They care nothing
now-a-days for _these_ Laconian men [3] of the lowest benches--
these whipping-posts, who hare their _clever_ sayings without
provision and _without_ money. They _now-a-days_ seek those
who, when they've eaten at their pleasure, may give them a return at
their own houses. They go themselves to market, which formerly was the
province of the Parasites. They go themselves from the Forum to the
procurers with face as exposed[4] as _the magistrates_ in court
[5], with face exposed, condemn those who are found guilty; nor do they
now value buffoons at one farthing [6]; all are _so much_ in love
with themselves. For, when, just now, I went away from here, I came to
some young men in the Forum: "Good morrow," said I; "whither are we
going together to breakfast?" On this, they were silent. "Who says,
'here, _at my house_,' or who makes an offer?" said I. Just like
dumb men, they were silent, and didn't smile at me. "Where do we dine?"
said I. On this they declined, said one funny saying out of my best bon
mots, by which I formerly used to get feasting for a month; not an
individual smiled; at once I knew that the matter was arranged by
concert. Not even one was willing to imitate a dog when provoked; if
they didn't laugh, they might, at least, have grinned with their teeth
[7]. From them I went away, after I saw that I was thus made sport of. I
went to some others; _then_ to some others I came; then to some
others--the same the result.
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