[256]Olim jure quidem, nunc plus Democrite ride; Quin rides? vita haec nunc mage ridicula est.

Democritus did well to laugh of old, Good cause he had, but now much more;

The Anatomy of Melancholy — Part 25

This life of ours is more ridiculous Than that of his, or long before.

The Anatomy of Melancholy — Part 25

Never so much cause of laughter as now, never so many fools and madmen. 'Tis not one [257]Democritus will serve turn to laugh in these days; we have now need of a Democritus to laugh at Democritus; one jester to flout at another, one fool to fleer at another: a great stentorian Democritus, as big as that Rhodian Colossus, For now, as [258]Salisburiensis said in his time, totus mundus histrionem agit, the whole world plays the fool; we have a new theatre, a new scene, a new comedy of errors, a new company of personate actors, volupiae sacra (as Calcagninus willingly feigns in his Apologues) are celebrated all the world over, [259]where all the actors were madmen and fools, and every hour changed habits, or took that which came next. He that was a mariner today, is an apothecary tomorrow; a smith one while, a philosopher another, in his volupiae ludis; a king now with his crown, robes, sceptre, attendants, by and by drove a loaded ass before him like a carter, &c. If Democritus were alive now, he should see strange alterations, a new company of counterfeit vizards, whifflers, Cumane asses, maskers, mummers, painted puppets, outsides, fantastic shadows, gulls, monsters, giddy-heads, butterflies. And so many of them are indeed ([260]if all be true that I have read). For when Jupiter and Juno's wedding was solemnised of old, the gods were all invited to the feast, and many noble men besides: Amongst the rest came Crysalus, a Persian prince, bravely attended, rich in golden attires, in gay robes, with a majestical presence, but otherwise an ass. The gods seeing him come in such pomp and state, rose up to give him place, ex habitu hominem metientes; [261]but Jupiter perceiving what he was, a light, fantastic, idle fellow, turned him and his proud followers into butterflies: and so they continue still (for aught I know to the contrary) roving about in pied coats, and are called chrysalides by the wiser sort of men: that is, golden outsides, drones, and flies, and things of no worth. Multitudes of such, &c. [262]———ubique invenies Stultos avaros, sycopliantas prodigos.

The Anatomy of Melancholy — Part 25