presents only the dread of endless and innumerable woes. Nor does the
wolf molest more the timid flock, than superstition does the anxious
breast of wretched mortals.

Besides, consider, DEMEA: This very society, by which we surmount those
wild beasts, our natural enemies; what new enemies does it not raise to
us? What woe and misery does it not occasion? Man is the greatest enemy
of man. Oppression, injustice, contempt, contumely, violence, sedition,
war, calumny, treachery, fraud; by these they mutually torment each
other; and they would soon dissolve that society which they had formed,
were it not for the dread of still greater ills, which must attend their
separation.

But though these external insults, said DEMEA, from animals, from men,
from all the elements, which assault us, form a frightful catalogue of
woes, they are nothing in comparison of those which arise within
ourselves, from the distempered condition of our mind and body. How many
lie under the lingering torment of diseases? Hear the pathetic
enumeration of the great poet.


Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs,
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans: despair
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch.
And over them triumphant death his dart
Shook: but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.