conclusion of it; one while at the deepest pitch of his voice, at another time with that which answers to the highest string of the tetrachord.  There was nothing uniform in that fellow; frequently would he run along, as one flying from an enemy; more frequently [he walked] as if he bore [in procession] the sacrifice of Juno:  he had often two hundred slaves, often but ten:  one while talking of kings and potentates, every thing that was magnificent; at another—­“Let me have a three-legged table, and a cellar of clean salt, and a gown which, though coarse, may be sufficient to keep out the cold.”  Had you given ten hundred thousand sesterces to this moderate man who was content with such small matters, in five days’ time there would be nothing in his bags.  He sat up at nights, [even] to day-light; he snored out all the day.  Never was there anything so inconsistent with itself.  Now some person may say to me, “What are you?  Have you no faults?” Yes, others; but others, and perhaps of a less culpable nature.

When Maenius railed at Novius in his absence:  “Hark ye,” says a certain person, “are you ignorant of yourself? or do you think to impose yourself upon us a person we do not know?” “As for me, I forgive myself,” quoth Maenius.  This is a foolish and impious self-love, and worthy to be stigmatized.  When you look over your own vices, winking at them, as it were, with sore eyes; why are you with regard to those of your friends as sharp-sighted as an eagle, or the Epidaurian serpent?  But, on the other hand, it is your lot that your friends should inquire into your vices in turn. [A certain person] is a little too hasty in his temper; not well calculated for the sharp-witted sneers of these men:  he may be made a jest of because his gown hangs awkwardly, he [at the same time] being trimmed in a very rustic manner, and his wide shoe hardly sticks to his foot.  But he is so good, that no man can be better; but he is your friend; but an immense genius is concealed under this unpolished person of his.  Finally, sift yourself thoroughly, whether nature has originally sown the seeds of any vice in you, or even an ill-habit [has done it].  For the fern, fit [only] to be burned, overruns the neglected fields.

Let us return from our digression.  As his mistress’s disagreeable failings escape the blinded lover, or even give him pleasure (as Hagna’s wen does to Balbinus), I could wish that we erred in this manner with regard to friendship, and that virtue had affixed a reputable appellation to such an error.  And as a father ought not to contemn his son, if he has any defect, in the same manner we ought not [to contemn] our friend.  The father calls his squinting boy a pretty leering rogue; and if any man has a little despicable brat, such as the abortive Sisyphus formerly was, he calls it a sweet moppet; this [child] with distorted legs, [the father] in a fondling voice calls one of the Vari; and another, who is club-footed, he calls a Scaurus. [Thus, does] this friend of yours