tigue. After this, when the children are come to an age fit to be
instructed, the fathers teach them all the good things they can for the
conduct of their life; and if they know any man more capable to instruct
them than themselves, they send them to him, without regard to the
expense, thus indicating by their whole conduct, what sincere pleasure it
would afford them to see their children turn out men of virtue and
probity." "Undoubtedly," answered Lamprocles, "if my mother had done all
this, and an hundred times as much, no man could suffer her ill-humours?"
"Do not you think," said Socrates, "that the anger of a beast is much
more difficult to support than that of a mother?" "Not of a mother like
her," said Lamprocles. Socrates continued, "What strange thing has she
done to you? Has she bit you, has she kicked you, as beasts do when they
are angry?" "She has a tongue that no mortal can suffer," answered
Lamprocles. "And you," replied Socrates, "how many crosses did you give
her in your infancy by your continual bawling and importunate actions?
how much trouble by night and by day? how much affliction in your
illnesses?" "At worst," answered Lamprocles, "I never did nor said
anything that might make her blush." "Alas!" said Socrates, "is it more
difficult for you to hear in patience the hasty expressions of your
mother, than it is for the comedians to hear what they say to one another
on the stage when they fall into the most injurious reproaches? For they
easily suffer it, knowing well that when one reviles another, he reviles
him not with intent to injure him; and when one threatens another, he
threatens not with design to do him any harm. You who are fully
convinced likewise of the intentions of your mother, and who know very
well that the hard words she gives you do not proceed from hate, but that
she has a great affection for you, how can you, then, be angry with her?
Is it because you imagine that she wishes you ill?" "Not in the least,"
answered Lamprocles; "I never had such a thought." "What!" continued
Socrates; "a mother that loves you; a mother who, in your sickness, does
all she can to recover your health, who takes care that you want for
nothing, who makes so many vows to heaven for you; you say this is an ill
mother? In truth, if you cannot live with her, I will say you cannot
live at your ease. Tell me, in short, do you believe you ought to have
any reverence or respect for any one whatever?