Book II

Thus do fishes range and feed, thus roam the tribes of the sea; in such mating, in such breeding they delight. All these things, I ween, someone of the immortals hath showed to men. For what can mortals accomplish without the gods? Nay, not even so much as lift a foot from the ground or open the bright orbs of the eyes. The gods themselves rule and direct everything, being far, yet very near. And doom unshakable constrains men to obey, and there is no strength nor might whereby one may haughtily wrench with stubborn jaws and escape that doom, as a colt that spurns the bit. But evermore the gods who are above all turn the reins all ways even as they will, and he who is wise obeys before he is driven by the cruel lash unwillingly. The gods also have given to men cunning arts and have put in them all wisdom. Other god is namesake of other craft, even that whereof he hath got the honourable keeping. Deo hath the privilege of yoking oxen and ploughing the fields and reaping the fruitful harvest of wheat. Carpentry of wood and building of houses and weaving of cloth with the goodly wool of sheep — these hath Pallas taught to men. The gifts of Ares are swords and brazen tunics to array the limbs and helmets and spears and whatsoever things Enyo delights in. The gifts of the Muses and Apollo are songs. Hermes hath bestowed eloquence and doughty feats of strength. Hephaestus hath in his charge the sweaty toil of the hammer. These devices also of the sea and the business of fishing and the power to mark the multitude of fishes that travel in the water — these hath some god given to men; even he who also first filled the rent bowels of earth with the gathered rivers and poured forth the bitter sea and wreathed it as a garland, confining it about with crags and beaches; whether one should more fitly call him wide-ruling Poseidon or ancient Nereus or Phorcys, or other god that rules the sea. But may all the gods that keep Olympus, and they that dwell in the sea, or on the bounteous earth, or in the air, have a gracious heart toward thee, O blessed wielder of the sceptre, and toward thy glorious offspring and to all thy people and to our song.

Among fishes neither justice is of any account nor is there any mercy nor love; for all the fish that swim are bitter foes to one another. The stronger ever devours the weaker; this against that swims fraught with doom and one for another furnishes food. Some overpower the weaker by force of jaws and strength; others have venomous mouth; others have spines wherewith to defend them with deadly blows — bitter, sharp points of fiery wrath. And those to whom God hath not given strength, and who have no sharp sting springing from the body, to these he hath given a weapon of mind, even crafty counsel of many devices; these by guile ofttimes destroy a strong and mightier fish.

Thus the Cramp-fish of tender flesh is endowed with a specific of valour, self-taught in its own limbs. For soft of body and altogether weak and sluggish it is weighed down with slowness, and you could not say you see it swimming; hard to mark is its path as it crawls and creeps through the grey water. But in its loins it hath a piece of craft, its strength in weakness: even two rays planted in its sides, one on either hand. If one approach and touch these, straightway it quenches the strength of his body and his blood is frozen within him and his limbs cannot carry him but he quietly pines away and his strength is drained by stupid torpor. Knowing well what a gift it hath received from God, the Cramp-fish lays itself supine among the sands and so remains, lying unmoving as a corpse. But any fish that touches its loins is paralysed and falls even so into the deep sleep of weakness, fettered by helplessness. And the Cramp-fish, albeit not swift, speedily leaps up in joy and devours the living fish as if it were dead. Many times also when it meets with fishes swimming in the gulf of the sea, it quenches with its touch their swift career for all their haste and checks them in mid course. And they stay, blasted and helpless, thinking not, poor wretches, either of going on or of flight. But the Cramp-fish stays by and devours them, while they make no defence nor are conscious of their fate. Even as in the darkling phantoms of a dream, when a man is terrified and fain to flee, his heart leaps, but, struggle as he may, a steadfast bond as it were weighs down his eager knees: even such a fetter doth the Cramp-fish devise for fishes.

The Fishing-frog again is likewise a sluggish and soft fish and most hideous to behold, with mouth that opens exceeding wide. But for him also craft devises food for his belly. Wrapt himself in the slimy mud he lies motionless, while he extends aloft a little bit of flesh which grows from the bottom of his jaw below, fine and bright, and it has an evil breath. This he waves incessantly, a snare for lesser fishes which, seeing it, are fain to seize it. But the Fishing-frog quietly draws it again gently quivering within his mouth, and the fishes follow, not suspecting any hidden guile until, ere they know it, they are caught within the wide jaws of the Fishing-frog. As when a man, devising a snare for lightsome birds, sprinkles some grains of wheat before the gates of guile while others he puts inside, and props up the trap; the keen desire of food draws the eager birds and they pass within and no more return or escape prepared for them, but they win an evil end to their banquet; even so the weak Fishing-frog deceives and attracts the fishes and they perceive not that they are hastening their own destruction. A like device, I have heard, the cunning Fox contrives. When she sees a dense flight of birds, she lies down on her side and stretches out her swift limbs and closes her eyes and shuts fast her mouth. Seeing her you would say that she was deep asleep or even lying quite dead: so breathless she lies stretched out, contriving guile. The birds, beholding, rush straightway upon her in a crowd and tear her fur with their feet, as if in mockery. But when they come nigh her teeth, then she opens the doors of guile and suddenly seizes them, and with wide gape cunningly catches her prey, even all that she takes at a swoop.

Yea, the crafty Cuttle-fish also has found a cunning manner of hunting. From her head grow long slender branches, like locks of hair, wherewith as with lines she draws and captures fish, prone in the sand and coiled beneath her shell. With those locks, too, when the waves rage in wintry weather, she clings to the rocks even as a ship fastens her cables to the rocks upon the shore.

Prawns are small to look at and small too is the strength of their limbs, yet by their craft they destroy a valiant fish, even the Basse named for its gluttony. For the Basse are eager and keen to seize the Prawns; and these have no strength either to flee or to fight, yet as they are destroyed they destroy and slay their slayers. When the gaping Basse have caught them within their teeth, they leap oftentimes and fix in the midst of the palate of the Basse the sharp horn which springs from the top of their heads. The Basse, glutted with the prey which he loves, heeds not the prick. But it spreads and creeps apace, until, worn out with pain, doom overtakes him; and too late he knows that he is stricken by the spear of the dead.

There is a fish which is at home in the mud, even the ravenous Ox-ray, broadest among all fishes; for indeed his breadth is often eleven cubits or twelve. But in might he is a weakling, and his body is devoid of strength and soft. The teeth within his mouth are inconspicuous, small and not strong. By might he could not overpower anything, but by craft he ensnares and overcomes even cunning men. For he greatly delights to banquet upon man and human flesh above all is to him pleasing and a welcome food. When he beholds anyone of those men who have their business in the deep waters of the brine descending to the nether depths, he rises lightly above his head and swims steadfastly, like the roof of a house, stretched about him inexorably. Where the wretched man goes, he goes, and when the man halts, he stands over him like a lid. As a boy sets a guileful doom for greedy mice; and the mouse, not dreaming of the ambush of the trap, is driven within by the desire of the belly; and swiftly the hollow vessel claps too above him and, for all his endeavour, he can no more escape from the strong cover, till the boy seizes and kills him, mocking the while his prey; even so over the man's head the deadly fish extends, preventing him from rising to the surface, until breath leaves him and he gasps out his life amid the waves; where the Ox-ray of evil name sets about him and feasts upon him, having by his wiles captured a difficult prey.

And one who observes a Crab among the mossy ledges will praise and admire him for his cunning art. For to him also hath Heaven given wisdom to feed on Oysters, a sweet and unlaborious food. The Oysters open the bars of their doors and lick the mud, and, in their desire for water, sit wide open in the arms of the rocks. The Crab on the other hand takes a pebble from the beach, moving sideways, carries it clutched in his sharp claws. Stealthily he draws near and puts the stone in the middle of the Oyster. Then he sits by and makes a pleasant feast. And the Oyster, though fain, is unable to shut his two valves, but gapes perforce until he dies and gluts his captor.

A like craft is practised also by the reptile Star-fishes of the sea; for these too have a device against Oyster. Howbeit they bring no stone as comrade nor ally, but insert in the middle of the open Oyster a rough limb. Thus the Oysters are overcome, while the starfish feed.

A shell again keeps the plains of the deep, wherein dwells a fish called Pinna. The Pinna herself is weak and can of herself devise nothing nor do aught, but in house and one shelter with her dwells a Crab which feeds and guards her; wherefore it is called the Pinna-guard. Now when a fish comes within the shell, the Crab seizes the unheeding Pinna and wounds her with crafty bite. Then in her pain she claps her shells together and so contrives to catch within a prey for herself and her companion, and they take a common meal together. Thus even among the swimming tribes that travel in the water some are crafty and some are stupid, as among us men, and not all have a right understanding.

Mark now a fish that exceeds all in stupidity, even the Day-sleeper, lazy beyond all that the sea breeds. The eyes in his head are turned upward and the ravenous mouth between his eyes. Always he lies all day stretched in the sands asleep and only at night does he awake and wander abroad; wherefore is also called the Bat. But an evil doom is his for his limitless appetite. For he knows no satiety of food nor any measure, but in his shameless belly he nurses gluttony, rabid and endless, nor would he cease from feeding if food were at hand, till his belly itself burst utterly in the midst and himself fall flat upon his back or some other fish kill him, gorged with his latest meal. This sign I tell you of his ravenous gluttony. If a man capture him and tempt his prey by offering him food with his hand, he will take it until the food shall be heaped up even unto the most gluttonous jaws of him. Hear, ye generations of men, what manner of issue there is to gluttonous folly, what pain follows upon excessive eating. Let a man therefore drive far from heart and hand idleness that delights in evil pleasure, and observe measure in eating nor delight in luxurious tables. For many such there be among men who hold the reins loose and allow all rope to their belly. But let a man behold and avoid the end of the Day-sleeper.

Wit and cunning belong also to the prickly Urchins, which know when the violence of the wind and the fierce storms are rising, and lift each of them upon their backs a stone of such weight as they can easily carry on their spines, that thus weighted they may withstand the driving of the wave. For that is what they most dread — lest the swelling wave roll them on the shore.

No one, I think, is ignorant of the craft of the Poulpes, which make themselves like in appearance to the rocks, even whatsoever rock they embrace and entwine with their tentacles. By their deceits they easily mislead and escape fishers alike and stronger fishes. When a weaker fish meets them near at hand, straightway they leap forth from their stony form and appear as veritable Poulpes and fishes, and by their craft contrive food and escape destruction. But in winter, they say, the Poulpes never travel over the waters of the sea; for they fear the fierce storms. But sitting down in their hollow chambers they cower, and devour their own feet as if they were alien flesh. These feet, when they have glutted their owners, grow again; this gift, I ween, Poseidon has given them. Such a device is used also by the fierce and gluttonous Bears. For they, shunning winter's threat, retreat into the rocky covert of their lair, where they lick their own feet, a fasting feast, seeking an unsubstantial food, and come not forth, until the mild spring be in its prime.

Above all other the dashing Crayfish and the Muraena and the Poulpes have a bitter feud with each other and destroy one another with mutual slaughter. Always there is fishy war and strife between them, and one fills his maw with the other. The raging Muraena comes forth from her sea-washed rock and speeds through the waves of the deep in quest of food. Anon it descries a Poulpe crawling on the edge of the shore and rushes gladly on a welcome prey. The Poulpe is not unaware that the Muraena is at hand. First in terror he turns to flee, but he has no means to escape the Muraena, he crawling while she swims and rushes incontinently. Speedily she catches the Poulpe and fixes her deadly teeth in him. The Poulpe, on the other hand, albeit unwilling, fights under deadly compulsion and twines around her limbs, contriving all manner of twists, now this, now that, with his crooked whips, if haply, embracing her in his nooses, he may stay her onset. But for his evil plight there is no cure nor escape. When the Poulpe enfolds her, the nimble Muraena with her slippery limbs easily escapes through his embrace like water. But the Poulpe twines now round her spotted back, now round her neck, now round her very tail, and anon rushes into the gates of her mouth and the recesses of her jaws. Even as two men skilled in valiant wrestling long time display their might against each other; already from the limbs of both pours the sweat warm and abundant and the varied wiles of their art are all abroad and their hands wave about their bodies; even so the suckers of the Poulpe, at random plied, are all abroad, and labour in vain wrestling. But the Muraena with sharp assault of teeth rends the Poulpe; some of his limbs her belly receives, while other parts the sharp teeth still grind in her jaws, others are still quivering and twisting, half consumed, struggling still and fain to escape. As when in the woods the Stag of heavy horns, seeking the path of serpents, discovers the track by scent and devours it amain, while the serpent twines about knees and neck and breast, and some of its limbs lie half-eaten, much yet in the Stag's jaws the teeth devour: even so the coiling limbs of the hapless Poulpe writhe, nor does his device of stony craft save him. For even if perchance in his endeavours to escape he twine about a rock and clothe him in a colour like to it, yet he escapes not the wit of the Muraena, but she alone remarks him and his cunning is in vain. Then thou wouldst pity him for his unseemly doom, as he crouches on the rocks, while she stands by, as it were mocking him. Thou wouldst say cruel Muraena spoke and mocked him thus. "Why dost thou skulk, crafty one? Whom hopest thou to deceive? Soon shall I assault the rock, if this cliff receive thee within it and close and cover thee." And straightway she fixes in him the curved edge of her teeth and devours him, pulling him all trembling from the rock. But he, even while he is rent, does not leave the rock nor let go. Coiling he clings to it till only his suckers remain fast. As when a city is sacked by the hands of the foemen, and children and women are haled away as the prize of the spear, a man drags away a boy who clings to the neck and arms of his mother; the boy relaxes not his arms that are twined about her neck, nor does the wailing mother let him go, but is dragged with him herself; even so the poor body of the Poulpe, as he is dragged away, clings to the wet rock and lets not go.

The Crayfish again destroys the Muraena, savage though she be, overcome by her valour fatal to herself. He stands near the rock in which dwells the nimble Muraena and extends his two feelers and, breathing hostile breath, challenges the Muraena to battle: even as a chieftain, the champion of an army, who, trusting in the prowess of his hands and his skill in war, arrays in arms his strong body and brandishing his sharp spears challenges any foeman who will to meet him, and presently provokes another chieftain. Even so the Crayfish whets the spirit of the Muraena, and no laggard for battle is the dusky fish, but rushing from her lair with arched neck and quivering with wrath she goes to meet him. Yet for all her terrible rage she hurts not the prickly Crayfish; vainly and idly she fixes in him her jaw and rages with her hard teeth, which in her jaws rebound as from a hard rock and grow weary and are blunted by their force. Greatly her fierce heart burns and is stirred, until the Crayfish rushes on her with his long claws and seizes her by the tendon in the midst of her throat, and clings and holds her firm as with brazen tongs, and lets her not go though eager to escape. She, distressed by his violence and vexed by pain, wheels every way her crooked body, and speedily she throws herself about the prickly back of the Crayfish and enfolds him and impales herself on the spine and sharp points of his shell, and, full of many wounds, perishes self-destroyed, dead by her own folly. As when a man skilled in the work of slaying wild beasts, when the people are gathered in the house-encircled market-place, awaits the Leopard maddened by the cracking of whip and with long-edged spear stands athwart her path; she, though she beholds the edge of sharp iron, mantles in swelling fury and receives in her throat, as it were in a spear-stand, the brazen lance; even so wrath slays the unhappy Muraena in her folly, overcome by self-dealt wounds. Such strife, I ween, upon the dry land a Serpent and a prickly Hedgehog wage, when they meet in the woods; for enmity is their lot also. The Hedgehog, seeing in front of him the deadly reptile, fences himself with his close-set bristling spines and rolls himself into a ball, protecting his limbs under his fence within which he crawls. The Serpent, rushing upon him, first assails him with his venomous jaws, but his labour is all in vain. For despite his eagerness he cannot reach the flesh within with his devouring teeth; so rough a pile surrounds the Hedgehog; who, like a round boulder, wheels his shifty limbs, rolling turn on turn, and falls upon the coils of the Serpent and wounds him with the sharp arrows of his bristles; and here and there flows the bloody ichor and many wounds torment the Serpent. Then the clammy Snake girds the Hedgehog all about with his circling coil and in the embrace of his grievous bonds holds him and bites and puts therein strength of anger. Then swiftly all the sharp-bristling spines of the Hedgehog glide into him; yet, impaled upon the prickles, he abates not his effort though fettered against his will, but remains fast as if held by strong dowels, until he dies; and often by his pressure he destroys the beast as well, and they become doom and bane to one another. But often, too, the dread Hedgehog gets away and escapes, slipping from the reptile and his darksome fetter, bearing still upon his spines the flesh of the dead Serpent. In like fashion also the Muraena perishes by a foolish doom, to the Crayfish an eager and welcome feast.

The Crayfish again, prickly though he be and swift, is devoured by the Poulpe, albeit he is weaker and sluggish of motion. For when the Poulpe remarks him under the rocks sitting all motionless, stealthily he springs upon his back and casts his various bonds about him, oppressing him with the long chains of his strong feet and with the ends of his tentacles withal he constricts and strangles the warm channel in the midst of his mouth and suffers not his airy breath to pass either out or in (for fishes too draw the tide of air), but holds him in his embrace. And the Crayfish now swims, now halts, and again struggles, and anon dashes against the jutting crags. But the Poulpe relaxes not the contest of might, until life and strength forsake the other in death. Then when the Crayfish falls prone, the Poulpe sits by him on the sands and feasts, even as a child draws with his lips the sweet milk from the breast of his nurse; even so the Poulpe laps the flesh of the Crayfish, sucking and drawing it forth from its prickly vessel, and fills his belly with sweet food. Even as a day-sleeping man, with predatory craft devising dark counsels, never honouring the majesty of justice, skulks at evening in the narrow streets and lies in wait for one passing by after a banquet; the banqueter, heavy with wine, goes forward, singing drunkenly, bawling no very sober melody; and the other darts forth stealthily behind and seizes his neck with murderous hands and overpowers and lays him low in a cruel sleep not far from death and despoils him of all his raiment and goes his way with his booty, ill-gotten and unlawful: even such are the devices of the cunning Poulpes.

These above all creatures of the sea are hostile and unfriendly and alone among the fishes of varied tribe are avengers and slayers one of the other.

Others of the fishes are venomous and an ugly venom is bred in their mouths and creeps hateful into their bite. Such is the Scolopendra, an ominous reptile of the brine, like in form to the reptile of the land, but deadlier in its hurt. For if one approach and touch it, straightway itch makes a hot redness on his flesh and a weal runs over him as from the grass which, from the pains which it causes, men call the nettle. Most hateful of all is the Scolopendra for fishermen to encounter; for if it touch the bait, not a fish will come near that hook; with such a hateful venom does the Scolopendra infect it.

A like bane also is bred in the mouth of the spotted Rainbow-wrasses; them do men who explore the depths of the sea chiefly abhor — divers and toilsome sponge-cutters. For when they behold the searcher of the sea hasting to the depths for his labour under the water, in tens of thousands they spring from the rocks and rush around the man and throng in swarms about him and stay him in his course as he labours, on this side and on that stinging him with relentless mouths. He is wearied by his conflict with water and the hateful Wrasses. With hands and hasting feet he does all he can to ward off and drive away the watery host. But they pursue him stubbornly, like unto flies, the grievous hosts of harvest, which on every side fly about the reapers at their work when they toil in autumn; and the reapers sweat at once with their toil and the intemperate shafts of the air and they are vexed exceedingly by the flies; but these abate nothing of their shamelessness until they die or have tasted the reaper's dusky blood. Even such lust have these fishes also for the blood of men.

No feeble bite verily hath the reptile Poulpe when he wounds, nor the Cuttle-fish, but in them also is bred an ichor scanty but noxious. Among fishes armed with sharp stings are the Goby which rejoices in the sands and the Scorpion which rejoices in the rocks, and the swift Swallows and the Weevers and those Dog-fish which are named from their grievous spines — all discharging poison with their deadly pricks.

For the Sting-ray and the Swordfish God has put in their bodies most powerful gifts, equipping each with a weapon of exceeding might. Above the jaw of the Swordfish he has set a natural sword, upright and sharp, no sabre of iron but a mighty sword with the strength of adamant. When he puts his weight behind his terrible spear not even the hardest rock may endure the wound; so fierce and fiery is the onset.

In the Sting-ray there springs from below the tail a fierce sting, at once grievous in its power and deadly with its venom. Neither the Sword-fishes nor the Sting-rays will taste any food with their jaws, until they have first wounded with their deadly jaws whatever prey is at hand whether it be alive or lifeless. But when the breath of life forsakes the Sword-fish, his mighty sword straightway perishes with him and his weapon is quenched with its master and there is left a bone of no account, a great sword only to behold and thou couldst do nothing with it if thou wouldst. But than the wound of the Sting-ray there is no more evil hurt, neither in the warlike weapons which the hands of the smith contrive nor in the deadly drugs which Persian pharmacists have devised upon their winged arrows. While the Sting-ray lives, a terrible and fiery weapon attends it, such, I ween, as a man trembles to hear of, and it lives when the Sting-ray itself has perished and preserves its unwearied strength unchanged; and not only on the living creatures which it strikes does it belch mysterious bane but it hurts even tree and rock and wherever it comes nigh. For if one take a lusty tree that flourishes in its season, with goodly foliage and fruitful crop, and wound it in the roots below with that relentless stroke, then, smitten by an evil bane, it ceases to put forth leaves and first droops as if by disease and its beauty fades away; and at no distant date thou shalt behold the tree withered and worthless and its greenery gone.

That sting it was which his mother Circe, skilled in many drugs, gave of old to Telegonus for his long hilted spear, that he might array for his foes death from the sea. And he beached his ship on the island that pastured goats; and he knew not that he was harrying the flocks of his own father, and on his aged sire who came to the rescue, even on him whom he was seeking, he brought an evil fate. There the cunning Odysseus, who had passed through countless woes of the sea in his laborious adventures, the grievous Sting-ray slew with one blow.

The Tunny and the Sword-fish are ever attended and companioned by a plague, which they can never turn away or escape: a fierce gadfly which infests their fins and which, when the burning Dog-star is newly risen, fixes in them the swift might of its bitter sting, and with sharp assault stirs them to grievous madness, making them drunk with pain. With the lash of frenzy it drives them to dance against their will; maddened by the cruel blow they rush and now here, now there ride over the waves, possessed by pain unending. Often also they leap into well-beaked ships, driven by the stress of their distemper; and often they leap forth from the sea and rush writhing upon the land, and exchange their weary agonies for death; so dire pain is heavy upon them and abates not. Yea, for oxen also, when the cruel gadfly attacks them and plunges its arrow in their tender flanks, have no more regard for the herdsman nor for the pasture nor for the herd, but leaving the grass and all the folds they rush, whetted by frenzy; no river nor untrodden sea nor rugged ravine nor pathless rock stays the course of the bulls, when the gadfly hot and sharp impels, urging them with keen pains. Everywhere there is bellowing, everywhere range their bounding hoofs: such bitter tempest drives. This pain the fishes suffer even as do the cattle.

The Dolphins lord it greatly among the herds of the sea, pluming themselves eminently on their valiance and beauty and their swift speed in the water; for like an arrow they fly through the sea, and fiery and keen is the light which they flash from their eyes, and they descry, I ween, any fish that cowers in a cleft or wraps itself beneath the sands. Even as the Eagles are lords among the lightsome birds or Lions amid ravenous beasts, as Serpents are most excellent among reptiles, so are Dolphins leaders among fishes. Them as they come no fish dares to approach nor any to look them in the face, but they tremble from afar at the dread leaps and snorting breath of the lord of fishes. When the Dolphins set out in quest of food, they huddle before them all the infinite flocks of the sea together, driving them in utter rout; they fill with terror every path of the sea, and shady covert and low ravine, and the havens and the bays of the shore are straitened with fishes huddling from every side; and the Dolphin devours whichsoever he will, choosing the best of the infinite fishes at hand.

But, notwithstanding, even the Dolphins have foes who meet their encounter, the fish called Amia, which care not for the Dolphin but alone fight them face to face. These have a weaker body than the Tunny and are clothed in feeble flesh, but in their ravenous mouth bristles sharp a dense array of teeth; wherefore also they have great courage and do not cower before the mighty lord of fishes. For when they see one that has wandered away alone from the rest of the herd of Dolphins, then from this quarter and from that, as a great army at command, they gather in a body together and set forth to battle dauntlessly, like shielded warriors against the tower of the foe. And the bearded Dolphin, when the crowd meets him, at first recks not of them but rushes among them, seizing and rending now one and now another, finding a banquet after his heart. But when the ranks of war surround him on every side and encircle him with their great and dense array, then trouble at length enters his heart and he knows that sheer destruction is upon him, hemmed about as he is, alone among countless foes; and the toil of battle appears. For furiously they fall in a body about the limbs of the Dolphin and fix in him the might of their teeth; everywhere they bite him and cling to him relentlessly, many clutching his head, others his grey jaws, while yet others cleave to his very fins; many in his flanks fix their deadly teeth, others seize the end of his tail, others his belly beneath, others feed upon his back above, others hang from his mane, others from his neck. And, full of manifold distress, he rushes over the sea and his frenzied heart within him is racked with agony and his spirit is afire with pain. Every way he leaps and turns, rushing blindly in the spasms of agony. Like a diver, now he runs over the deep waves like a whirlwind, now he plunges to the nether deeps; and often he springs up and leaps above the foam of the sea, if haply the bold swarm of overweening fishes may let him go. But they, relentless, no wise abate their violence but cling to him all the same; when he dives, they dive along with him; when he leaps up again, they likewise spring forth from the sea in his train. You would say that the Shaker of the Earth had gotten a new and monstrous birth, half Dolphin and half Amia; so grievous the bond of teeth wherewith he is bound. As when a cunning physician drains a swollen wound, within which is gathered much unwholesome blood, and he applies to the flesh of the sufferer the watery brood, the dark-hued reptiles of the marsh, to feast on his black blood; and straightway they become arched and rounded and draw the filth and abate not until having drained the strong drink of blood they roll of themselves from flesh and fall like drunken men; even so the fury of the Amia abates not until they have devoured with the mouth the flesh which they once seized. But when they leave him and the Dolphin gets a breathing-space from toil, then shalt thou behold the rage of the angry lord of fishes and deadly doom appears for the Amia. They flee; and he behind working havoc, like hurricane of evil noise, lays all waste, devouring them incontinently, and with ravening jaws reddens the sea with blood; and he avenges the despite that he suffered. Even so in the woods, as hunters tell, the terrible Jackals gather and busy themselves about a Stag; they rush upon him and rend his flesh with their jaws and lap the warm gore of new-shed blood: the Stag bellowing in his bloody pain, full of deadly wounds, bounds now to this mountain-crag, now to that, but the ravenous beasts leave him not but always follow him close, and rend him alive and tear off his hide before he finds death, making a black and woeful banquet. But while the shameless Jackals pay no requital but laugh loud over the dead Stags, the bold Amia soon fight a less happy fight.

This other excellent deed of the Dolphins have I heard and admire. When fell disease and fatal draws nigh to them, they fail not to know it but are aware of the end of life. Then they flee the sea and the wide waters of the deep and come aground on the shallow shores. And there they give up their breath and receive their doom upon the land; that so perchance some mortal man may take pity on the holy messenger of the Shaker of the Earth when he lies low, and cover him with mound of shingle, remembering his gentle friendship; or haply the seething sea herself may hide his body in the sands; nor any of the brood of the sea behold the corse of their lord, nor any foe do despite to his body even in death. Excellence and majesty attend them even when they perish, nor do they shame their glory even when they die.

The Grey Mullet, I hear, among all the fishes of the sea nurses the gentlest and most righteous mind. For only the kindly Grey Mullets harm neither one of their own kind nor any of another race. Nor do they touch with their lips fleshly food nor drink blood, but feed harmlessly, unstained of blood and doing no hurt, a holy race. Either upon the green seaweed they feed or on mere mud, and lick the bodies one of the other. Wherefore also among fishes they have honourable regard and none harms their young brood, as they do that of others, but refrain the violence of their ravenous teeth. Thus always and among all reverend Justice hath her privilege appointed and everywhere she wins her meed of honour. But all other fishes come fraught with destruction to one another; wherefore also thou shalt never see fishes sleeping but evermore awake and sleepless are their eyes and wits, since always they dread the encounter of a stronger and slay the weaker. Only the tender Parrot-wrasse, as fishermen say, never falls into their nets in the darkness but doubtless sleeps by night in the hollow ocean caves.

Yet it is no marvel that Justice should dwell apart from the sea. For not long since that first of goddesses had no throne even among men, but noisy riots and raging ruin of destroying Wars and Strife, giver of pain, nurse of tearful wars, consumed the unhappy race of the creatures of a day. Nor different at all from wild beasts were many among men; but, more terrible than Lions, well-builded towers and halls and fragrant temples of the deathless gods they clothed with the blood of men and dark smoke of Hephaestus: until the Son of Cronus took pity on the afflicted race and bestowed upon you, the Sons of Aeneas, the earth for keeping. Yet even among the earlier kings of the Ausonians War still raged, arming Celts and proud Iberians and the great space of Libya and the lands of the Rhine and Ister and Euphrates. Wherefore need I mention those works of the spear? For now, O Justice, nurse of cities, I know thee to share the hearth and home of men, ever since they hold sway together, mounted on their mighty throne — the wondrous Sire and his splendid scion: by whose rule a sweet haven is opened for me. Them, I pray, O Zeus and ye Sons of Heaven, the choir of Zeus, may ye keep and direct unfailingly through many tens of the revolving years, if there be any reward of piety, and to their sceptre bring the fulness of felicity.