Nic. Another and another still succeeds,
And all are sellers! sure the race must be
Extinct!
Dem. One yet is left whose craft may stir
Your wonder.
Nic.——What his name?
Dem.————————Wou’dst learn?
Nic.–——————————————Aye marry.
Dem. I give it to thee then: the man that ruins
The Paphlagonian is—a sausage–seller.
Mitchell, p. 170–2.
A person exercising this lofty vocation is now seen approaching and is eagerly hailed, as sent at this moment by the especial favour of the gods. Their fated deliverer, however, is a modest man, and cannot easily be led to believe the high destiny that awaits him. I am a sausage–seller, he says; how should I become a man? Demosthenes assures him that the qualities belonging to his profession—impudence and cheating—are precisely those to which his greatness is to be owing: but still failing to overcome his scruples, he is led to suspect the sausage–seller of the unpardonable fault of having some taint of gentility in his extraction. Satisfied on this point, he proceeds to expound the oracles. The incipient statesman yields to their predictions, and readily receives instructions for his public life. “The oracles indeed do flatter me; but I wonder how I shall be able to take charge of the people.” The answer is addressed to his professional experience.
Dem. Nought easier: model you upon your trade.
Deal with the people as with sausages—
Twist, implicate, embroil; nothing will hurt
So you but make your court to Demus, cheating
And soothing him with terms of kitchen science;
All other public talents are your own:
Your voice is strong, your liver white, and you are
O’ the market—say, could Diffidence ask more
To claim the reins of state?
Mitchell, p. 180.