ip? How comes it that no one is in love
with a deformed young man, or a handsome old one? I am of opinion that
this love of men had its rise from the Gymnastics of the Greeks, where
these kinds of loves are admissible and permitted; therefore Ennius spoke
well:--

The censure of this crime to those is due,
Who naked bodies first exposed to view.

Now, supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly possible, they are
uneasy and distressed, and the more so because they contain and refrain
themselves. But, to pass over the love of women, where nature has allowed
more liberty, who can misunderstand the poets in their rape of Ganymede,
or not apprehend what Laius says, and what he desires, in Euripides?
Lastly, what have the principal poets and the most learned men published
of themselves in their poems and songs? What doth Alcaeus, who was
distinguished in his own republic for his bravery, write on the love of
young men? and as for Anacreon's poetry, it is wholly on love. But Ibycus
of Rhegium appears, from his writings, to have had this love stronger on
him than all the rest.

XXXIV. Now we see that the loves of all these writers were entirely
libidinous. There have arisen also some amongst us philosophers (and Plato
is at the head of them, whom Dicaearchus blames not without reason), who
have countenanced love. The Stoics in truth say, not only that their wise
man may be a lover, but they even define love itself as an endeavour to
originate friendship out of the appearance of beauty. Now, provided there
is any one in the nature of things without desire, without care, without a
sigh,--such a one may be a lover; for he is free from all lust: but I have
nothing to say to him, as it is lust of which I am now speaking. But
should there be any love,--as there certainly is,--which, is but little, or
perhaps not at all, short of madness, such as his is in the Leucadia,--

Should there be any God whose care I am:

it is incumbent on all the Gods to see that he enjoys his amorous
pleasure.

Wretch that I am!

Nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately--

What, are you sane, who at this rate lament?

He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses: then how tragical he
becomes!

Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore,
And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store!
Oh! all ye winds, assist me!

He thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to help his lov