King Nicander I (2)

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The King and a fool on Society, Great Place, and the Individual

NICANDER:

Nicander, render’d his self, could find all Sparta some pleasure and minister a gash or two; but, well-a-day, commanded of a chiefer principal, the faecal wrack of society, these our barbarous Lacedaemonids, to contrary himself, in administering the polity, crosses his conscience thus; as oftest are men suited till they don office, and wear their honor; which awestriking them, transmogrifies quite! This is good man Service bow’d beneath a bawd, or Humbleness hoisted high to lewd clouds; like a band of gold on a foul hand, itself some worth, but besmirch’d being put on!

 

CRISPBRAIN:

Marry, sire, the sheepherder sogged in lanichol, haled eftsoon from forth his smoky sty sudden, with rod to graze all yokelry withal, and sudden gush of blood to scion the court, say, thus ensupremed, might soon strain and transmute to a lord more loft than the siege of Mytilene, before they themselves which bred up him on hard palms! And there no clamor will ruff the popinjay at his eye of conscience as you seize a gourmand at the morsure; nipp’d himself in the mean like a pavilion ‘twixt girdle and collet engraff’d, or a parr betwixt fry and smolt trouted; — that, a weak piece of flesh mums up not the revoltive spirit more less likely than lowliness long captains the pridefully inclin’d! Rather wanting now his pomp, he is in the world what shekels in a swinery!

 

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