Book IX, 505: On the Same

The painter never saw Terpsichore, but owing to his art the image deceives our eyes by its truth. If, my friend, you ever hear the lyre that cheers the heart, admire Erato, who possesses such skill. Euterpe shrills on perforated reeds, scattering on them and forcing through them the spirit of the skilled bee. I, Thalia, am concerned with comic verse, and I present in play, on the scene that loves the castanets, the actions of immoral people. Look on the image of thy wisdom; for thy heart should conceive Calliope’s image to be wisdom. I, Clio, dwell by the laurelled tripods of Phoebus, the Muse of prophecy and history. I, Urania, through calculations revealed by God, teach the recurring necessity of the stars’ motions. Look on Melpomene, skilled in lovely eloquence, giving force to brazen-voiced epic song. I, Polymnia, am silent, but speak through the entrancing motions of my hands, conveying by my gestures a speaking silence.