without one.”  As it is said his wife left him, it must be considered doubtful whether this was not meant seriously.  He was succeeded by Epicharmus, whose humour seems to have been of a very poor description.  His subjects were mostly mythological, and he was fond of representing the gluttony of Hercules, and Bacchus making Vulcan drunk.  In the more intellectual direction his taste was entirely philosophical, so much so that Plato adopted many of his views.  We may safely assert that no comic performance worthy of the name took place until towards the end of the fifth century,[14] though in the meantime the tragic drama had reached its highest point of excellence.  One Satyric play, so called because the chorus was formed of Satyrs, was put on the stage with three tragedies by those competing for the dramatic prize.  It seems to have been mythological and grotesque rather than comic, but in the Cyclops of Euripides, the only specimen extant, we have feasting and wine drinking, the chorus tells Polyphemus he may swallow any milk he pleases so that he does not swallow them—­which the Cyclops says he would not do because they might be dancing in his stomach—­and Silenus recommends the Cyclops to eat Ulysses’ tongue, as it will make him a clever talker.

After the time of Aristophanes, the literary, and, we may say, the social humour of Greece altered.  It grew less political as liberty became more restricted, and men’s minds were gradually diverted by business and foreign trade from that philosophical and artistic industry, which had made Athens the centre of the world.  The brighter part of the country’s genius descended to effeminate pursuits, and employed itself in the development of amorous fancies.  In the comedies which came into favour, the dramatis personae represented a strange society of opulent old men, spendthrift sons, intriguing slaves, and courtezans.  If we did not know what temptation there is to make literary capital out of the tender passion, we might suppose that the youth of that day were entirely occupied in clandestine amours, and in buying and selling women as if they were dogs and parrots.  No wonder that “to live like the Greeks” became a by-word and reproach.  Beyond this, the authors throw the whole force of their genius into the construction of the plot, upon the strength and intricacy of which their success depends; and the management of the various threads of the story so as to meet together in the conclusion, shows a great improvement in art since the days of Aristophanes.  Advancing time seems also to have brought a greater refinement in language.  The indelicacy we now meet with is almost entirely of an amatory character, and not quite of so low a description as that previously in use.  But in quantity it was greater.  Philemon, who is said to have died from a fit of laughter caused by seeing an ass eat figs, wrote much that was objectionable; and Diphilus was probably little better.  Philemon found coarseness answer, and was more often crowned, and a greater favourite than Menander, who is reported to have said to him, “Do you not blush to conquer me?” but it may be doubted whether even the latter was as free from indelicacy as is generally supposed.  Plautus and Terence both complain that they cannot find a really chaste Greek play.