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And after this, looking towards Ulpian, he said;— But since you are out of humour with me, I will explain to you what the Syrbenæan chorus is. And Ulpian said;—Do you think, you wretch, that I am angry at what you say, or even that I pay the least attention to it, you shameless hound? But since you profess to teach me something, I will make a truce with you, not for thirty, but for a hundred years; only tell me what the Syrbenæan chorus is. Then, said he, Clearchus, my good friend, in the second book of his treatise on Education, writes thus—“There remains the Syrbenæan chorus, in which every one is bound to sing whatever he pleases, without paying the least attention to the man who sits in the post of honour and leads the chorus. And indeed he is only a more noisy spectator.” And in the words of Matron the parodist—
For all those men who heroes were of old,
Eubæus, and Hermogenes, and Philip,
Are dead, and settlers in dark Pluto's realms;
But Cleonicus has a life secure
From all th' attacks of age; he's deeply skill'd
In all that bards or theatres concerns;
And even now he's dead, great Proserpine
Allows his voice still to be heard on earth.
But you, even while you are alive, ask questions about everything, but never give information on any subject yourself. And he replied, who. . . .? while the truce between us lasts.

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