawn, corner-buzzers, monosyllable-men, who care for their sphin and sphoin, and the min and the nin. Let this be your portion, you blustering ones; but for Herodicus may Hellas ever remain, and god-born Babylon.

20. Palladas

When I saw the orator Maurus, the thick-lipped, I marvelled at him, the white-robed demon of the rhetorical art.

21. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Nicholas, Patriarch of Alexandria He who subdued kings and stilled the violence of his adversaries, for the sake of his fathers' good order, he lies beneath this small monument, having become Nicholas, high priest of Christ. But his virtue, rich in blessings, flew to the ends of the world, and his soul attends the chambers of the blessed. For such a life he longed while he was upon the earth, oppressing his fair body with glorious toils.

22. Anonymous Epigrammatists

A pillar of good order and an offering of temperance, the image of Nicholas Gregory set up.

23. Simonides

a. Tell me, who are you, whose son, of what homeland, and what do you win? b. Casmylus, son of Evagoras, in the Pythian boxing, a Rhodian.

24. Simonides

This is the fair statue of fair Milon, who at Pisa seven times won, and never fell upon his knees.

25. Philippus

If you have heard of Damostratus of Sinope, who took the Isthmian pine six times, this is the man you behold; in the well-rounded wrestling-bout his back, when fallen, never set its seal upon the sand. Look at his face, fierce as a beast's, and see how still it keeps the old rivalry for victory. And the bronze says: "Let the base release me, that I, breathing, may now grapple in the dust a seventh time."

26. Simonides

We were subdued beneath the fold of Dirphys; and over us a public monument has been heaped near the Euripus, not unjustly; for we lost our lovely youth, when we met the rough storm-cloud of war.

26a. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Uranius His are the valour and the glory throughout Hellas, who many a work wrought, in other ways and in counsels both, the Arcadian spearman Philopoemen, on whom great glory followed in war, a leader of the spear; the trophies wrought tell of the twin tyrants of Sparta; and he lifted off the slavery as it grew. For which Tegea set up the high-souled son of Craugis, the achiever of blameless freedom.

26b. Philippus

Of the king of the Macedonians Barkless and leafless, traveller, upon this height a sheer cross is fixed for Alcaeus.

27. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Sardanapalus Knowing well that you are mortal, increase your spirit's joy, delighting in feasts; for the dead have no profit. For I too am ashes, who reigned over great Nineveh. I have only what I ate and what I insulted, and what with love I enjoyed; but all those many blessed things are left behind. This is the wise counsel of life for men.

28. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Hellas judged the Thebans of old the best at the pipes; and the Thebans judged Pronomus, the son of Oeniades.

29. Anonymous Epigrammatists

If ever you have heard of a dear son of Enyalius, both mighty in strength and bold to make war, know that Hector, son of Priam, was the only such man born, whom once, as he fought, the hero Diomedes slew — Ajax, offering battle to the Danaans before the Trojans; him too, dead, this tomb here covers round.

30. Tullius Geminus

The hand of Polygnotus of Thasos made me; and I am that Salmoneus, who raged against the thunders of Zeus, who plunders me even in Hades again, and casts at me with thunderbolts, hating my speechless likeness. Hold your lightning, Zeus, lay aside your anger; for I am breathless, a mere mark; do not war with soulless images.

31. Speusippus

The body of Plato earth holds here in her bosom; but his soul has the godlike rank of the blessed.

32. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of Gabrielius the prefect in Byzantium Even Phaethon has his likeness drawn by the pencil; but art carves the sun, when its rays are hidden, and you too, wise city-ruler Gabrielius, art draws, yet short of your virtues, short of all your toils.

32a. Theaetetus

This is Julian, the light of the law, said Rome and Beroe, when they beheld him; nature can do all things.

33. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of Callinicus the chamberlain In beauty you conquer the heart as much as the eye; for you bear all things worthy of your name. Ever in the chambers, lulling the emperor to rest, you sow gentleness into every ear.

34. Theodoretus

On the image of Philip, governor of Smyrna From Philadelphia these gifts of hospitality to Philip. Consider how mindful the city is of good government.

35. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The Carians are mindful of their many benefactions, admiring Palmas the upright judge so greatly.

36. Agathias Scholasticus

On the image of a certain sophist in Pergamum The images owed long ago for your tales and your nimble honeyed song — may you forgive their delay; but now for your sweat and your care for the city we have set you up, Heraclamon, with this pencil. And if the gift is small, do not blame it; for with such things we ever requite good men.

37. Leontius Minotaurus

You see Peter in golden robes; and beside him the magistracies are witnesses of his alternating toils: the first office of the East, and the second after it, of the purple shellfish, and again of the East.

38. Joannes Barbucallus

On the image of Synesius the advocate, set up in Berytus on his victory in a contest

Not only by the Eurotas are there men who are warriors, nor only by the Ilissus are there men mindful of justice; as one from Sparta, as a citizen of Athens herself, Synesius — Victory and Justice admired him.

39. Arabius

On the image of Longinus the prefect in Byzantium The Nile, Persia, Iberia, the Solymi, the West, Armenia, the Indians, and the Colchians near the Caucasian crags, and the plains seething with the far-scattered Agarenes are witnesses of Longinus' swift labours, how swiftly he went as the emperor's messenger, and swiftly bestowed the peace that had been hidden.

40. Crinagoras

Not three Fortunes alone, Crispus, would it have befitted to be your neighbours, for the sake of your deep-rich heart, but all the Fortunes of all men; for what would suffice so great a man, for the boundless joy of his friends? But now may Caesar, greater even than these, raise you up to greater things. What fortune holds firm without him?

41. Agathias Scholasticus

On an image set up in the building of Placidia by the men of the new office Thomas, the blameless guardian of the universal sovereign, they set up who serve the new order, close to the divine pair, that even by his image he might have a place neighbouring the empire. For he himself raised on high the thrones of the holy hall, increasing wealth, but with piety. Right-minded is the work; for what can the pencil bestow, save the remembrance owed to good men?

42. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The great Theodosius, leader of Asia, mighty in counsel, we set up in marble as proconsul, because he raised Smyrna and brought her again to light, much sung for her wondrous works.

43. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Damocharis, far-famed and wise judge, yours is this glory, that Smyrna, after the deadly afflictions of the earthquake, toiling eagerly, you brought to completion once again.

44. Anonymous Epigrammatists

All nature, O queen, ever sings your power, because you destroyed the ranks of the enemy, because you kindled light for temperate men after evil strife, and scattered the kindred woes of the Amazon's battle.

45. Anonymous Epigrammatists

We orators were minded, joining together, to honour Theodorus with golden, ever-remembered pencils, had he not fled gold, even gold within the pencils.

46. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Nicetas, daring with the spear, the emperor, the army, the cities, the people set up, for his great Mede-slaying toils.

47. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The great in wars, the fearless leader, Nicetas, the Greens set up for his valour.

48. Anonymous Epigrammatists

I am Proclus, son of Paul, a Byzantine, whom, flourishing about the house of Justice, the royal court carried off, that I might be the faithful mouth of the mighty emperor. This bronze proclaims how great is the prize of contests. And all things are alike, both for the son and for the father; but among the consuls' rods the son surpassed his sire.

49. Apollonides

Time of old marvelled at Cinyras, or at both the Phrygians; but your beauty, Leon, we will sing, far-famed son of Cercaphus; and the most blessed of islands is Rhodes too, which shines with such a sun.

50. Apollonides

If such a Leon had been matched against Heracles, this would not have been the twelfth of the labours of Alcides.

51. Macedonius II

I set up the boy Thyonichus in the statue, not that you may behold how fair he is in the splendour of this monument, but that you, learning the contest he toiled through, my good friend, may feel the same ardour of that same passion. This is he who never bent his foot in weariness, but in every contest conquered his equal, the younger and the elder.

52. Philippus

Perhaps, beholding me, stranger, bull-bellied and stiff-limbed, like a second Atlas, you wonder, disbelieving that my nature is mortal. But know me, Heras of Laodicea, the all-wrestler, whom Smyrna crowned, and the oaks of Pergamum, Delphi, Corinth, Elis, Argos, Actium; and if you search out my mastery in the rest of the contests, you will number even the Libyan sand.

53. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Whether Ladas leapt the stadium or flew across it, his speed is divine, beyond all telling.

54. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Such as you were, breathing Ladas, fleeing the wind-swift Thymus, poised upon your toetip's utmost breath, such did Myron forge you, stamping upon all your body the expectation of the Pisan crown.

54a. Anonymous Epigrammatists

He is full of hope, and on the edge of his lips the panting breath shows from within the hollow of his flanks. Soon the bronze will leap for the crown, nor will the base hold it back. O art, swifter than breath!

55. Troilus

a. Image, who set you up, for whose sake, or to whom? Tell me. b. In return for wrestling the city set me up for Lyron.

56. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This image to Eusebius the Byzantine Rome gave, beside two others, for his horsemanship. For not as one who won a disputed victory was he crowned, but prevailing greatly by his feet and his manhood. Therefore he quenched the strife of his rivals; but he also stopped the people's former dissension.

57. Paulus Silentiarius

On a Bacchant in Byzantium Not nature but art made the Bacchant frenzied, and mingled madness into the stone.

58. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Hold back the Bacchant, lest, stone though she is, crossing the threshold, she rush out of the temple.

59. Agathias Scholasticus

On the same The sculptor set up a Bacchant who did not yet know how to shake the cymbals in her hands, all modest; for so she leans forward; and she seems to cry out this: "Go forth! And I will clash, when no one stands by."

60. Simonides

a. Who is this? b. A Bacchant. a. And who carved her? b. Scopas. a. And who drove her mad, Bacchus or Scopas? b. Scopas.

61. Crinagoras

Risings and settings, the measures of the world; and the deeds of Nero reached both the ends of the earth through them. The sun, as it rose, saw Armenia subdued beneath his hands, and as it set, saw Germany. Let his double mastery in war be sung; the Araxes knows it, and the Rhine, drunk by enslaved nations.

62. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of the emperor Justinian in the Hippodrome These gifts to you, O Mede-slaying emperor, brings the father and the son of your Rome, Eustathius: a colt for victory, a crown-bearing Victory besides, and you seated upon the wind-swift colt. On high, Justinian, be your power; and on the earth ever may the bond hold the champions of the Medes and the Scythians.

63. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same The colt together and the king and Babylon perishing the bronze fashioned from the spoils of the Assyrians. It is Justinian, whom, drawing the yoke upon the East, Julian set up, a Mede-slaying witness.

64. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of the emperor Justin in the harbour This beside the shores I, Theodorus the prefect, set up, a shining statue, to Justin the emperor, that even in the harbours he might spread his own calm.

65. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of the emperor Theodosius You leapt forth from the East, another light-bringing sun, Theodosius, to mortals, at the centre of the sky, gentle-hearted, holding the ocean at your feet, beyond the boundless earth, all-radiant on every side, helmeted, your shining horse easily, great-hearted, reining in even as he rushes on.

66. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The mighty Byzas and lovely Phidaleia in one Calliades adorned and dedicated.

67. Anonymous Epigrammatists

I, lovely Phidaleia, was made the wife of Byzas; and I am the gift of an ox-killing contest.

68. Posidippus

This is the image of Cypris — let us see — or rather of Berenice; I am in doubt which of the two it more resembles.

69. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Zeno the king the city-ruler Julian set up; and Zeno's consort Ariadne, Julian.

70. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Seeing the house of Helicon grown young again by the glorious toils of Julian the city-ruler, all-golden it stood before the halls of the Pierians.

71. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The all-renowned glory of Julian, who, after the world of the Pierians, set up a golden Anastasia.

72. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Another image, for victory and laden with spoils, within Susa the bold Mede will set up for his king; another the long-haired host of the Avars will set up beyond the Ister, having shorn the lock from their squalid heads; but this one, for the flourishing good order here, the queenly city set up from a consul's office. But may you remain steadfast, Byzantine Rome, who have your portion, having received the divine might of Justin.

73. Anonymous Epigrammatists

He who adorned the throne of the Consuls, whom thrice-prefect and father the greatest emperors called their own, golden stands Aurelian; and the work is of the council, whose troubles he himself willingly stilled.

74. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On a magistrate Mix a little fear with your gentleness, since even the buzzing bee herself is armed with a sharp sting. For without the whip the proud horse is not guided, nor does the herd of swine obey the herdsman, until it has heard the sound of his loud-cracking staff.

75. Antipater

A child like to Zeus and Apollo and Ares, son of kings, the answered prayer of a mother's good childbearing, all things royal came to you from the Fates, all things perfect; and you were made the work of poets. Zeus has the royal sceptre, Ares the spear, and beauty Phoebus holds; but in you, Cotys, all are gathered together.

76. Synesius

The three Tyndarids: Castor, Helen, Polydeuces.

77. Paulus Silentiarius

The pencil scarcely drew the girl's eyes, nor her hair, nor the surpassing radiance of her colour. If anyone can paint a flashing, sun-like gleam, he will paint the gleam of Theodorias too.

78. Anonymous Epigrammatists

You are a grudging pencil, and you envy those who behold, hiding the golden curls beneath the snood. But if you hide beneath the image the consular grace of her consular head, you have no claim to the rest of her beauty. Every pencil flatters its forms; but you alone have stolen from the splendour of Theodorias.

79. Synesius

On his own sister An image of golden Cypris, or of Stratonice.

80. Agathias Scholasticus

A wanton I was, within Byzantine Rome, granting bought love to all; but I am Callirhoe of many arts, whom, stung by love, Thomas set here with the pencil, showing how great a longing he holds within; for, like to him, my heart, like melting wax, melted.

81. Philippus

On the statue of Zeus at Olympia Either God came down to earth from heaven to show his likeness to you, Phidias, or you went up to behold the god.

82. Simonides

Chares the Lindian made the Colossus at Rhodes, eighty cubits high.

83. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Ajax Ajax of Timomachus more than of your father — art seized your nature; the painter saw you in your madness, and his hand raved together with the man, and the mingled tears blended all the pains of your grief.

84. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Not unskilfully did Cimon paint these things; but on every work falls blame, which not even the hero Daedalus escaped.

85. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Art destroyed the proof; for it cannot even reveal to whom she gave her head.

86. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Guard well, far off, the watchman of Tueprasia. Such as you see me, O you who come past me, a fig-wood thing, not worked with the file, nor from red ochre, but from the self-taught knife of a shepherd . . . Laugh at me to no good purpose, but beware to harm the property of Eucleus, lest you laugh a bitter Sardinian laugh.

87. Julianus

I gave the life-bearing torch of skill; and from skill and from unceasing fire I have the sight of woe. Truly the race of mortals is ever thankless, if Prometheus, in return for his good deed, suffers this at the bronze-smiths' hands.

88. Julianus

The book of Homer called him unwearied bronze; but the sculptor showed him put to the test. Come, see here Prometheus groaning, come, see the pains of the bronze tormented, from the inmost recesses of its vitals. Heracles, be indignant, since, after your quiver, the son of Iapetus has ceaseless agony.

89. Gaius Cornelius Gallus

On Tantalus engraved on a cup This is he who once shared the table of the blessed, this is he who often filled his belly with the nectar-drink, now longs for a mortal drop; and the grudging mixture is ever lower than his lip. "Drink," says the carving, "and learn the mysteries of silence; we who are rash with the tongue are punished thus."

90. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Squeeze the long serpent-necks, mighty Heracles; throttle the deep throats of the biting things. Even from infancy cease from toiling at the wrath of jealous Hera; know yourself even from the cradle. For not a bronze-wrought bowl, nor cauldrons, but the road to the court of Zeus, was your prize.

91. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Behold, much-toiling Heracles, your contests, which you endured and went to Olympus, the home of the immortals: Geryon, the famous cattle, the great labour of Augeas, the colts, Hippolyta, the many-headed snake, the boar, the howling dog of Chaos, the beast of Nemea, the birds, the bull, the Maenalian hind. But now, set upon the heights of the unsacked city of Pergamum, rescue the great sons of Telephus.

92. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The labours of Heracles First in Nemea he slew the mighty lion, second, in Lerna he destroyed the many-necked Hydra. Third upon these, he killed the Erymanthian boar. After that, fourth, he hunted the golden-horned hind. Fifth, he drove away the Stymphalian birds. Sixth, he brought the shining girdle of the Amazon. Seventh, he cleaned out the great dung of Augeas. Eighth, from Crete he drove the fire-breathing bull. Ninth, from Thrace he led the horses of Diomedes. Tenth, he brought the cattle of Geryon from Erythea. Eleventh, he led up Cerberus, the dog, from Hades. Twelfth, he brought the golden apples to Hellas. The thirteenth, such a grievous contest he had: in a single night he united with fifty maidens.

93. Philippus

On the same I slew the boundless beast of Nemea, I slew the Hydra and the bull, and I shook off the jaw of the boar; I dragged off the girdle, I took the colts of Diomedes, I broke off the golden apples, I caught Geryon; Augeas learned of me; the hind did not escape; I killed the birds; I led Cerberus up; I myself hold Olympus.

94. Archias

No more, you tillers and ploughmen of Nemea, cower at the heavy roar of the bull-devouring lion; for he has fallen beneath best-fighting Heracles, his neck throttled by the beast-slaying hands. Drive out your flocks; may Echo, dweller of the lonely glen, again hear the lowing. And you, lion-cloaked one, gird yourself again with the hide, soothing the wrath of bastard-hating Hera.

95. Damagetus

From Nemea is the lion, but the stranger is of Argive blood, far the best of beasts the one, of demigods the other. They come to the contest, casting at each other a sidelong glance, both for their own lives. Father Zeus, but may the man from Argos conquer, that Nemea may again be open ground for you.

96. Anonymous Epigrammatists

What first, what next in my mind, what last with my eyes shall I marvel at, of the art, the man, or the hind? Of these, the one, mounting upon the beast's loin, presses with his knee, having grasped with his hands the fair-branching horns; and she, gaping wide and panting with much breath, shows with her tongue her heart hard pressed. Heracles, rejoice; the whole hind now blooms, not in her horns alone, but in the golden art.

97. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Who fashioned the groaning bronze? Who by his art wrought both toil and boldness in the form? The image has life; and I pity it as it struggles, and I shudder at the mighty, bold Heracles; for he holds Antaeus worn out by his hands, and, bent over, he too seems to send forth a groan.

98. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Heracles drunk This man, now weighed down with sleep and with the cup, once, sober, destroyed the wine-heavy Centaurs.

99. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same This all-subduer, sung among men for his twelve labours for the sake of his mighty manhood, heavy with wine after the feast, drags his drunken, stumbling step, conquered by soft, limb-loosing Bromius.

100. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of King Lysimachus Seeing the hair and the club and in the eyes the fearless spirit, and the man's grim brow, look for the lion-skin on the image; and if you find it, it is Heracles, but if not, the panel of Lysimachus.

101. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On an image of Heracles Such as Thiodamas of old met Heracles, such did the craftsman make the son of Zeus, dragging the plough-ox and stretching out his club; but he did not paint the deadly ox-slaughter. Perhaps he fitted to Thiodamas' lips a wailing voice, which Heracles, hearing, spares him.

102. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On another image of the same Such as the son of Cronus begot you on that thrice-mooned night, and Eurystheus saw you crown-bearing, and from the fire you revelled up to Olympus, O heavy-toiling Alcides — such an image of you we behold. The stone holds the birth-pangs of Alcmena; and proud Thebes now is more incredible than the tales.

103. Tullius Geminus

On a statue of the same Heracles, where is your great club, and the Nemean cloak, and the quiver full of arrows? Where the haughty roar? Why did Lysippus mould you so downcast, and mingle anguish into the bronze? You are grieved, stripped of your arms; and who has sacked you? The winged one, truly one heavy labour, Love.

104. Philippus

On the same This, then, was all that Hera wished, after all your labours: to see bold Heracles stripped of his arms. Where is the lion-cloak, and the swift-whistling arrow upon the shoulders, and the heavy-footed, beast-slaying branch? Love has stripped you of all; and no wonder, if, having made Zeus a swan, he robbed Heracles of his arms.

105. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Theseus and the Marathonian bull A marvel of art, both bull and man, of whom the one in strength weighs the beast down by force, straining his limbs, and bending the neck-sinews, seized with his hands, with the left the nostrils, with the right the horn, and wrenched the joints; and the beast, his neck subdued beneath the mighty hands, sank back behind. And one may fancy, under the art, in this bronze that the beast breathes and the man runs with sweat.

106. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Capaneus If such a Capaneus raged against the towers of Thebes, contriving an airy ascent by ladder, he would have taken the city by force, even beyond his fate. For even the thunderbolt of the son of Cronus was ashamed to take such a champion.

107. Julianus

On a bronze Icarus standing in a bath Icarus, wax destroyed you; but now with wax the bronze-smith has brought you back to your form again. But do not shake your wings in the air, lest, falling from the sky, you turn the bath into an Icarian sea.

108. Julianus

On the same Icarus, remember that you are bronze; and let not art deceive you, nor the pair of wings upon your shoulders. For if, while living, you fell into the depths of the sea, how do you wish to fly, having a form of bronze?

109. Agathias Scholasticus

On Hippolytus conversing with Phaedra's nurse

Hippolytus into the old woman's ear speaks a pitiless word; but we cannot hear it. Yet, as far as one can tell from his frenzied eye, it is plain that he charges her to speak no more lawless things.

110. Flavius Philostratus

On the image of the wounded Telephus This is the irresistible champion of Teuthrania, this is he who once, Telephus, bloodied the dreadful war of the Danaans, when he mingled the Caïcus, Mysian, full of slaughter; this is the rival of the Pelian spear, now hiding in his thigh a deadly burden, like one breathless he wastes away, dragged down with his living flesh. At whose suffering the Achaeans, crouching in fear, flee in confusion from the Teuthranian shore.

111. Glaucus

On the image of Philoctetes Seeing the much-suffering hero from Trachis, this Philoctetes Parrhasius painted; for in his hardened eyes there dwells a mute tear, and the wasting pain is within. O best of painters, you are skilful; but it was time now to give the much-toiling man rest from his pains.

112. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same My painter is more an enemy to me than the Danaans, a second Odysseus, who reminded me of my evil, accursed disease. The rock, the rags, the gore, the wound, the grief were not enough; but even in bronze he wrought my pain.

113. Julianus

On the same I know, looking on Philoctetes, that to all he shows his suffering, even to those who behold from afar. He has wild, shaggy hair; come, see the locks of his head, squalid with their rough colours; he bears a hardened skin, shrunken to behold, and perhaps dry to the touch of the hands; and tears, frozen beneath his dry eyelids, stand fast, the sign of sleepless misery.

114. Cosmas Indicopleustes

On Pyrrhus about to slay Polyxena I am Pyrrhus; and I hasten for my father's sake; but the shameless one calls upon Pallas, having Paris as her brother.

115. Flavius Claudius Julianus the Emperor

On Chiron the horse-Centaur From the man flows the horse; and from the horse the man runs up, a man without feet, and headless the dappled horse; the horse belches out the man, and the man breaks wind into a horse.

116. Euodus

On the same A headless horse lay there, and an unfinished man, whom Nature, in her play, grafted onto the swift horse.

117. Cornelius Long(in)us

On Cynegirus Not you, blessed Cynegirus, did Phasis paint as Cynegirus, since he set you up with mighty hands; but the painter was some wise man, and did not deprive of his hands you, who for your hands' sake are immortal.

118. Paulus Silentiarius

On the same The Mede-slaying hands above the curved stern of the ship as it set off the choppers cut away, when, Cynegirus, that fleeing cargo-ship clung, as from your moorings, to your hands. But even so, gripping fast the ship's timber, biting it round, breathless they followed as a terror to the Persians; and one barbarian took the ship; but the victory of the hands remained with the dwellers of Mopsopia.

119. Posidippus

On the statue of Alexander the Macedonian Lysippus, Sicyonian sculptor, bold hand, fiery craftsman, the bronze you cast looks like fire, the bronze you poured into the form of Alexander. No longer are the Persians to be blamed: there is forgiveness for cattle that flee a lion.

120. Archelaus

On the same Lysippus moulded the daring of Alexander and his whole form; what power has this bronze! The bronze man seems about to speak, looking up to Zeus: "I set the earth beneath me; you, Zeus, keep Olympus."

121. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Take this to be Alexander himself; such are his eyes, and the bronze holds living daring, who alone, of all that the beams of Zeus look down upon from the sky, subjected the whole earth to the Pellaean throne.

122. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same This Alexander, son of great-hearted Philip, you behold newly born, whom once his mother Olympias bore, strong-spirited; and from the birth-pangs Ares taught him the works of battle, and Fortune bade him reign.

123. Anonymous Epigrammatists

No longer for ox-feasting Heracles, you country lads, no longer are these places open to crafty wolves, and thieves will refuse to walk the road of theft, even if uncritical sleep should hold the villagers. For Dionysius set me up, not without a prayer, in this place, Heracles the good ally.

124. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Do not tremble, traveller, because I have a bow, and have stripped bare newly-whetted arrows, and set them before my feet, nor because I bear a club in my hand, nor because I have this skin of the bright-eyed lion about my shoulders; I do not know how to harm all men, but only evildoers, and I am able to save the good from their griefs.

125. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Ever heavy upon the son of Laertes is the sea; a flood washed away his image, and effaced the likeness from the tablets. What of it? For in the verses of Homer his image is written upon imperishable pages.

126. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the Minotaur The boy-bull, in nothing complete, the accuser of his mother's passion, the half-beast man, the double nature, the bull-headed, the wandering of bodies, who is neither wholly ox nor wholly man.

127. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Who moulded this Thracian, the single-sandalled Lycurgus, in bronze, the lord of the Edonians? Beside the vine-stock, see how, raging proudly, he raises the heavy iron over his head. The form reveals the old boldness; and the proud madness, even in bronze, keeps that bitterness.

128. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Iphigenia Iphigenia rages; but again the sight of Orestes leads her back to the sweet memory of kinship; and as she is angered and yet looks upon her brother, her glance is drawn out at once with pity and with madness.

129. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Niobe From life the gods made me stone; but from stone Praxiteles wrought me back to life again.

130. Julianus

On the same You behold the all-true form of wretched Niobe, as if she still mourned the doom of her children. But if she did not receive a soul, do not for this blame the art: she likened a stone to a woman.

131. Antipater

On the same This daughter of Tantalus, who once bore twice seven children from a single womb, a sacrifice to Phoebus and to Artemis; for the daughter sent slaughter upon the girls, the son upon the boys; the two killed the two sevens. And she, the mother once of so many flocks, once blessed in children, wretched, was left not even with one to tend her age; and a mother, not by her children, as is right, but the children by their mother, were all led to grievous tombs. Tantalus, the tongue destroyed you too, and your daughter; and she was turned to stone, and over you a stone hangs in dread.

132. Theodoridas

On the same Stand near, weep when you see, stranger, the countless griefs of Niobe, daughter of Tantalus, of the unbridled tongue, whose twelve-child brood she laid upon the earth just now, some by the bow of Phoebus, some of Artemis. And she, having a form mingled of stone and flesh, turns to rock; and high-fixed Sipylus groans. A treacherous disease for mortals is the tongue, whose unbridled folly often breeds misfortune.

133. Antipater

On the same Why, woman, have you raised your shameless hand to Olympus, casting the god-filled hair from your godless head? Beholding the great wrath of Leto, O child-rich one, now lament the bitter and self-willed strife. For one of your children gasps beside you; another, breathless, lies fallen; and over another heavy doom hangs. And this is not yet the end of your toils, but the male swarm of your children too is laid low, perished. O you who wept bitterly at the births, you yourself, breathless, shall be a stone, Niobe, worn down by grief.

134. Meleager

On the same Niobe, daughter of Tantalus, hear my word, the messenger of ruin; receive the most piteous tale of your woes. Loose the band of your hair; alas, you who bore a male brood for the grievous bows of Phoebus. Your children are no more. But what is this other thing? What do I see? Alas, alas, slaughter floods over the maidens. For one is fallen at her mother's knees, another in her lap, another upon the earth, another at the breast; another stares in terror at the facing shaft; another cowers beneath the arrows; and another's living eye still sees the light. And the mother, who once loved her chattering mouth, now, in amazement, flesh-fixed, has hardened like a stone.

135. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Medea in Rome The art of Timomachus mingled love and jealousy in Medea, as her children are dragged to their doom. For toward the one she leans the sword, but from the other she draws back, willing both to save and to slay her children.

136. Antiphilus

On the same When the hand of Timomachus painted deadly Medea, drawn in opposite ways by jealousy and her children, it took on countless toil, that it might carve two characters, of which the one inclined to wrath, the other to pity. Both he fulfilled; behold the likeness; for in the threat there is a tear, and in the pity wrath wells up. "The intent suffices," said the wise man; but the children's blood befitted Medea, not the hand of Timomachus.

137. Philippus

On the same Who painted, lawless Colchian, your spirit into the image? Who wrought a barbarian even in a likeness? Do you ever thirst for the slaughter of infants? Is some second Jason, or some Glauce, again your pretext? Begone, you child-killer, even in the wax. For of your measureless jealousies even the pencil is aware to what you would do.

138. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Come, see the child-slayer in the image, come, see the statue, the Colchian, fashioned by the hand of Timomachus: the sword in her hand, her great fury, her wild eye, the tear falling upon the most piteous children; all things at once he poured together, gathering the most unmixed into one, sparing his hand from staining it with blood.

139. Julianus

On the same When Timomachus painted Medea, in the image of a lifeless form he set two souls; for joining the jealousy over the marriage-bed and the love for her children together, he showed her in her eyes drawn in opposite ways.

140. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Come, see, and marvel at the pity that lies beneath the brows and the wrath, and the fiery rim of the eyelids, and the hand of the mother and wife, bitterly suffering, drawn with sparing impulse toward the murder. The painter wisely hid the end of the murder, unwilling to dull the wonder with grief for the beholders.

141. Philippus

On the same The Colchian, the avenging fury over her children, you lisping swallow, how did you dare to keep as nurse of your own children? Whose blood-shot eye still flashes murderous fire, and the grey foam drips from her jaws, and the iron is newly drenched with blood. Flee the all-destroying mother, who, even in wax, is still slaying her children.

142. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of the same You rage even though you are stone, and from your heart your fury, hollowing your eyes, has made them ready for wrath. Yet not even the base will hold you, but in your fury you will leap, raging for your children's sake. O who was the craftsman that moulded this, or who the sculptor, who by his skill led stone into madness?

143. Antipater

On the same This is the likeness of Medea; see how the one eye she raises to wrath, the other breaks down into pity for her children.

144. Arabius

On Atalanta and Hippomenes Did you cast bridal gifts, or a delaying of her speed, this golden prize for the girl, Hippomenes? The apple accomplished both, since it both checked the maiden's rush, and was the token of yoking Cypris.

145. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Ariadne No mortal is the sculptor; but such as Bacchus your lover saw you, he carved you reclining upon the rock.

146. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Strangers, do not touch the stone Ariadne, lest she leap up, seeking Theseus.

147. Antiphilus

On Andromeda The land is of the Ethiopians; and the one with winged sandals is Perseus; and she bound to the rock is Andromeda; the head is of the stone-glaring Gorgon; the prize of love, the sea-monster; and the chattering proof of Cassiope's fair offspring; and she loosens her feet from the crag, dull with their wonted numbness; and the suitor weds the prize.

148. Arabius

On the same Did Cepheus set Andromeda upon the rocks, or the painter? For from the eyes the judgement is doubtful. And was the sea-monster carved upon the bent crags, or did it rise from neighbouring Nereus? I know that some wise man wrought these things; truly skilled he wrought, and wrought a deceit of the wits.

149. Arabius

On the image of Helen The lovely likeness of Argive Helen, whom once a herdsman carried off, thrusting aside Zeus the god of strangers.

150. Pollianus

This is the Polyxena of Polycleitus, nor did any other hand touch this divine panel. It is the sister-work of Hera. See how, with her robe rent, she hides her bared modesty with a chaste veil; the wretched one pleads for her life; and in the eyes of the maiden lies the whole war of the Phrygians.

151. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Dido You behold the original of glorious Dido, stranger, an image shining with divine beauty. Such indeed I was; but I had not the mind, such as you hear, having won my fame on honourable grounds. For I never set eyes on Aeneas, nor in the time of Troy's sacking did I come to Libya; but, fleeing the violence of Iarbas' marriage, I drove the two-edged sword into my heart. Pierians, why did you arm holy Maro against me, who lied so against my chastity?

152. Gauradas

Dear Echo, agree with me in something. — In what? I love a girl; but she does not love me. — She loves you. And the moment does not bring the chance to act. — It brings it. Then you, tell her that I love her. — I love her. And give her some pledge of money. — Give it. Echo, what remains, but to win my desire? — To win it.

153. Satyrus

On the statue of Echo Through the shepherd's meadow tongueless Echo sings, answering the birds with her late-following voice.

154. Archias

On the same You see rocky Echo, friend, companion of Pan, the answering voice that sings back in reverse, the chattering image of all manner of mouths, a sweet plaything for shepherds. Whatever you say, hearing this, go away.

155. Euodus

On the same Echo, the mimic of speech, the dregs of the voice, the tail of a word.

156. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same I am an Arcadian goddess, and I dwell beside the doors of Lyaeus, answering the spoken word; for no longer do I hate, dear Bacchus, your reveller; come, Pan, let us speak our words together.

157. Julianus

On the armed Athena in Athens Why, Tritogeneia, are you helmeted in the midst of the city? Poseidon has yielded; spare the land of Cecrops.

158. Diotimus

As is fitting, I am Artemis; and the bronze itself well declares Artemis the daughter of Zeus, and of no other. Reckon the boldness of the maiden. Truly you might say: "All the earth is too small a hunting-ground for her."

159. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Aphrodite in Cnidus Who gave soul to the stone? Who saw Cypris upon the earth? Who wrought such desire in the rock? This is the work of Praxiteles' hands, surely, or perhaps Olympus is widowed, since the Paphian has come to Cnidus.

160. Plato

On the same The Paphian Cytherea came through the waves to Cnidus, wishing to behold her own image; and gazing all about in the conspicuous place, she cried: "Where did Praxiteles see me naked?" Praxiteles saw not what was unlawful; but the iron carved her as Ares would have wished the Paphian.

161. Plato

Neither Praxiteles fashioned you, nor the iron; but you stood thus, just as once when you were judged.

162. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Cypris, when she saw Cypris in Cnidus, said: "Alas, alas! Where did Praxiteles see me naked?"

163. Pseudo-Lucianus

No one has seen the Paphian naked; but if anyone has seen her, it is this man who set up the naked Paphian.

164. Pseudo-Lucianus

To you I dedicated the most beautiful image of your form, Cypris, having nothing finer than your form.

165. Euenus

Pallas and the consort of the son of Cronus said, when they saw the Cnidian: "We blame the Phrygian unjustly."

166. Euenus

Before, on the Idaean hills, the herdsman himself beheld her who first bore off the prize of beauty; but Praxiteles set her, all-visible, before the Cnidians, holding the vote of Paris as witness of his art.

167. Antipater

You will say, beholding Cypris on rugged Cnidus, that, stone though she is, she will set even stone afire; but seeing the sweet Eros of desire among the Thespians, that he will cast fire even into cold adamant. Such gods Praxiteles wrought, one in one land and one in another, that all might not be scorched with double fire.

168. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Paris saw me naked, and Anchises, and Adonis; those three alone I know; but Praxiteles, whence?

169. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same, and on the Athena in Athens Look round on the sacred beauty of the foam-born Paphian, and you will say: "I praise the Phrygian for his judgement." Looking again at the Attic Pallas, you will cry this: "How did the herdsman Paris pass her by?"

170. Hermodorus

On the same Seeing the Cnidian Cytherea, stranger, you would say this: "She herself rules both mortals and immortals." But seeing in the city of Cecrops the spear-bold Pallas, you will declare: "Truly Paris was a herdsman."

171. Leonidas

On Aphrodite armed These arms of Ares, for what reason, O Cytherea, have you put on, bearing this empty weight? For naked you disarmed Ares himself; and if even a god is undone, in vain you bring arms against men.

172. Alexander

Pallas herself, surely, perfected Cypris, forgetting the judgement upon Alexander.

173. Julianus

On the armed Aphrodite in Sparta Always Cytherea has learned to bear the quiver, the bow, and the work of the long-range shaft; but, respecting the laws of war-steadfast Lycurgus, she brings to Sparta her love-charms in close-fighting arms. And you in your chambers, Spartan women, revering the arms of Cythera, bring forth bold children.

174. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Pallas, when she saw Cytherea armed, said: "Cypris, will you have us thus go to the judgement?" And she, laughing gently: "Why should I lift a shield against you?"

175. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Either the Paphian, stone as she is, armed herself, or rather, perhaps, the Paphian saw the stone, and swore she wished to be it.

176. Antipater

Cypris too is in Sparta; not as in other cities is she set up, clothed in soft folds; but on her head she has a helmet instead of a veil, and instead of golden boughs a spear-shaft. For the consort of Thracian Enyalius and a Lacedaemonian should not be without arms.

177. Philippus

Smile-loving Cypris, tender of the bridal chamber, who crowned you, the honeyed deity, with the arms of war? Dear to you was the paean, and golden-haired Hymenaeus, and the sweet-singing graces of the clear pipes. Why have you put on these man-killing arms? Do you boast, having despoiled bold Ares, how much Cypris can do?

178. Antipater

On the same, rising from the sea The Cypris but now rising from her mother the sea, behold the labour of Apelles' pencil, how, gathering her sea-soaked hair with her hand, she wrings the foam from her wet locks.

179. Archias

On the same Apelles saw Cypris herself, naked, being born from the sea, her nurse, and fashioned her thus, drenched with the water's foam, still wringing her locks with her blooming hands.

180. Democritus

On the same When Cypris, her hair dripping with the brine-flowing foam, naked rose from the purple wave, thus, surely, taking her tresses in her hands by her white cheeks, she squeezed out the Aegean sea, showing her breast alone, which is lawful; but if such is she, let the spirit of Enyalius be confounded.

181. Julianus

On the same But now the Paphian rose forth from her sea-birth, finding the hand of Apelles for her midwife. But withdraw quickly from the pencils, lest the foam dripping from her wrung locks wet you. If such a Cypris once was made naked for the apple, unjustly did Pallas ravage Troy.

182. Leonidas

On the same Her who had escaped from her mother's bosom, still murmuring with foam, well-bedded Cypris, Apelles, seeing the most lovely beauty, fashioned her not painted but alive. For well with her fingertips she wrings her hair, and well from her eyes a calm desire shines forth, and her breast, the herald of her prime, is firm as the quince; and Athena herself and the consort of Zeus will say: "O Zeus, we are surpassed in the judgement."

183. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On a statue of Dionysus standing near Athena

a. Tell me, what have you in common with Pallas? For to her belong javelins and wars, but to you feasts are pleasing. b. Not rashly, stranger, ask such things about the gods; know in how many ways I am like this deity. For mine too is the dear glory of wars; the Indian knows me, subdued from the eastern Ocean, and we both ennoble the life of men, she with the olive, but I with the sweet clusters of the cultivated vine. And indeed not even for me did my mother endure birth-pangs: I loosed my father's thigh, she his head.

184. Antipater

On another statue of the same As fellow-shieldsman to Italian Piso, Dionysus I am set up, the guardian of the halls, for good fortune. "Worthily, O Dionysus, you entered the house." Both befitted: the hall for Bacchus, and Bromius for the hall.

185. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Dionysus and Heracles Both from Thebes, and both warriors, and from Zeus; the one terrible with the thyrsus, the other with the club. Their pillars stand together; their arms are alike, the fawnskin to the lion-skin, the cymbals to the clapper. Hera was a harsh goddess to both. And both, from the earth, came to the immortals out of the fire.

186. Xenocritus

On the statue of Hermes Swift Hermes am I called; but in the wrestling-school do not set me up maimed of hands, nor footless; or how am I swift? How shall I gesture upright with my hands, standing orphaned of both for a base?

187. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same A man prayed to a wooden Hermes, and it was wood. Then, lifting it, he dashed it to the ground; and from it gold streamed when it broke. Insolence has often brought gain.

188. Nicias

Having my lot in the leaf-shaking, steep mountain of Cyllene, here I stand, the guardian of the lovely gymnasium, Hermes; over whom the boys often laid marjoram and hyacinth, and fresh garlands of violets.

189. Anonymous Epigrammatists

A guardian over the beehives, for the sake of Peristratus, I remain here, having left the Maenalian slope, watching for the thief of the bees. But beware my hand, and the light reach of my countryman's foot.

190. Leonidas

Morichus the goatherd set up Hermes the overseer as the well-reputed guardian of his flocks. But, O you that have fed upon the green woodland on the hills, have no care for the ravenous wolf.

191. Nicaenetus

A turning circle of the potter's wheel moulded me here, an earthen Hermes, with earthen feet. I was kneaded of clay; I will not lie. But I loved, stranger, the ill-fated work of the potters.

192. Anonymous Epigrammatists

O best of men, do not think you behold one of the many images of Hermes; for I am the work of Scopas.

193. Philippus

a. May I touch the cabbage, Cyllenian? b. No, passer-by. a. What grudge over vegetables? b. No grudge, but a law, to keep thieving hands off others' property. a. O strange thing: Hermes has made a new law, not to steal!

194. Palladas

On the statue of Eros Someone brought a bronze Eros out of fire into fire, fitting a frying-pan as a torture for the torturer.

195. Satyrus

On a statue of the same, bound Who fettered the winged one here, who bound in chains the swift fire? Who laid hold of the flaming quiver, and shackled the swift-shooting, all-encircling hands, binding them to a sturdy column? These are cold comforts for men. May not this prisoner himself once have bound that one's heart?

196. Alcaeus

On the same Who fettered you here, unholily caught, and set you up? Who bound your hands in a tangle, and made your face squalid? Where are your swift arrows, foolish one? Where the bitter, fire-bearing quiver? In vain, surely, the stone-carver toiled, who bound you, who once stirred the gods with desire, in this snare.

197. Antipater

On the same Who bound your hands to the column with inescapable knots? Who took fire with fire, and guile with guile? Foolish one, do not let a tear fall down your sweet face; for you delight in the tears of young men.

198. Quintus Maecius

On the same Weep, your hands bound past escape, reckless deity, weep much, dripping soul-melting tears, you insulter of temperance, mind-stealer, robber of reason, winged fire, unseen wound of the soul, Eros. For mortals your bond is a release from their groans, reckless one; bound by it, send your prayers to the deaf winds. And the unguarded fire you kindled in mortals' hearts, behold now quenched by your own tears.

199. Crinagoras

On the same Both weep and groan, your sinews bound together by your hands, you schemer; such things befit you. There is none to loose you; do not look up smoothly. For you yourself wrung from the eyes of others the tear, and fixing bitter shafts in the heart, you dripped the venom of inescapable longings, Eros; and the woes of mortals are laughter to you. You have suffered such things as you did. Justice is good.

200. Moschus

On Eros ploughing Laying aside torch and bow, shaggy Eros took up the ox-driving goad, and had a wallet on his shoulder, and, yoking the patient necks of bulls beneath the yoke, he sowed the wheat-bearing furrow of Deo. And looking up he said to Zeus himself: "Fill the fields, lest I cast you, the bull of Europa, beneath the plough."

201. Marianus

On Eros crowned Where is that back-bent bow of yours, and the reeds that, shot from you, fix themselves in the very heart? Where are your wings? Where the much-paining torch? And why three garlands do you hold in your hands, and bear another on your head? — "Not from the common Cypris, stranger, nor from the earth am I, nor the offspring of woodland mirth; but I kindle in the pure mind of men the torch of good learning, and lead the soul up to heaven. And from the virtues I weave four crowns; from each of which bearing these, I am crowned first with that of wisdom."

202. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Do not call me, stranger, the one from Lebanon, the revel-lover who delights in the night-time talk of young men; I am a humble countryman from a neighbouring Nymph, urging on only the works of planting. Whence from the fruitful, dear vineyard four garlands of the Seasons crowned me, four in number.

203. Julianus

On the Eros of Praxiteles Bending his proud neck beneath our sandals, Praxiteles fashioned me with plundering hands. For Eros himself, who lies hidden within me, he forged in bronze, and gave to Phryne as a gift of love; and she again brought him to Eros; for it is lawful for lovers to bring Eros himself as a gift to Eros.

204. Simonides

On the same Praxiteles made exact the Eros that he suffered, drawing the original from his own heart, giving me to Phryne as the price of myself. And I breed love-charms no longer by shooting, but by being gazed upon.

205. Tullius Geminus

On the same In return for love, Praxiteles gave Eros, a god, to mortal Phryne, finding both his fee and a god. And she did not refuse the maker; for her heart feared lest the god take up allied arms in place of art. But she no longer dreads the Eros of Cypris, but the one from you, Praxiteles, knowing art to be his mother.

206. Leonidas

On the same The Thespians revere Eros as the only god from Cytherea, painted from no other original, but the one Praxiteles knew as a god; whom, gazing about Phryne, he gave as the ransom of his own longings.

207. Palladas

Eros is naked; for this he laughs and is gentle; for he has no bow nor fiery arrows; nor in vain does he hold in his hands a dolphin and a flower: for in the one he holds the earth, in the other the sea.

208. Gabrielius

On Eros sleeping in a bed of pepper Not even in slumber, nor breathless, nor at a feast is Eros free from his fire-sown sting.

209. Anonymous Epigrammatists

You who blow upon the brand to light your lamp, come, light it from my soul; for I am all aflame.

210. Plato

When we came to the deep-shaded grove, we found within the child of Cythera, like to purple apples. He had no quiver holding arrows, no curved bow; but these hung upon the well-leaved trees, and he himself, fettered in sleep among the rose-cups, slept smiling; and overhead the tawny bees sprinkled upon his sweet lips their wax-poured honey.

211. Statyllius Flaccus

On Eros sleeping You sleep, bringing sleepless cares upon mortals; you sleep, ah child of the baneful Foam-born, not lifting the fiery pine-torch, nor unguarded plucking the shaft from your counter-stretched bow. Let others take heart; but I, proud one, am afraid, lest even in your slumber you see some bitter dream of me.

212. Alpheus

On the same I shall snatch the fiery torch, Eros, from your hand, I shall strip the quiver that hangs about your shoulders, if truly you sleep, offspring of fire, and your men I lead to a little good order of the bow. But even so I fear you, schemer, lest you hide some plot against me, and even in sleep see a bitter dream.

213. Straton

Even if swift wings are stretched about your back, and Scythian arrow-points dart from your bow, I shall flee you, Eros, beneath the earth. But what good? For not even all-subduing Hades himself escaped your might.

214. Secundus

On statues of Loves See the spoil-loving Loves, see how upon their sturdy shoulders they bear the arms of the gods, the babes exulting: the drums and the thyrsus of Bromius, and the thunderbolt of Zeus, the shield of Enyalius and his fair-crested helmet, the well-bowed quiver of Phoebus, the trident of the Sea, and the club of the strong hands of Heracles. What more for men, when Eros has even taken the sky, and Cypris has plundered the arms of the immortals?

215. Philippus

Having despoiled Olympus, see how the Loves adorn themselves with the arms of the immortals, exulting in their spoils. They bear the bow of Phoebus, and the thunderbolt of Zeus, the weapon and helmet of Ares, the club of Heracles, and the club of the god, the three-barbed spear, and the thyrsus of Bacchus, the winged sandals of Hermes, the torches of Artemis. It is no burden for mortals to yield to the shafts of the Loves, to whom the gods have given the ornament of arms to hold.

216. Parmenion

On the statue of Hera Argive Polycleitus, who alone beheld Hera with his eyes and, having seen all that he saw, fashioned her, showed her beauty to mortals, as far as is lawful; but the forms hidden beneath her robe, unknown, are kept for Zeus.

217. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Calliope I am Calliope; and to Cyrus I gave my breast, who reared divine Homer, whence sweet Orpheus drank.

218. Joannes Barbucallus

The painter wished to draw Melpomene in the image, but, falling short, he painted Calliope.

219. Joannes Barbucallus

This image is yours, Polymnia, and yet it is also the Muse's; for over both there is one name and one likeness.

220. Antipater

On images of the Muses We three Muses stand here; one bears the pipes, one in her hands the lyre, and one the tortoise-shell. The one holds the lyre of Aristocles, the one of Ageladas the barytone, and the one of Canachas the hymn-singing reeds. But the one is mistress of the tone, the other the singer of the melody, and the other the inventor of wise harmony.

221. Theaetetus

On the Nemesis of the Athenians Me, a snow-white stone, from the ever-growing crag the Mede, having cut me with stone-cutting points, carried over the sea, that he might make of me a man's likeness, the token of his triumph over the Athenians. But when Marathon clashed back at the slaughtered Persians, and the ships sailed the watery ways on bloody streams, the noblest Athens carved me into Adrasteia, a deity opposed to overweening men. I weigh hopes against hope; and I am even now victory for the sons of Erechtheus, Nemesis for the Assyrians.

222. Parmenion

On the same Hoped by the Medes to be a trophy-bearing stone, I was changed in form, fittingly, into Nemesis, set up, a just goddess, on the banks of Rhamnus, a witness for Attica of victory and of wisdom.

223. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Nemesis Nemesis forewarns, by her cubit-rule and by her bridle, to do nothing beyond measure, nor to speak things unbridled.

224. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same I, Nemesis, hold a cubit-rule; for what reason, you will ask. I proclaim to all: nothing beyond the measure.

225. Arabius

On the statue of Pan One might almost have heard distinctly Pan piping, for the sculptor mingled breath into the figure; but, seeing wandering Echo flee, helpless, ever-shifting, he refused the useless note of the pipe.

226. Alcaeus

On the same Breathe, Pan, with your sweet lips the mountain-ranging Muse, breathe, delighting in the shepherd's reed, pouring melody from the tuneful pipe, and from the accompanying strain ring out, guiding the harmony of the word; and around you, to the rhythm's beat, let the inspired step be danced for these water-dwelling Nymphs.

227. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Here, cast down upon the green meadow, traveller, rest your soft limbs from your weary toil, where the pine, shaken by the breezes of Zephyrus, will charm you, as you listen to the cicadas' song; and the shepherd in the mountains, piping near the spring at midday, beneath the shade of a leafy plane-tree; and, fleeing the heat of the autumn Dog-star, you will cross the height in season. Heed Hermes, who tells you this.

228. Anyte

Stranger, rest your wearied limbs beneath the elm; sweetly the breeze murmurs in the green leaves; and drink the cool spring-water from the fountain; for to travellers this is a welcome rest in the hot heat.

229. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Pan This dearest one is poured forth from Zeus himself; and the cloud above bears witness. For cloud-gathering Zeus begot lord Hermes; and Hermes begot Pan the goat-driver.

230. Leonidas

Do not, traveller, drink here this warm water of the gully, full of mud from the sheep-pasture; but go a little beyond this heifer-grazed height, there, beside that shepherd's pine, and you will find, gurgling through the fair-fountained rock, a stream colder than the northern snow.

231. Anyte

a. Why, Pan the hunter, sitting in the lonely, shady wood, do you play upon this sweet-voiced reed? b. That over these dewy mountains my heifers may graze, plucking the fair-haired ears of corn.

232. Simonides

Me, the goat-footed Pan, the Arcadian, who am against the Medes, who am with the Athenians, Miltiades set up.

233. Theaetetus

On the same Wood-walker, lover of trees, husband of mountain-dwelling Echo, Pan, the watchman, the guardian of the well-horned flock, Pan the rough-shanked, the much-sowing, who, as a migrant, ran to the battle of the Assyrian spearmen, when Miltiades set me up, the Persian-driving comrade in arms, I stand, the guest-gift of an uncalled alliance. To others the citadels; but the Mede-slaying Marathon is shared by me and by the Marathon-fighters.

234. Philodemus

The stone holds three immortals; for the head clearly reveals Pan the goat-horned, the breast and belly Heracles, and the rest of the thighs and the shin fell to the lot of winged-footed Hermes. You will refuse, stranger, to sacrifice no more; for from your one victim we three deities have our portion.

235. Apollonides

I am a god of the countryside; why do you pour libations to me in golden cups, and pour the Italian wine of Bromius, and bind to the rock the round necks of bulls? Spare them; I do not delight in such sacrifices. I am Pan of the hillside, of plain wood, a feaster on lambs, and a drinker of the earthen cup of new wine.

236. Peritas

Here upon the dry-stone walls Deinomenes set up the wakeful Priapus, the guardian of his vegetables. But, thief, see how I am erect. "This," you ask, "for the sake of a few vegetables?" Of the few.

237. Tymnes

On the statue of Priapus I do my Priapic part to everything, even if it is Cronus; I make no distinction of any thief in any way here beside these garden-beds. "It is unseemly to say these things for the sake of vegetables and gourds," someone will say. It was unseemly; but I say it.

238. Pseudo-Lucianus

For form's sake Eutychides set me here, this Priapus, the guardian of dry vine-twigs; and I have a deep precipice round about me. Whoever comes, has nothing to steal but me, the guardian.

239. Apollonides

Anaxagoras set me up, the Priapus not upon his feet, but kneeling on both knees on the ground; Philomachus made me. But seeing fair Charito near me, seek no longer how I fell.

240. Philippus

a. The figs look ripe; if you would let me take a few. b. Touch not a single one. a. How angry Priapus is! b. You will say more, and go away empty. a. Yes, I beseech you. b. Give me; for I too am in want. a. Do you need anything from me, tell me? b. There is some law: give and take. a. And you, a god, in need of money? b. I love another thing. a. What is this? b. Eating my own figs, give me cheerfully the dried fig in return.

241. Marcus Argentarius

I am ripe. I know it too, traveller. No longer praise the fig, nor look at the bough nearby; I, Priapus, stand here looking very sharp, keeping the watch over the figs that befits me. But if only you touch the fig, you will give a fig in return; for equality of all is the most just.

242. Erycius

On the same How heavy, Priapus, and well-knotted, is this weapon, which you have poured forth, all of it, from your groin, ready for marriage; and a thirst for women holds you, my good fellow, and your whole soul swells with longings. But calm this swollen member, and hide it beneath a flowery cloak; for you dwell on no lonely mountain, but beside Helle's holy shore you tend Lampsacus.

243. Antistius

A field-guard I stand in rich-yielding fields, saving Phricon's hut and his plants, saying this to each one: "When you have laughed, seeing me and my equipment, go your own way. But if you trespass to what is unlawful, the hairy thing will be no help to you; we know how to pierce all men."

244. Agathias Scholasticus

On the image of a Satyr holding a pipe to his ear and as if listening By itself, little Satyr, does your reed send forth sound? Or why do you bend your ear and lead it to the pipe? And he, laughing, kept silent; perhaps he would have spoken, but he was held by the forgetfulness of his delight. For no wax stopped him; willingly he embraced silence, turning his whole heart to the business of the pipe.

245. Leontius Minotaurus

Dionysus, seeing the Satyr in such pain, and pitying him, made him of stone. But not even so did he cease from his heavy-burdened pains; for still he toils, even being stone, the wretched one.

246. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Either the Satyr crept beneath the bronze, or by art the bronze, compelled, was poured around the Satyr.

247. Neilus

On the image of a Satyr made of mosaic in Antioch

a. All Satyrs are mockers; but tell me, you too, why, looking at each one, do you pour out this laughter? b. Held by wonder I laugh, how, gathered from stone, piece by piece from here and there, I suddenly became a Satyr.

248. Plato

Diodorus put the Satyr to sleep, he did not carve him. If you prod him, you will wake him; the silver holds sleep.

249. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Beholding this fair image, Aphrodite, man, propitiate her, sitting near; and praise Glycera, daughter of Dionysius, who dedicated me beside the soft wave of the purple shore.

250. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Eros See how the winged one breaks the winged thunderbolt, showing that fire is stronger than fire, Eros.

251. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Who fashioned a winged Eros facing the winged Eros? Nemesis, warding off bow with bow, that he might suffer what he did; and the bold one, once fearless, weeps, having tasted the bitter shafts, and thrice spat into his deep bosom. Ah, a great marvel: one shall kindle fire with fire; Eros has touched Eros.

252. Anonymous Epigrammatists

I too am of Cypris' blood; my mother bade me bear bow and wings against my brother.

253. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Artemis

a. Artemis, where is your bow, and the quiver at your neck? And where the buskin of your Lycastian shoes, and the brooch wrought of gold, and the purple robe that winds down to the back of your knee? b. Those I arm myself with for the hunt; but to the sacrifices I go just as I am, meeting the holy offerings.

254. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Hermes A holy heap of stone the passers-by poured up for me, Hermes; and in return for the little I felt for them no great gratitude, but only that the rest of the way to the fountain of Aex I reckon seven stades.

255. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Traveller, do not creep up to the vine-twigs, nor to the apples, nor where the medlars are; but there, toward the rushes, pass by, that you may break nothing of these, nor pluck off what with toil the planter Midon has won, who set me here too; and if you do not heed me, you will know Hermes, how I requite the wicked.

256. Anonymous Epigrammatists

I hold a rugged and lonely spot, traveller; not I, but Archelochus who set me here is to blame. For you did not rush as a mountain-lover, nor a hilltop-dweller, but rather, sir, content with the footpaths. And Archelochus, being himself a lover of solitude and neighbourless, O passer-by, set me too to dwell beside him so.

257. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Dionysus From the fire, O Dionysus, behold, a second time in bronze you have appeared; Myron has found another birth for you.

258. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Pan At the fire-offering of Dictynna's shrine the Cretan set me up in bronze, Pan the goat-hooved. I have a skin, and a double hare-club; and from a rocky cave I stretch a double gaze toward the mountain.

259. Anonymous Epigrammatists

From Parian stone the Athenians set me up on the height of Pallas' city, Pan the trophy-bearer.

260. Anonymous Epigrammatists

If I, Priapus, see you set your feet near the vegetables, I will strip you bare, thief, on the very garden-bed. "It is shameful to do this work," you will say; I know it myself, a god; but I was set up, you should know, for this shameful purpose.

261. Leonidas

By both roads I stand, Priapus, a guardian, my club raised straight up from my thighs. For Theocritus set me up to be faithful; but far off go, thief, lest you weep when you take my vein.

262. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The goat-footed one, who lifts the wine-skin, and the laughing Nymphs, of Praxiteles, and the fair Danaë. All of white marble, and the work of supremely skilful hands. Momus himself will declare: "Father Zeus, this wisdom is unmixed."

263. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Nemesis Before, a stone, the Persians brought me here, that they might set up a trophy of victory; but now I am Nemesis. And I stand for both, a trophy of victory for the Greeks, and for the Persians the nemesis of the war.

264. Anonymous Epigrammatists

To Isis the fruit-bearer, mother of the corn-ear, of countless forms, into the stone basket, far from the toilsome ploughs, the fruits go of their own accord to their mother.

264a. Anonymous Epigrammatists

To the Nymphs this statue; and the place is their care. Yes, may it be their care, as the streams of the springs flow undying.

265. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Momus Who fashioned with blameless hands all-mourning and thrice-wretched Momus, who grieves over good things? How, like an old man cast upon the ground, as though living, he rests from his griefs, his limbs weighed down. The two-rowed deadly furrow of his teeth reveals it, gnashing at the good fortunes of his neighbours, and the shrivelled weight of his frame; with one hand he props his bare temple, casting it on his aged palm, and with the other, grinning, he leans his staff against the ground, dumbly hateful toward the soulless stone.

266. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the same Waste away from your wretched nails, all-devouring Momus, waste away, gnashing your venom-shooting jaws. The stretched sinews reveal you, and the veins of your joints, and the empty, soul-failing strength of your flesh, and the hair bristling about your shrivelled temples. . . . So who by art wrought you, the living bane of a man, leaving not even room for your biting mouth?

267. Synesius

On the image of Hippocrates

a. Whence is he who set it up? b. A Byzantine. a. And his name? b. Eusebius. a. And you, who are you? b. Hippocrates of Cos. a. Why has he painted you? b. For the sake of words: the city to him, in return for the pencils' work upon me, has given the honour. a. And why did he not paint his own likeness? b. Because, honouring us instead of himself, he has the greater glory.

268. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Either Paean painted your voice, Hippocrates, or you are the witness of his healing art.

269. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This man opened the hidden paths of healing, the Paean of mortals, Hippocrates of Cos.

270. Magnus

On the image of Galen There was a time, Galen, when through you the earth received mortals but reared immortals, and the halls of much-wept Acheron were widowed, forced by your healing hand.

271. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Sosander the horse-doctor Healer of men, Hippocrates, but of horses too, Sosander, knower of the hidden healing art, either change your craft, or your name; and let neither be called from the craft of which the other is master.

272. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of Iamblichus the physician Iamblichus, sweet among all, who came to old age pure of the converse of Cypris; plying the works of healing, and teaching wisdom, he never stretched out his hands to unholy gains.

273. Crinagoras

On the image of Praxagoras the physician The son of Phoebus himself, anointing his hand with the all-healer, laid upon your breast, Praxagoras, the grief-soothing knowledge of his art. Therefore all the pains that arise from long fevers, and whatever sufficient remedies to lay upon flesh that is cut, you know from gentle Epione. If such healers had availed mortals, the corpse-laden ferry would not have been rowed across.

274. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Oribasius the physician This great healer of the emperor Julian, worthy of his piety, divine Oribasius. For like a bee he had a wise mind, gathering from here and there the flowers of the physicians of old.

275. Posidippus

On the statue of Opportunity

a. Who and whence is the sculptor? b. From Sicyon. a. And his name? b. Lysippus. a. And who are you? b. Opportunity, the all-subduer. a. Why do you walk on tiptoe? b. I am ever running. a. And why have you winged feet, two of them? b. I fly with the wind. a. And why do you carry a razor in your right hand? b. A sign to men that I am sharper than any edge. a. And your hair, why over your face? b. For him who meets me to seize. a. By Zeus, and why is the back of your head bald? b. Because once I have run past on my winged feet, no one, however he longs, shall catch me from behind. a. For what reason did the craftsman fashion you? b. For your sake, stranger; and at the doors he set me as a lesson.

276. Bianor

Periander set up this image of Arion, and of the sea-dolphin that swam beside the perishing man. And the tale tells of Arion: "We are slain by men, but saved by fishes."

277. Paulus Silentiarius

On the image of a girl harper in Byzantium The pencil scarcely showed your beauty; would it had power to make also the sweet melody of your clear-singing mouth, that in our eyes and ears alike, from your face and from your lyre-playing, we might be equally charmed.

278. Paulus Silentiarius

On the image of Maria the harp-singer She has the plectrum of the harp, and she has also the plectrum of love; and with both she strikes both the heart and the lyre. Wretched are they whose heart she holds unbending; but on whom she nods, this one is another Anchises, that one another Adonis. And if you wish, stranger, to hear her far-famed name and homeland too: from Pharos, Maria.

279. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the singing stone of the harper in Megara Remember me, the sounding stone, as you pass by, the Nisaean; for when Alcathous was building the tower, then Phoebus lifted on his shoulder the building-stone, laying down his Lycorean lyre. Hence I am a lyre-singer; and striking me with a small pebble, take the proof of my boast.

280. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On a bath With the wealth of Agathon the people of Tegea built this bath here, a wonder even for those to come.

281. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On a bath in Prainetus The present bath was not a bath before, but a place of refuse, a spot for excrement; but now it surpasses in splendour the delightful things that are praised and pleasing to all. For Alexander, priest of the Nicaeans, a star of glorious wisdom, built it with his own money and at his own expense.

282. Palladas

We Victories are here, the laughing maidens, bringing victories to the city that loves good men. Those who love the city painted us, stamping us in the forms that befit Victories.

283. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of a dancing-girl The tenth of the Muses, Rhodocleia the fourth of the Graces, the delight of men, the splendour of the city. Her eye and her wind-swift feet, and the wise fingers of the Graces, are greater than the Muses and the Graces.

284. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of another dancing-girl in the Sosthenium I am Helladia the Byzantine, and here I stood, where in spring the people hold the dance, where the land is divided by the strait; for both shores praised our dancing.

285. Leontius Minotaurus

On the gilded image of a harp-girl No one cast gold upon Anthousa, but the son of Cronus himself poured himself about her, as once upon Danaë; but he did not approach her body, since modesty took hold of his mind, lest unwillingly he mingle with one of the Muses.

286. Leontius Minotaurus

In the dance the female nature prevails; yield, you youths; the Muse and Helladia made this law: the one, because she first invented the rhythms of movement, the other, because she reached the summit of the art.

287. Leontius Minotaurus

Someone sang of Hector, a new strain; and Helladia, having put on a cloak, answered to the strain. And there was longing and dread at the dances of Enyo; for with manly strength she mingled female grace.

288. Leontius Minotaurus

On the image of Libania the dancing-girl You have the name of frankincense, the body of the Graces, the ways of Persuasion, maiden, and the cestus of the Paphian below your flanks. But in the dances, like nimble Eros, you sport, drawing all to you by beauty and by art.

289. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Xenophon of Smyrna We thought we saw Iobacchus himself, when at the Lenaea the old man led the young men's dance-frenzy, and the youthful dances of Cadmus, and the woodland messenger, the track-following of the joyous revel-bands, and Agave crying euoi in her son's blood, raging. Ah, the divine acting of the man!

290. Antipater

On the statue of Pylades the dancer He put on the reveller-god himself, when he led the Bacchants from Thebes to the Italian stage, Pylades, a sweet terror to men, who, dancing the unmixed deity, filled all the city. Thebes knows him who came from the fire; but heavenly is this man, brought to birth by his all-voiced hands.

291. Anyte

To shaggy-haired Pan and the Nymphs of the fold Theudotus the shepherd set this gift beneath the peak, because, when greatly wearied by the parching summer, they refreshed him, holding out honey-sweet water with their hands.

292. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the two books of Homer Son of Meles, Homer, for you set glory for all Hellas and for your homeland Colophon for ever, and you begot these daughters with your godlike soul, writing two pages from your breast; the one sings the much-wandering return of Odysseus, the other the Iliac war of the sons of Dardanus.

293. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Who is he that engraved the war of Troy on his pages, or who the long wandering of the son of Laertes? I find no clear name, no city. Heavenly Zeus, does Homer ever hold the glory of your verses?

294. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Of what homeland shall we record Homer a citizen, that man, to whom all cities stretch out their hands? Or is that unknown, and did the hero, equal to the immortals, leave to the Muses his country and his lineage?

295. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The soil of Smyrna did not bear divine Homer, nor Colophon, the star of luxurious Ionia, nor Chios, nor fruitful Egypt, nor holy Cyprus, nor the rugged island, the home of the son of Laertes, nor Argos of Danaus, nor Cyclopean Mycenae, nor the city of the ancient-born sons of Cecrops. For he was no work of earth; but from the sky the Muses sent him, that he might bring longed-for gifts to mortals.

296. Antipater

Some say Colophon was your nurse, Homer, some fair Smyrna, some name Chios, some Ios, some cried out well-allotted Salamis, some too Thessaly, mother of the Lapiths; others proclaimed one nurse, others another. But if I must declare openly the wise prophecies of Phoebus, great heaven is your homeland, and from no mortal mother were you born, but you came of mother Calliope.

297. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Seven cities contend over the root of Homer: Cyme, Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Pylos, Argos, Athens.

298. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Seven cities strove over the wise root of Homer: Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Ithaca, Pylos, Argos, Athens.

299. Anonymous Epigrammatists

a. Were you born in Chios? b. I say not. a. What then, of Smyrna? b. I deny it. a. And is Cyme or Colophon your homeland, Homer? b. Neither. a. Is Salamis your city? b. Not from her either was I born. a. But tell yourself where you were born. b. I will not say. a. Why so? b. I am persuaded that, if I spoke the truth, I should make the other cities hateful to me.

300. Anonymous Epigrammatists

For ever, Homer, and out of every age you are sung, having lifted up the glory of the heavenly Muse. For you sang the wrath of Achilles, you sang the whirling confusion of the Achaeans' ships upon the sea, and Odysseus of crafty counsel, worn with his wanderings, whose bed Penelope gladly beheld.

301. Anonymous Epigrammatists

If Homer is a god, let him be revered among the immortals; but if again he is not a god, let him be thought a god.

302. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Nature found him, scarcely found him; and giving him birth she ceased from her toils, turning her whole effort to Homer alone.

303. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Who is ignorant of the great voice of Homer? What land, what sea does not know the battle of the Achaeans? The people of the Cimmerians, deprived of the all-seeing radiance of the sun, heard the name of Troy; Atlas heard it, holding the broad-breasted heaven laid upon his shoulders.

304. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Passing through the scorched land, Homer, you made the unsacked cities envious.

305. Antipater

On the image of Pindar As much as the trumpet outsounds the bone pipes, so much above all others did your lyre cry out; and not in vain did that swarm fashion about your soft lips, Pindar, the wax-bound honey. Witness is the Maenalian horned god, who sang a hymn of yours, and forgot his pastoral reeds.

306. Leonidas

On Anacreon Behold old Anacreon, soaked deep in wine, upon the rounded, twisting stone, how the old man, with moist, lustful eyes, drags his cloak down even to his ankles; and of his two shoes he has lost the one, like a drunkard, but on the other he fits his shrivelled foot. He sings either of lovely Bathyllus, or of Megistes, swinging in his hand the lovesick lyre. But, father Dionysus, guard him; for it is not fitting that a servant of Bacchus should fall from Bacchus.

307. Leonidas

See how the old man Anacreon, from drink, is tripped up, and his cloak drags down to his limbs; and of his slippers the one he still keeps, but the other he has lost. And he sings, plucking the tortoise-shell, of either Bathyllus, or fair Megistes. Guard the old man, Bacchus, lest he fall.

308. Eugenes

Him who was reared with the honey-sweet Desires, Lyaeus, Anacreon, the Teian swan, you tripped with the liquid care of nectar. For his sidelong glance, and the hem of his cloak cast about his ankles, and the single sandal prove his drunkenness; but the lyre even so gathers up its hymn to the Loves. Keep the old man from falling, Euius.

309. Anonymous Epigrammatists

You behold me, the Teian, insatiable of both loves, an old man, equal to boys, equal in pleasing girls; my eye weighed down with Bromius, and from the revels the sweet signs of sleepless all-night festivals.

310. Damocharis

On the image of Sappho Nature the sculptress herself gave you to fashion the Mytilenean Pierian, O painter. The clear brightness wells up in her eyes; this plainly shows an imagination full of well-aimed thought. The flesh, by itself smooth and not over-wrought, shows the simplicity she revealed. And mingled from a cheerful and a thoughtful face, she announces the Muse joined with Cypris.

311. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the Halieutica of Oppian Oppian, gathering the sea-faring tribes into his pages, set before all young men a boundless feast.

312. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Georgius Queen Calliope, seeing Georgius, said: "This is my true-born child, not the son of Cronus."

313. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the statue of Ptolemy the orator in Antioch

a. Image, who set you up? b. Words. a. Whose are you? b. Ptolemy's. a. Which one? b. The Cretan's. a. For what? b. In return for virtue. a. Of what kind? b. Of every kind. a. Toward whom? b. Toward pleaders. a. And wood suffices? b. Yes; it accepts no gold.

314. Arabius

The city would have given Longinus a golden image, had not lady Justice turned away the gold.

315. Thomas

Of rhetoric I love three stars, because they alone of all orators are the best: I love your labours, Demosthenes; and I am much both a lover of Aristides and a lover of Thucydides.

316. Michaelius

On the image of Agathias Scholasticus The city, admiring the rhythm of the twofold eloquence of Agathias the orator and verse-singer, fulfilled, like a mother for her son, and gave this image, a witness both of love and of wisdom; and his father Memnonius, and his brother with him, she set up, tokens of a most reverend lineage.

317. Palladas

Seeing Gessius deaf and voiceless, whether he is stone, Delian, prophesy: who, or whose, is this stone.

318. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of an untalented orator Who painted you, the speechless, in the likeness of an orator? You are silent, you do not speak; nothing is more like.

319. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Marinus the orator Images are a dear honour for men; but to Marinus an insult, since the unfitness of his form is exposed.

320. Anonymous Epigrammatists

[On the statue of Aristides the orator Aristides ended the Ionian cities' strife, which before they held over the lineage of Homer. For all the cities say: "Smyrna bore divine Homer, she who also gave birth to Aristides the orator."

321. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This is the image of Callistus the orator; and you who come past it, pour libation to Hermes the god of speech.

322. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Phyrmus set up me, Phyrmus, the torch-bearer the torch-bearer, the son the orator the father the orator.

323. Mesomedes

The workman, having struck off the glass, carried it; and into the fire he put the lump, like strong iron; and the glass, like wax, poured itself out, kindled by the all-devouring flames; and it was a marvel for mortals to see the molten stream flowing from the fire, and the workman trembling, lest, falling, it should shatter. And into the points of the double pincers' jaws he set the lump.

324. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The pencil was silver when I came from the fire and was made, but in your hands I become golden too. Thus to you, O graceful Leontion, Athena well gave the heights of art, and Cypris well of beauty.

325. Julianus

On the statue of Pythagoras Not the Pythagoras who unfolds the cunning nature of numbers did the sculptor wish to make, but the one in prudent silence; and perhaps a voice he hides within, and is able to bestow even this.

326. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Pythagoras This is Pythagoras himself, whom the painter, with a voice, you would have seen, if Pythagoras had wished to speak.

327. Joannes Barbucallus

How wise the painter was; he put no life into the wax, granting this to the soul of Socrates.

328. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Plato, teaching the mind to walk the upper air, pours forth the discourses of things beyond the mind.

329. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On the image of Aristotle This is Aristotle, measuring the earth and the vault of the stars.

330. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The mind and the soul of Aristotle; one likeness of both.

331. Agathias Scholasticus

On the image of Plutarch Your much-famed likeness the sons of the mighty Ausonians set up, Plutarch of Chaeronea, because in parallel lives you matched the best of the Greeks with the warlike dwellers of Rome. But a life parallel to your life, another, not even you could write; for you have no equal.

332. Agathias Scholasticus

On the image of Aesop Well done, old Lysippus, Sicyonian sculptor, that you set up the likeness of Aesop the Samian before the Seven Sages; for those laid down compulsion, not persuasion, in their sayings, but he, speaking timely things with wise tales and fables, playing in earnest, persuades men to be prudent. The rough exhortation is to be shunned; but the Samian's sweet fable has a fair allurement.

333. Antiphilus

The wallet and the cloak and the barley-cake soaked in water, and the staff propped before the feet, and the cup of earthenware, were enough measures of life for the wise dog; and even in these there was something more: for, seeing a peasant draw drink in his hollow hands, he said: "Why did I in vain burden myself with you, potsherd?"

334. Antiphilus

Even bronze grows old with time; but your glory all eternity, Diogenes, shall not destroy; since you alone showed mortals the self-sufficient fame of life, and the lightest path of living.

Inscriptions on the statues of the athletes in the Hippodrome of Constantinople.

335. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Porphyrius Porphyrius, son of Calchas, the emperor and the people raise up, weighed down with many well-earned crowns, among all charioteers the youngest, yet the best, who bore off so great a might of victory. It would have befitted him to stand in a golden statue, not in bronze, this man, like to the others.

336. Anonymous Epigrammatists

In four ways before, in factions divided, the people cried out, longing for Porphyrius, son of Calchas; but he, having placed on the right hand of the royal seat the reins and the horseman's belt, from there urging on, drives; and in the midst of his contests he was set in bronze, with his first down upon his cheek. And if the prize of years came too swiftly, yet for his victories it came late, and scarcely, after many crowns.

337. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Cytherea loved Anchises, and Selene Endymion; and now perhaps Victory loves Porphyrius, who, ever exchanging his own horses and those of his like-minded rival, one team for another, often wreathed his head with day-long contests, without toiling, his comrade alone following.

338. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This prize, Porphyrius, Victory gave to you a youth, which time grants to others late and scarcely, when grey; for, numbering your much-crowned toils, she found them greater than those of aged charioteers. What more, since the people of your rivals themselves, shouting, acclaimed your glory in admiration? Blessed is the wholly free race of the Blues, to whom the great emperor nodded that they should have you as a gift.

339. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The valiant the valiant, the wise the wise, the son of Victory, the children of Victory, Porphyrius, the Blues set up; for, exchanging his colts on both sides, he glories in victories, with those he gave and those he took.

340. Anonymous Epigrammatists

To the others when they ceased, but to Porphyrius alone while still contending, the emperor gave this prize. For often, having won, he gave his swift horses away, and took those of his rivals, and was crowned again. Hence among the Greens was endless strife, hence the cry: "Who will delight both Blues and Greens, O Lord?"

341. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The votes of all, while I was still driving, set me, Porphyrius, near to Victory. For my own people asked the prize; but the others sought to have me again, renouncing their strife. And in skill I surpass the charioteers, to whom, offering even horses better than theirs, I showed them inferior.

342. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Porphyrius himself the sculptor wrought exactly in bronze, fashioning him as if breathing. But who shall wrought his grace, his contests, his god-given skill of art, and his victory never exchanged?

343. Anonymous Epigrammatists

In a bronze image the bronze charioteer the lord of the Ausonians set up as victor, as wise, as beloved of the Blues; but for the victories of Porphyrius we shall see many images.

344. Anonymous Epigrammatists

a. Who are you, dear youth, with the first edge of beard upon your cheek? b. Stranger, Porphyrius. a. What is your homeland? b. Libya. a. And who has honoured you now? b. The emperor, for my horsemanship. a. Who is the witness? b. The people of the Blues. a. It would have befitted you to have Lysippus as witness of so great a victory, Porphyrius, a sculptor of knowledge.

345. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Near to Victory and to King Alexander you stood, gathering the glories of both.

346. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The eye of Fortune passes over all things; but upon the toils of Porphyrius alone the eye of Fortune is drawn.

347. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Admiring your rolling whip and your shield, the people wished to set you up twofold, as was right, a mighty charioteer and a champion; but the bronze was not poured in two, fashioning your soul.

348. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Porphyrius the charioteer, for what reason did the people, who hold the first place, set him up of those they set up? The emperor himself proclaimed it. What more, that he honours him for his goodwill, for his horsemanship?

349. Anonymous Epigrammatists

To Porphyrius, after his contests, a prize worthy of his deeds the lord gave, granting this favour to the Greens. For often the people, bringing forth more excellent deeds, praised Calliopas, and again Porphyrius. This is a double name, which the bronze hero won, this man, who took the glory of valour with his four-horse teams.

350. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Not only in the race-courses did lady Victory crown you, but also in wars she showed you a prize-winner, when the emperor warred, having the Greens as his helpers, against the savage, raging royal foe, and the dread tyrant fell, when Rome was perishing then, and the day of Ausonian freedom came. Therefore to them the emperor gave their prize, as before they had, and your likeness art carved, Porphyrius.

351. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The blameless heralds of your contests are even the crowns from your rivals, Porphyrius. For all in the race-courses, by turns, you ever confound, your rival craftsmen, the plaything of your horsemanship. Therefore you alone have found this strange privilege, a bronze image among both peoples.

352. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The sculptor made bronze like the charioteer; would that he had also wrought the mass of his art, the mass together and the beauty; which Nature, having borne it late, swore: "I cannot be in labour with it a second time." She swore beneath truthful lips; for to Porphyrius, first and alone, she gave all grace.

353. Anonymous Epigrammatists

If envy would be still, and men would judge the contests, all are witnesses of the toils of Porphyrius; yes, perhaps they would say, having numbered his contests: "This is a small prize for so many labours." For all that ever adorns charioteers, divided, gathered into one, so great did he appear.

354. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Reverencing you in bronze, thrice-longed-for one, the city honours you; for it wished gold, but it looked to Nemesis. And if the right-minded people of the Greens does not cease singing your customary victory, Porphyrius, all your statues are breathing; and superfluous even is gold that comes into rivalry with these.

355. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Not yet, for your toils, did Fortune give you prizes worthy of victory; for your victories are greater than your good fortune. But may you abide in the first, steadfast and better place, melting the envious heart of your enemies, who, ever seeing your victorious whip, ever blame their own folly.

356. Anonymous Epigrammatists

For others the pretext of prizes is time; but those who are judged by victories do not need grey hair, but valour, whence boasting is kindled. One among such, Porphyrius, won the splendour of gifts twice, boasting not of decades of years, but of hundreds of victories, many, and all of them kinsfolk of the Graces.

357. Leontius Minotaurus

Cytherea loved Anchises, and Selene Endymion, so the men of old tell in their tales. But now a new tale shall be sung, how perhaps Victory loved the eyes and the chariots of Porphyrius.

358. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Calliopas While a youth you conquer the elder, and an old man the young, the goading drivers of prize-winning four-horse teams. Having completed six decades of years, a statue for your victories you won, Calliopas, by the nod of the sovereignty, that your glory might remain even afterwards. Would that for you, as your glory is immortal, your body too were immortal.

359. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This bronze likeness of your form, Calliopas, of holy shape, your driver Victory set up, because, an old man, you conquered the lusty in horse-taming strength, and the aged you, being young, in skill. Hence the free-born people of the Blues fixed for you two prizes, the one of art, the other of strength.

360. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Your old age outran your youth in victories, and you prevail over all, always, Calliopas. Hence the emperor and the free people again raise this prize, a memorial of wisdom and of manhood.

361. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This, theatre-rouser, is your likeness, which the swarm of conspicuous crowns raises for you, Calliopas. For neither did a charioteer deceive you, nor with the bridle did the hard-mouthed horse's jaw disobey your reins. You alone win the prize of victory. Truly among all you have the repute of leaving the contests' prizes to others.

362. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Calliopas of famous toils, what more for you, that the emperor honours your labours with a bronze-wrought image, the people of countless voices, the whole city? When even the hand of your enemies itself assented to your toils.

363. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Faustinus The mind, mother of prizes well won, not the strength of youth, not the speed of horsemanship, not the season of good fortune. Be gracious, Faustinus, your mind, which all these things follow, with which Victory is an immortal companion.

364. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Before, when you were young, Faustinus, the mind of the old feared you; now, being old, the strength of the young shudders at you. And second to none did your toil find all things, which honours you an old man among youths, and among the old a youth.

365. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Constantine Since Constantine went down within the house of Hades, the race-course was filled with the gloom of horsemanship, and delight forsook the spectators; nor in the streets can those dear contentions be seen.

366. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Your image, Constantine, the citizens set up, mourning, the delight of their soul being departed. When the people set the seal of glory upon you, dead, the emperor too, after your death, remembered your toils; for which the mocking art of horsemanship perished, all of it ceasing in you, and having begun in you.

367. Anonymous Epigrammatists

While still you lived, Constantine, the city once judged a bronze image a small prize; for all the people knew how many, for the glory of victory, ever contending, you bound about your head as crowns. But when you died, longing, it set up this dear likeness of you, that even for those to come it might keep the memory of your toils.

368. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The Blues, ever opposed to the Greens, cried out together to one bound of concord, that you, Constantine, might receive a funeral boast, sung by all, pleasing to all.

369. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Of the East and the West, the South and the North your high-shining course encircles the bounds, imperishable Constantine. And let no one say you have died; for not even Hades lays hold of the unconquered.

370. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Near to his own lineage he won this image; for it befitted three in one to hold a place, who in the race-courses found a like glory of valour, taking an equal swarm of countless crowns.

371. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The city set up Constantine, son of Faustinus, neighbour by lineage, but greater than charioteers. For long contending he did not fail, but upon a victory he ceased, having begun before with victory too, whom, when he was still a boy, the older charioteers, having crowned in the race-courses, set as judge of the games.

372. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This to you, Constantine, your nurse Victory gave, following you from childhood through all your years. For having completed five decades of years in the race-courses, you found yourself neither equalled nor a little behind. But even as a boy and beardless you conquered men, and your equals when grown, and the young when old.

373. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The city wished Constantine to drive forever; it wished it, but to its longing Nature did not assent. Hence this his statue found a consolation for their loves, that forgetfulness and time might not enfold him, but love might remain for those who long, and emulation for the drivers, and ornament for the race-courses, and a tale for those to come. And someone, seeing afterwards lesser charioteers, shall call blessed the former generation, which saw him.

374. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Twenty-five prizes Constantine alone took in a single dawn, and exchanged his horses with his rivals; and taking those whom before he conquered, with these same he again took twenty-one victories. Often strife of both factions fell upon the people, which should have him; and to him they gave the verdict, from two robes.

375. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Awake, Constantine; why do you sleep a bronze sleep? The people long for your chariots in the race-courses, and the charioteers, lacking your teaching, sit most like to orphaned children.

376. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Uranius Alone excelling among both peoples, Uranius won glory from both, while still driving. And the prize came to him first from the Greens, beside whom he has a neighbouring place. They too, when he had ceased from the race-course, led him again to the chariots, mindful of his former victory.

377. Anonymous Epigrammatists

When he had ceased from the race-courses upon a glorious victory, the emperor again set Uranius upon the prize-winning chariots, bestowing on the people a favour; for the city does not long for Uranius apart from contests. Therefore, driving a second time, both of his last victory and of his former, it set him up in admiration.

378. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Uranius has Nicaea near, and younger Rome, of the one being a son, in the other winning glory. And he conquers on both sides, since he was ambidextrous both this way and that, to run ahead or to drive past. Therefore in golden metal too they inscribed him, in the most glorious of possessions a glorious charioteer.

379. Thomas

On Anastasius The bold charioteer, forgetful of the chariot's contests, Anastasius, the ground here holds him lying, who bound on so many crowns before, as others of the charioteers have seen days of racing.

380. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Porphyrius, of the Blue faction Having mastered every charioteer on earth, he was fitly raised to run toward the upper air, Porphyrius, the wonder of the people of the Blues. For this man, conquering every charioteer on earth, rises up, that he may run even with the sun.

381. Anonymous Epigrammatists

The first down blooming on him, this Porphyrius, son of Calchas, drew the Blue reins. And I am amazed how some hand paints living horses of his. For if it strike again, I think, it will run to find victory once more.

382. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Faustinus, of the Green faction Behold the play of the architect of the building; for if it had not been roofed with a strong cover, toward the heavens Faustinus would have risen, running as though alive with his horses, once the glory of the Greens. Lift off the roof, and he reaches the upper air.

383. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This is Faustinus, the former charioteer, whom the people of the Green faction, finding him, knew nothing at all of defeat in the race. For he was an old man, as you see; but his strength was that of some youth, in no way at all defeated.

384. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Constantine, charioteer of the Whites Constantine, drawing the reins of the White, if he had not been pent in by the strength of the building, would have conquered the three, first reaching the upper air. Without breath you have seen one who runs the air; art persuades me to behold this man breathing.

385. Anonymous Epigrammatists

Constantine he was; but in the days of old he drew nimbly the four-horse team of white colour. But since Charon snatched this man away, the light of the contest of horse-races set, and all the delight of the theatre, and the art.

386. Anonymous Epigrammatists

On Julian, charioteer of the Reds The hand knows how to beget those long since dead. For Julian too is as strong as of old, drawing and back-drawing the reins of the Red; and now, painted, he stands on high with his chariot; the gesture and the hand remain; give him the turning-post.

387. Anonymous Epigrammatists

This Julian, holding the chariot of the Red, conquered his opponents in the race. But if the painter had granted him also the grace of breath, he is ready, a charioteer once more, both to come first, and to take even the crown.

388. Julianus

Once, weaving a garland, I found Eros among the roses; and gripping him by the wings, I dipped him into the wine. And taking him, I drank him down; and now within my limbs he tickles me with his wings.