Gorg. Most wise man, look to it that by chance you don’t slip through ignorance into some foolish word or deed, or into something boorish, by which you would lose that name of being educated in the best manner.
Flex. What! is that name so lightly lost by you?
Gorg. Even through single words, with the single bending of the knee, with a single inclination of the head.
Flex. Ah! you have matters too delicate and feeble with you—but with us we have much more robust and vigorous standards!
Gorg. Our judgments are like our bodies, which can put up with no tripping.
Flex. On the contrary, as is easily seen, it is your bodies, rather than your minds, which can bear labour.
Gorg. Perhaps you don’t know who it is whom you call son and friend.
Flex. Are not these honourable names, and full of benevolence?
Gorg. Full of benevolence, perhaps, which we don’t count much of, but not of dignity and respect, which we seek as being important. For this gentleman is not accustomed to be called “friend.” And don’t you understand that he has the prefix of “sir” (domine) when he is addressed, and that he has a retinue of varied-coloured liveried men? Have you not further noticed that there were so many wax-tapers, so many badges of honour, so many mourners at the parental ceremonies of his grandfather’s funeral?
Flex. What then? Do you aim at being a lord over everybody and to have no friends?