Gran. How is hee furnished to flie? Hath he feathers? 10
Manes. Thou art an asse! Capons, geese, and owles, have feathers. He hath found Dedalus old waxen wings,[910] and hath beene peecing them this moneth, he is so broad in the shoulders. O, you shall see him cut the ayre even like a tortoys!
Sol. Me thinkes so wise a man should not bee so mad; his body 15 must needs be too heavie.
Manes. Why, hee hath eaten nothing this seven night but corke and feathers.
Psyllus [aside]. Touch him,[911] Manes.
Manes. Hee is so light that hee can scarce keepe him from flying 20 at midnight.
Populus intrat.
Manes. See they begin to flocke, and, behold, my master bustels himselfe to flie.
[They draw nearer the tub.]
Diog.[912] You wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the ayre with stench, 25 come ye to see Diogenes flie? Diogenes commeth to see you sinke. Yea,[913] call me dogge! So I am, for I long to gnaw the bons in your skins. Yee tearme me an hater of men! No, I am a hater of your manners. Your lives, dissolute, not fearing death, will prove your deaths desperat, not hoping for life. What do you else 30 in Athens but sleepe in the day and surfeit in the night,—backe-gods in the morning with pride, in the evening belly-gods with gluttony! You flatter kings, and call them gods. Speak truth of your selves and confesse you are divels! From the bee you have taken, not the honey, but the wax, to make your religion, framing it to the 35 time, not to the truth. Your filthy lust you colour under a courtly colour of love, injuries abroad under the title of policies at home; and secret malice creepeth under the name of publike justice. You have caused Alexander to drie up springs and plant vines, to sow rocket and weed endiff,[914] to sheare sheepe, and shrine[915] foxes. All 40 conscience is sealed[916] at Athens: swearing commeth of a hot mettle; lying of a quick wit; flattery of a flowing tongue; undecent talke of a merry disposition. All things are lawfull at Athens: either you think there are no gods, or I must think ye are no men. You build as though you should live for ever and surfeit as though 45 you should die to morrowe. None teacheth true philosophie but Aristotle, because hee was the kings schoole-master! O times! O men! O corruption in manners! Remember that greene grasse must turne to drie hay. When you sleepe, you are not sure to wake; and when you rise, not certaine to lie downe. Looke you never so 50 high, your heads must lie level with your feet. Thus have I flowne over[917] your disordered lives; and if you will not amend your manners, I will studie to flie further from you, that I may bee neerer to honestie.[918]