Chapter XXIII: Part 23

“But what? is it not possible, then, for one who loves ever to be hated? as lovers surely sometimes seem to be treated by their favourites: for though they love most ardently, some of them think that they are not loved in turn, and some even that they are hated. Does not this appear to you to be true?”

“Quite true,” said he.

“In such a case, then,” said I, “does one love, and is the other loved?”

“Yes.”

“Which then of these is the friend of the other? the lover of the beloved, whether he is loved in turn, or even if he is hated, or the beloved of the lover? or again, in such a case, is neither the friend of neither, unless both love each other?”

“It seems indeed to be so.”

22. “Now, then, it appears to us otherwise than it appeared before. For then if one loved, both appeared to be friends; but now, unless both love neither is a friend.”

“It appears so,” said he.

“Nothing, therefore, is a friend to that which loves unless it loves in turn.”

“It seems not.”

“Neither, then, are they friends of horses, whom horses do not love in turn, nor friends of quails, nor again friends of dogs, and friends of wine, and friends of gymnastics, and of wisdom, unless wisdom loves them in turn: or do they severally love these things although they are not friends, and does the poet speak falsely who says, ‘Happy the man who has boys for his friends, and solid-hoofed horses, and hunting dogs, and a foreign guest?’”

“It does not seem so to me,” he replied.

“But does he appear to you to speak the truth?”

“Yes.”

“The beloved, then, is a friend to that which loves, as it seems, Menexenus, whether it loves or whether it hates; just as children newly born, who partly do not yet love, and partly even hate, when they are punished by their mother or their father, nevertheless, at the very time when they hate, are in the highest degree beloved by their parents.

“It appears to me,” said he, “that this is the case.”

23. “The lover, therefore, from this reasoning, is not the friend, but the beloved.”

“It seems so.”

“And he who is hated, therefore, is an enemy, but not he who hates.”

“So it appears.”

“Many, therefore, are beloved by their enemies and hated by their friends; and are friends to their enemies, but enemies to their friends, if the beloved is a friend, and not the lover. Though it is very absurd, my dear friend, or rather, I think, impossible, to be an enemy to a friend, and a friend to an enemy.”

“You seem to speak truly, Socrates,” said he.

“If, therefore, this is impossible, the lover will be a friend of the beloved.”

“So it appears.”

“Again, therefore, that which hates must be the enemy of that which is hated.”

“Necessarily so.”

“Therefore, the result will be that we must of necessity admit the very things that we did before, that a man is often a friend of that which is not a friend, and often even of that which is an enemy, when either any one loves that which does not love, or even loves that which hates, and is often an enemy of that which is not an enemy, or is even a friend, when either any one loves that which does not hate, or even hates that which loves.”

“It appears so,” said he.

“What shall we do, then,” said I, “if neither those who love are to be friends, nor those who are loved, nor yet those who both love and are loved? Shall we say that some others besides these become friends to each other?”

“By Jupiter, Socrates,” said he, “I don’t well know what answer to make.”

24. “Have we not, then, Menexenus,” said I, “conducted our enquiries altogether right?”

“To me it appears not, Socrates,” said Lysis; and as he said this he blushed: for his remark appeared to me to escape from him involuntarily through his earnest attention to the conversation: and he was plainly most attentive while he was listening.

I then, wishing that Menexenus should cease speaking, and being delighted with the other’s love of wisdom, accordingly turned round and directed my discourse to Lysis, and said, “Lysis, you seem to me to say truly, that if we had conducted our enquiries properly, we should never have wandered in this manner. But let us proceed no longer in this way, (for the investigation appears to me to be difficult as if it were a road,) but it seems to me that we should proceed by the road to which we turned aside, and conduct our enquiries after the poets; for they are to us, as it were, fathers of wisdom and guides. They speak however, I imagine, so as not to give a mean account of such as happen to be friends, but they say that God himself makes them friends, by conducting them to each other. They express themselves as I think somehow as follows: ‘God ever conducts like to like[173],’ and makes them known; have you not met with this verse?”

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Footnote 173:

Homer, Odyss. xvii. 218.

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“I have,” said he.

25. “Have you not met, too, with the writings of the wisest of men that say the very same things, that like must ever needs be friendly to like? But these are they who discourse and write about nature and the universe.”

“You say truly,” he replied.

“Whether, then,” said I, “do they say well?”

“Perhaps so,” said he.

“Perhaps,” said I, “the half is true, and perhaps the whole, but we do not understand it: for the wicked man, by how much nearer he approaches, and is more intimate with a wicked man, seems to us to become so much the more hostile to him; for he injures him; but, surely, it is impossible for those who injure and are injured to be friends: is it not so?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Thus, then, the half of this saying will not be true, since the wicked are like each other?”

“You say true.”

“But they seem to me to say that the good are like each other and friends, but that the bad, as it is said of them, are never alike even to themselves, but are inconstant and unstable. But that which is unlike and at variance with itself, can scarcely be like or friendly to another; does it not seem so to you too?”

“To me it does,” said he.

26. “They intimate this, then, my friend, as it seems to me, when they say that like is friendly to like, that the good man only is a friend to the good man only, but that the bad man never arrives at true friendship, either with a good or a bad man: does it seem so to you also?”

He nodded assent.

“We have now discovered, then, who are friends, for our argument shews that it must be those who are good.”

“It certainly seems so,” said he.

“And I think so too,” said I. “Nevertheless, I find some difficulty in it. Come then, by Jupiter, let us see what it is I suspect. The like, in so far as he is like, is a friend to the like, and such an one is useful to such an one: or rather thus: can any thing that is like confer any benefit on or do any harm to any thing that is like, which it cannot also do to itself; or suffer any thing which it cannot also suffer from itself? But how can such things be held in regard by each other when they are unable to afford any assistance to each other? is it possible?”

“It is not possible.”

“But how can that which is not held in regard be a friend?”

“In no way.”

“The like, then, is not a friend to the like: but will the good be a friend to the good, so far as he is good, and not so far as he is like?”

“Perhaps so.”

27. “But what? Will not the good man, so far as he is good, be sufficient for himself?”

“Yes.”

“But he who is sufficient stands in need of nothing, so far as sufficiency is concerned?”

“How can it be otherwise?”

“And he who stands in need of nothing will not regard any thing?”

“He will not.”

“But he who does not feel a regard cannot love?”

“Surely not.”

“How, then, will the good be in any respect friends to the good, who neither when absent regret each other, for they are sufficient for themselves when apart, nor when present stand in need of each other? By what contrivance can such persons value each other very highly?”

“By none at all,” said he.

“But they will not be friends who do not value each other very highly?”

“True.”

“Observe then, Lysis, how we are deceived. Are we, then, deceived in the whole?”

“How so?” said he.

“I once heard a person say, and I just now call it to mind, that like is most hostile to like, and the good to the good. And moreover, he adduced Hesiod[174] as a witness, saying that ‘potter is angry with potter, bard with bard, and beggar with beggar.’ And so, he said, with regard to all other things, that as a matter of absolute necessity, things most like each other are most full of envy, strife, and hatred; but such as are most unlike, of friendship; 28. for that the poor man is compelled to be a friend to the rich, and the weak to the strong, for the sake of assistance, and the sick man to the physician; and that every one who is ignorant must regard and love him that has knowledge. Moreover, he carried on the subject in a more lofty style, saying that the like is so far from being friendly to the like, that the very contrary to this takes place. For that the most contrary is in the highest degree friendly to the most contrary; for every thing desires its contrary, and not its like. Thus the dry desires the moist, the cold heat, the bitter sweet, the sharp blunt, the empty fulness, and the full emptiness; and all other things in the same way. For the contrary is food to the contrary, but the like can derive no enjoyment from the like. And indeed, my friend, he who said this seemed to be an accomplished man, for he spoke well. But how does he seem to you to speak?” I asked.

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Footnote 174:

Op. et Di., v. 25.

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29. “Well,” replied Menexenus, “as it seems on first hearing.”

“Shall we say, then, that the contrary is most friendly to the contrary?”

“Certainly.”

“Be it so,” said I, “but is it not monstrous, Menexenus, and will not those perfectly wise men, the disputants, immediately spring upon us exultingly, and ask, if friendship is not most contrary to enmity? What answer shall we give them? Must we not of necessity admit that they say truly?”

“Of necessity.”

“‘Well then,’ they will ask, ‘is an enemy a friend to a friend, or is a friend a friend to an enemy?’”.

“Neither the one nor the other,” he replied.

“But is the just a friend to the unjust, or the temperate to the intemperate, or the good to the bad?”

“I does not appear to me to be so.”

“However,” said I, “if one thing is a friend to another by reason of contrariety, these things must also of necessity be friendly?”

“Of necessity.”

“Neither, therefore, is the like friendly to the like, nor the contrary to the contrary?”

“It appears not.”

“Further, let us consider this, whether it still more escapes our observation, that a friend is in reality none of these, but that what is neither good nor evil may sometimes become the friend of the good.”

“How mean you?” said he.

“By Jupiter,” said I, “I don’t know; for I am in reality myself dizzy with the perplexity of the argument. It appears, however, according to the ancient proverb, that the beautiful is friendly. 30. It certainly resembles something soft, smooth, and plump; on which account perhaps it slips away from us and escapes us, because it is a thing of this kind. For I say that the good is beautiful: do you not think so?”

“I do.”

“I say, therefore, prophetically, that that which is neither good nor evil is friendly to the beautiful and the good. But hear why I thus prophesy. There appear to me to be as it were three several classes, one good, a second evil, a third neither good nor evil. What think you?”

“It seems so to me also,” said he.

“Now that the good is friendly to the good, or the evil to the evil, or the good to the evil, our former argument does not allow us to say. It remains therefore, if any thing is friendly to any thing, that that which is neither good nor evil, must be friendly either to the good, or to that which is such as itself; for nothing surely can become friendly to the evil.”

“True.”

“Neither is like friendly to like, we just now said; did we not?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore to that which is neither good nor evil, that which resembles it will not be friendly?”

“It appears not.”

“The result then is, that that which is neither good nor evil alone becomes friendly to the good alone?”

“Necessarily so, as it seems.”

31. “Well then, my boys,” said I, “does what is now said lead us in the right direction? Surely if we will consider, a healthy body has no need of the medicinal art, or of any assistance; for it is sufficient for itself; so that no healthy person is a friend to a physician on account of health; is it not so?”

“No one.”

“But the sick man I think is, on account of disease?”

“How not?”

“But disease is an evil, and the medicinal art beneficial and good.”

“Yes.”

“But a body surely, so far as it is body, is neither good nor evil.”

“Just so.”

“But a body is compelled, on account of disease, to embrace and love the medicinal art.”

“It seems so to me.”

“That, therefore, which is neither evil nor good, becomes friendly to the good, on account of the presence of evil.”

“So it seems.”

“But it is evident that it becomes so, prior to its becoming evil through the evil which it contains; for when it has once become evil, it will no longer desire the good, and be friendly to it: for we have said that it is impossible for the evil to be friendly to the good.”

“It is impossible.”

“Consider, then, what I say. For I say that some things are themselves such as that which is present with them, and some not. Thus, if any one wishes to dye any thing with any colour, the colour that is dyed in is surely present in the thing that is dyed.”

“Certainly.”

32. “Is then, that which is dyed, afterwards, the same as to colour, as that which is on it?”

“I don’t understand you,” he replied.

“But thus,” said I, “If any one should dye your hairs, which are yellow, with white lead, would they then be white, or appear so?”

“They would appear so,” he replied.

“Though whiteness would be present with them.”

“Yes.”

“And yet your hairs would not be at all the more white, but though whiteness is present, they are neither white nor black.”

“True.”

“But when, my friend, old age has brought this colour on them, then they become such as that which is present with them, white by the presence of white.”

“How can it be otherwise?”

“This then I now ask, if a thing be present in any thing, will that which contains it be such as that which is present with it, or if it be present after a certain manner, will it be such, but otherwise not?”

“Thus, rather,” he replied.

“That then which is neither evil nor good, sometimes when evil is present, is not yet evil, but sometimes it has already become such.”

“Certainly.”

“When, therefore, it is not yet evil, though evil be present, this very presence of evil makes it desirous of good, but this presence which makes it evil, deprives it at the same time of the desire and friendship for the good. 33. For it is now no longer neither evil nor good, but evil; evil however we saw, is not friendly to good.”

“It is not.”

“On this account we must say, that those who are already wise no longer love wisdom, whether they are gods or men; nor again do they love wisdom who have so much ignorance, as to be evil: for no evil and foolish person loves wisdom. They therefore are left, who possess indeed this evil, ignorance, but are not yet thereby stupid or foolish, but still think that they do not know the things that they do not know. Wherefore they who are not yet either good or evil are lovers of wisdom; but such as are evil do not love wisdom, nor do the good: for we have seen in a former part of our discussion, that neither is the contrary friendly to the contrary, nor the like to the like: do you not remember this?”

“Certainly,” they both replied.

“Now then,” said I, “Lysis and Menexenus, we have certainly discovered what it is that is friendly and what not. For we say, that with respect to the soul, and with respect to the body, and every thing else, that which is neither evil nor good, is friendly to the good on account of the presence of evil.”

34. They quite admitted and agreed that such was the case.

And I for my part was rejoicing exceedingly, like any hunter, in having just caught the prey that I was in chase of. And then, I know not from what quarter, a most strange suspicion came into my mind, that what we had assented to was not true. And immediately being distressed, I said, “Alas, Lysis and Menexenus, we seem to have grown rich in a dream.”

“Why so?” said Menexenus.

“I am afraid,” I replied, “that as if with braggart men, we have fallen in with some such false reasonings respecting a friend.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Let us consider it thus,” said I; “whether is he who is a friend, a friend to some one or not?”

“Necessarily so,” said he.

“Whether, therefore, for the sake of nothing, and on account of nothing, or for the sake of something, and on account of something?”

“For the sake of something and on account of something.”

“Whether is that thing friendly for the sake of which a friend is a friend to a friend, or is it neither friendly nor hostile?”

“I do not quite follow you,” said he.

“Probably,” said I. “But thus perhaps you will be able to follow me; and I think that I too shall better understand what I say. The sick man, we just now said, is a friend to the physician; is it not so?”

“Yes.”

“Is he not, then, a friend to the physician on account of disease, for the sake of health?”

“Yes.”

“But disease is an evil?”

“How not?”

“But what is health?” said I; “is it good or evil, or neither?”

“Good,” said he.

35. “We stated, then, as it seems, that the body, which is neither good, nor evil, on account of disease, that is on account of evil, is friendly to the medicinal art: but the medicinal art is a good; and the medicinal art acquires the friendship for the sake of health; and health is good: is it not?”

“Yes.”

“But is health a friend, or not a friend?”

“A friend.”

“And is disease an enemy?”

“Certainly.”

“That then which is neither evil nor good, on account of what is evil and an enemy, is a friend to the good, for the sake of what is good and a friend.”

“It appears so.”

“The friendly therefore is a friend for the sake of the friend, on account of that which is an enemy.”

“So it seems.”

“Well then,” said I, “since we have reached this point, my boys, let us pay every attention that we be not deceived. For that a friend becomes a friend to a friend, and that like becomes a friend to like, which we said is impossible, I give up. However let us consider this, that what is now asserted may not deceive us. The medicinal art, we say, is a friend for the sake of health?”

“Yes.”

“Is not, then, health also a friend?”

“Certainly.”

36. “If, then, it is a friend, it must be so for the sake of something?”

“Yes.”

“And indeed of something friendly, if we will keep to our former admission?”

“Certainly.”

“Will not, therefore, that again be a friend, for the sake of something friendly?”

“Yes.”

“Must we not, then, necessarily be tired out with going on thus, and arrive at some principle, which will not have to be referred to another friend, but will arrive at that which is the first friend, for the sake of which we say that all other things are friendly?”

“Necessarily so.”

“This, then, is what I say, we must take care that all those other things which we said were friendly for the sake of that, do not, as being certain images of it, deceive us, but that that may be the first which is truly a friend. For let us consider it thus. If any one values any thing very highly, as, for instance, sometimes a father prizes a son above all other things, will not such an one, because he esteems his son above every thing, also value something else very highly? For instance, if he were to hear that he had drunk hemlock, would he not value wine very highly, if he thought this would save his son?”

“How should he not?” said he.

37. “And the vessel too that contained the wine?”

“Certainly.”

“Will he then set the same value on an earthenware cup as he does upon his son, or three measures of wine as on his son? or is the case thus? all such anxiety is employed not about those things that are procured for the sake of something else, but about that for the sake of which all such things are procured: for although we often say that we value gold and silver very highly, yet we may observe that the truth is not at all the more thus; but what we value so very highly is that, whatever it may prove to be, for the sake of which gold and all other provisions are procured. Shall we not say so?”

“Certainly.”

“May not the same thing also be said of a friend? for whatever things we say are friendly to us, for the sake of some friendly thing, we appear to describe by a name that belongs to another, but that very thing seems in reality to be friendly in which all those so-called friendships terminate?”

“This seems to be the case,” said he.

“That, then, which is in reality friendly is not friendly for the sake of any other friendly thing?”

“True.”

“This, then, is settled, that what is friendly is not friendly for the sake of any other friendly thing. Is the good, then, friendly?”

“It seems so to me.”

38. “Is the good, then, loved on account of evil, and is the case thus? If of the three things which we just now mentioned, good, evil, and that which is neither good nor evil, two only were to be left, but evil were to depart altogether, and not come in contact with any thing, either with body, or soul, or any other of the things which we say in themselves are neither evil nor good, in that case would not good be of no use to us, but become useless? For if there were nothing to hurt us any more, we should stand in need of no assistance whatever. And thus it would then become evident that we had a regard for and loved the good on account of evil, since good is a medicine for evil, but evil is a disease. But when there is no disease, there is no need of medicine. Is this, then, the nature of good, and is it loved on account of evil, by us who are placed between evil and good, and is it of no use itself, for the sake of itself?”

“Such seems to be the case,” he replied.

“That which is friendly, therefore, to us, is that in which terminate all other things, which we said are friendly for the sake of some other friendly thing, but in no respect resembles them? 39. For these are called friendly for the sake of a friendly thing; but that which is in reality friendly appears to be of a nature quite contrary to this; for we have found it to be friendly for the sake of that which is hostile: but if that which is hostile should depart, it would no longer, as it seems, be friendly to us.”

“It seems to me that it would not,” said he, “according to what is now said.”

“Whether, by Jupiter,” said I, “if evil were to be destroyed, would there no longer be any hunger or thirst, or any thing else of the kind? or would there be hunger, if men and other animals existed, yet not so as to be hurtful? and thirst, and other desires, yet not be evil, since evil is destroyed? or is the question ridiculous, what would then be the case or not be the case? for who knows? This, however, we know, that at present it is possible to be harmed by being hungry, and it is also possible to be benefited; is it not so?”

“Certainly.”

“Therefore it is possible that one who thirsts, or is affected by any other similar desire, may sometimes be affected by it beneficially, and sometimes harmfully, and sometimes neither?”

“Assuredly.”

“If, therefore, evil were destroyed, must things that are not evil be destroyed together with the evil?”

“Not at all.”

“There will be, then, such desires as are neither good nor evil, even if evils were destroyed?”

“It appears so.”

40. “Is it, then, possible, that one who desires and is fond of any thing, should not love that which he desires and is fond of?”

“It does not appear so to me.”

“When evils, then, are destroyed, there will remain, as it seems, certain friendly things?”

“Yes.”

“Not so; at least if evil were the cause of any thing being friendly, for, when that is destroyed, one thing could not be friendly to another: for when the cause is destroyed, it is surely impossible that that of which it was the cause should any longer exist?”

“You say rightly.”

“Did we not admit that the friendly loved something, and on account of something, and did we not then think that, on account of evil, that which is neither good nor evil loved the good?”

“True.”

“But now, as it seems, there appears to be some other cause of loving and being loved?”

“So it seems.”

“Whether, then, in reality, as we just now said, is desire the cause of friendship, and is that which desires friendly to that which it desires, and at the time when it desires, but is what we before said was friendly mere trifling, like a poem[175] heedlessly composed?”

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Footnote 175:

I have adopted Ast’s suggestion of μάτην for μακρόν. Stallbaum would
retain both, and read μακρὸν μάτην.

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“It seems so,” said he.

“However,” I said, “that which desires desires that which it stands in need of; does it not?”

“Yes.”

“And is that which stands in need friendly to that of which it stands in need?”

“It seems so to me.”

“And it stands in need of that which is taken from it?”

41. “How should it not?”

“As it seems, then, love, friendship, and desire, respect that which belongs to a man; so it appears, Menexenus and Lysis?”

They both assented.

“If, therefore, you two are friends to each other, you must, in a manner, by nature belong to each other?”

“Assuredly,” they both replied.

“If, then,” said I, “any one desires or is fond of another, my boys, he could never desire, or be fond of, or be a friend, unless he, in a manner, belonged to the object of his love, either as to his soul, or as to some habit of the soul, or disposition, or form?”

“Certainly,” said Menexenus, but Lysis was silent.

“Well, then,” said I, “it has proved necessary for us to love that which by nature belongs to us?”

“It seems so,” said he.

“It is necessary, then, for a genuine, and not a pretended lover, to be beloved by his favourite?”

To this Lysis and Menexenus scarcely nodded assent, but Hippothales, through delight, exhibited all sorts of colours. And I, being willing to examine the matter, said, “If there is any difference between that which belongs to us and that which is like, we shall be able to say, as it seems to me, Lysis and Menexenus, respecting a friend, what he is, but if the like and that which belongs are the same, it is not easy to get rid of our former conclusion, that the like is useless to the like, as regards similitude; but to admit that what is useless can be friendly is absurd. 42. Are you willing, then,” I added, “since we are, as it were, intoxicated by the discussion, that we should grant and affirm that that which belongs is different from that which is like?”

“Certainly.”

“Whether, then, shall we admit that good belongs to every thing, but that evil is foreign? or that evil belongs to evil, good to good, and that which is neither good nor evil, to that which is neither good nor evil?”

They both said, that so it appeared to them, that each belongs to each.

“Again, therefore,” said I, “my boys, we have fallen upon those conclusions which we at first rejected respecting friendship. For the unjust will be no less a friend to the unjust, and the evil to the evil, than the good to the good.”

“So it seems,” he said.

“But what? if we should say that the good and that which belongs are the same, will not the good only be a friend to the good?”

“Certainly.”

“But in this too we thought we had confuted ourselves; do you not remember?”

“We do remember.”

“In what way, then, can we still deal with the subject; is it not clear, in no way at all? I require, then, like skilful pleaders in the law courts, to sum up all that has been said; for if neither those that are loved, nor those that love, nor the like, nor the unlike, nor the good, nor those that belong to us, nor any others that we have described, (for I do not remember them any further, on account of their number,) but if no one of these is a friend, I have nothing more to say.”

43. When I had said this, I purposed to stir up some one of the older men; but just then, like evil spirits, the pedagogues of Lysis and Menexenus approaching us, having hold of their brothers by their hand, called to them, and bade them go home, for it was already late. At first, then, both we and the bystanders drove them away; but when they paid no attention to us, but murmured in their barbarous dialect, and desisted not from calling them, and seemed to us, from having drunk too much at the Hermæan festival, to be difficult to manage, we yielded to them, and dissolved the conference. However, as they were just going away, I said, Lysis and Menexenus, we have made ourselves ridiculous, both I, an old man, and you; for those who are now leaving us will say, that we think ourselves to be each other’s friends, (for I reckon myself among you,) but that we have not yet been able to discover what a friend is.

END OF VOL. I.

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Transcriber’s Note

Each dialogue is footnoted beginning anew with ‘a’, and cycling back to ‘a’ if needed. The footnote sequence has the occasional lapse. However, all have been re-sequenced numerically across the entire volume.

A single erratum, referring to 428.32, was included in the front matter of the volume. The change has been applied.

There were several section numbers referred to in the text which were missing. Where possible, these have been added (delimited by square brackets), based on the Greek edition of Bekker (1826), which the author used as the basis for his translation.

At 288.7, an closing single quotation mark has no obvious opening.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.

23.41 quietly awaits your decision.[”] Added.
25.41 Crito[,] Critobulus Added,
110.40 “The same as snow and fire?[’/”] Replaced.
111.19 must it not?[”] Added.
111.34 do you admit this or not?[”] Added.
112.18 which is always a contrary?[”] Added.
121.32 and it is possi[ /b]le Replaced.
123.1 [“]But those who appear Added.
167.33 64. [_Pol._ ]But this is more difficult Added.
187.41 as if αὐτ[α/ὰ] ταῦτα preceded ἃ [ἃ/ἂ]ν Replaced.
240.32 given by Protagoras[?/.] Replaced.
288.37 [‘]Protagoras and Socrates Added.
293.1 what is dreadful, and no[t] dreadful Added.
320.43 οἰωνιστική, [augury _augury_] Italicize.
326.10 best of all enthusia[s]ms Inserted.
352.15 who take an interest in such matters[./?] Replaced.
359.8 of composing poet[r]y Inserted.
373.19 and reasoning[./?] Replaced.
377.2 as I just now spoke of it[./,] Replaced.
380.2 both to themselves a[m/n]d others. Replaced.
455.8 what science is[,] Added.
481.35 Tell me this.[’/”] Replaced.