' Nihil est tam arduum, quod non improbitas
extorqueat. Dum dicit: 'patrem excitabo,' irrepsi tamen et male
repugnanti gaudium extorsi. At ille non indelectatus nequitia mea,
postquam diu questus est deceptum se et derisum traductumque inter
condiscipulos, quibus iactasset censum meum, 'videris tamen' inquit
'non ero tui similis. Si quid vis, fac iterum.' Ego vero deposita
omni offensa cum puero in gratiam redii ususque beneficio eius in
somnum delapsus sum. Sed non fuit contentus iteratione ephebus planae
maturitatis et annis ad patiendum gestientibus. Itaque excitavit me
sopitum et 'numquid vis?' inquit. Et non plane iam molestum erat
munus. Utcunque igitur inter anhelitus sudoresque tritus, quod
voluerat, accepit, rursusque in somnum decidi gaudio lassus.
Interposita minus hora pungere me manu coepit et dicere: 'quare non
facimus?' tum ego totiens excitatus plane vehementer excandui et
reddidi illi voces suas: 'aut dormi, aut ego iam patri dicam.'"
This discourse diverting my grief, I began to question the old
gentleman about the antiquity of some pieces, the stories of others I
was not acquainted with, the reason why this age don't come up to the
former, and why the most excellent arts are lost, of which painting
has not left the least sign of its being? "Our love of riches,"
reply'd he, "has been the only occasion: for in old time, when virtue
was admir'd for its own sake, all liberal arts flourisht, and the only
emulation among men, was to make discoveries that might profit the
age.
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