Therefore my wrongs have driven me to this outlying farm, where, dressed in skins, I till the soil as a hired labourer at four obols a day, philosophizing with the solitude and with my pick. By so doing, I expect to gain at least thus much, that I shall no longer see a great many people enjoying undeserved success; for that, certainly, would be more painful. Come then, son of Cronus and Rhea, shake off at length that deep, sound sleep, for you have slumbered longer than Epimenides;Epimenides of Crete fell asleep in a cave and did not wake for forty years or more. fan your thunderbolt into flame or kindle it afresh from Aetna, and make a great blaze, evincing anger worthy of a stalwart and youthful Zeus—unless indeed the tale is true that the Cretans tell about you and your tomb in their island.
ZEUS Who is that, Hermes, who is shouting from Attica, near Hymettus, in the foot-hills, all dirty and squalid and dressed in skins? He is digging, I think, with his back bent. A mouthy fellow and an impudent one. Very likely he is a philosopher, otherwise he would not talk so impiously against us.
