By means of her, my master, I no more
Can form a notion of, than of the good
Of Plato.
B. Listen now.
And in his Dexidemides he speaks thus:—
O Plato! how your learning is confined
To gloomy looks, and wrinkling up your brows,
Like any cockle.
Cratinas in his Pseudypobolimæus, says:—
You clearly are a man, endued with sense,