When Lysidamus arrives on stage in Plautus′ Casina, he delightedly announces that he is in love with the slave girl Casina. He is returning, he says, from an expedition to buy perfume which he hopes has made him appealing to his beloved. Casina′s name is derived from the fragrant spice casia. Cassia and the related spice cinnamon originate in the Far East and were imported to Rome through Arabia or Africa.Like other ancient spices, cassia was used as perfume, condiment, and in medicinal and religious contexts.

[Lichas] ‘videbatur mihi secundum quietem Priapus dicere: “Encolpion quod quaeris, scito a me in navem tuam esse perductum”.’ exhorruit Tryphaena et ‘putes’ inquit ‘una nos dormiisse; nam et mihi simulacrum Neptuni, quod Bais <in> tetrastylo notaveram, videbatur dicere: “in nave Lichae Gitona invenies”.’ ‘hinc scies’ inquit Eumolpus ‘Epicurum hominem esse divinum, qui eiusmodi ludibria facetissima ratione condemnat.’ <*> ceterum Lichas ut Tryphaenae somnium expiavit: ‘quis’ inquit ‘prohibet navigium scrutari, ne videamur divinae mentis opera damnare?’

(Petr. Sal. 104.1–4)

Priapus and Epicurus have frequently been claimed to be major influences, each in their particular way, on the plot and composition of the Satyrica.

The earlier part of this paper yielded the result that the assertion ‘A portion of everything in everything’ has no place or function in the explanation of any sort of apparent ‘becoming’ or change. This conclusion is important because, ever since Aristotle, it has been assumed that the assertion was made in order to explain away becoming and change. But if (as I have shown), according to the best evidence, becoming and such sorts of change as Anaxagoras considered can be explained away without using the assertion at all, it follows that the motive for it must be sought, not in the processes of apparent becoming and change, but in the permanent constitution of the ungenerated and unchanging things which figure as elements in the system. A visible mass of gold or of flesh is formed by the aggregation of smaller particles of gold or of flesh, and it is infinitely divisible into parts, every one of which is gold or flesh. But what is the constitution of a piece of gold of whatever size, and how does it differ from the constitution of a piece of flesh? The proposition we have so far successfully excluded comes in here as part of the answer to this question.

In a masterly study of the language and motifs of Theocritus’ Thalysia, Dr. G. Giangrande has demonstrated that what the poem relates is the mock-investiture of Simichidas, the naïve young townsman and littérateur, performed with almost malicious irony by the goatherd Lycidas, who sees through, and ridicules, Simichidas’ rustic and poetic pretensions.1 My object in this paper is to examine, in the light of Giangrande's findings, some aspects of the presentation of Lycidas; this examination will, I believe, enable us to bring the poem into still sharper focus.

1. In his recent edition of the De Mysteriis, Mr. D. M. MacDowell has advanced the hypothesis that Andocides, contrary to the generally accepted view, was not guilty of mutilating the Hermae, but guilty of parodying the Mysteries; that, even after he had told what he knew about the former affair, he was kept in prison until, eventually, he confessed to the latter, incriminating, amongst others, his father Leogoras, to gain immunity for himself; and that finally, released and repentant, he helped his father to avoid prosecution. These conclusions are reached in an ingeniously argued series of appendices, in which the author displays a refreshing scepticism towards the evidence of Thucydides.

In recent years a great deal of scholarly and philosophical discussion has been devoted to the interpretation and evaluation of the regress arguments which Parmenides is made to deploy against the theory of Ideas in the first part of the dialogue which takes its name from him. By contrast, scarcely anything has been written about the infinite regress argument which Parmenides presents at the start of the second of the deductions which make up the dialogue's second part. Yet while it may contain less to reward the philosopher than the earlier regresses, it can hardly fail to perplex the scholar.

‘More light is thrown on the poetic art of Stesichorus by the papyrus-text of his Geryoneis than by all his other fragments together.’ This verdict continues to be as true now as when it was first enunciated. But we are also in the fortunate position of being able to infer much of value about what we may term the pre-history of the legend which the poet took as the basis for his composition. And a key document within this process turns out to be a text that is not preserved upon papyrus, that is not, indeed, included as part of any edition of the poet, and which has been the object of some very serious misconceptions. The relevant section consists of a phrase only three words long, but it is difficult to underestimate their importance, once they are rightly understood.

Though the problem of the Homeric augment eventually needs a rather intricate handling, it can at first be stated quite simply. Briefly, the facts are these:

A. True present-aorists, such as are seen in the similes and gnomes, take the augment idiomatically. In the whole of the similes there are only sixteen unaugmented aorists; three of the instances are difficult (4, Δ 279, O 682), but the rest could be emended by slight changes.

B.Iteratives do not take the augment; ν 7 is the only certain exception.

Here Ovid treats the demiurge's disposition of weightless aether over the other elements. This section of the cosmogony follows one that is devoted to the sphere of aer (52–66) where the creator settles the turbulent winds and other threatening meteorological phenomena. Recently Denis Feeney has suggested that Ovid's demiurge ‘does not act in a very epic manner’ by placing weightless aether on top of the winds. He argues: ‘The oddness of the control is caught in a moment of comparison with Vergil's universe: Vergil's Jupiter controls the winds by putting on top of them a mass of mountains(Aen. 1.61), while Ovid's mundi fabricator places above them the aether, explicitly “liquid and lacking weight, containing nothing of earthly sediment” (liquidum et gravitate carentem / aethera nee quicquam terrenae faecis habentem, 1.67–8)’. Feeney's observation has much to recommend it. To begin with, Ovid's excursus on the cardinal winds (57–66) evokes Vergil's set piece on the cave of Aeolus in Aeneid l. And the demiurge's subsequent placement of aether (‘haec super inposuit liquidum et gravitate carentem / aethera’) seems to echo the action of the Vergilian Jupiter(‘hoc metuens molemque et montis insuper altos / imposuit,’ Aen. 1.61–2). However, Feeney's conclusion that the demiurge's action is ‘redolent of anti-epic allegiances’ needs some adjustment.4 For his reading neglects an important verbal and structural allusion to the cosmogony of Lucretius (D.R.N. 5.495–501). Accordingly, the conclusion to be drawn from lines 67–8 may be, not that Ovid momentarily reveals his Callimachean colours in an epic context, but that he plays Lucretius off against Vergil and so establishes his own position in the epic tradition of cosmological poetry.

The meaning of κερτομω and its congeners in Homer has been the subject of debate in this journal. Jones has argued that ‘to κερτομ⋯ω someone is to speak in such a way as to provoke (whether intentionally or not) a powerful emotional reaction’, whether of anger or fear, and thus means ‘“to utter stinging words at [someone]”, “pierce to the heart”, “cut to the quick”, rather than merely “provoke” This definition seems to work well enough for some cases, but certainly not for all, and especially not for the passage from which the whole controversy began: Iliad 24.649, where Achilles speaks to Priam ༐πικερτομέωυ. As Richardson says in his Iliad commentary, ‘there is no sign that Akhilleus’ speech has this direct effect [i.e. arouses fear] on Priam’. Jones's article was responding to an earlier one by J. T. Hooker, who attempted to ascertain the sense of Achilles’ ༐πικερτομέυ by surveying the usage of kertom- words throughout Homeric epic. He concluded that the basic meaning is ‘to taunt’ or, more abstractly, it ‘indicates the provocation of another person into behaving in a certain way, whether that is the behaviour desired by the speaker… or is not desired by the speaker’. The problem was that this definition did not seem to fit the very line from which his inquiry began, the words of Achilles to Priam. Hooker then hypothesized that the verse betrayed signs of an ‘imperfect adaptation’ of a different version of the poem in which Achilles taunted a defeated enemy or perhaps preserved his grudge against Agamemnon to its end. This explanation is unpersuasive.

Plato in his discussion of the Divided Line (Republic 6) introduces a distinction between knowledge of the Forms in and by themselves () and . The first distinguishing characteristic of is that it ‘is compelled to employ assumptions, while knowledge of the Forms tries to advance to a certain first principle’ (510 b 4–9). The second distinguishing characteristic of is that it employs the ordinary objects of sense-perception as images (510 d 5–511 a 1). The geometer, in order to find out about ‘the Square’ and ‘theDiagonal’, draws diagrams and makes models.

When Mommsen saw foll. 28r line i–29r line 6 of cod. Paris, Bibl. Nat. lat. 7530, an eighth-century grammatical miscellany from Monte Cassino, he realised immediately the importance of their contents. He wrote to Bergk about his discovery on 2 November 1844 and Bergk published the material early the next year as being an epitome of a treatise on signs applied to literary texts by Probus and earlier Latin grammarians. There had long been known Diogenes Laertius' account of the χῖ and other signs placed in the margins of texts of Plato's dialogues, Hephaestion's account of the colometrical παράγραɸος, κορωνίς, διπλ⋯ and ⋯στερίσκος placed in texts of lyric and dramatic poetry, the chapter de notis sententiarum in Isidore's Origines, the names of various treatises περ⋯ σημείων mentioned in the Suda, the references to σημεῖα in Eustathius' commentary on Homer' and in the marginal scholia to Homer, Hesiod, Pindar, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides and Aristophanes in Byzantine manuscripts, Cicero's allusions to the ⋯βελός and the διπλ⋯ scattered reports of the signs with which Origen equipped Greek versions of the Old Testament and Jerome's adaptation of Origen's system, and Cassiodorus' account of his own method of noting orthodox and heterodox opinions in ecclesiastical writings.

The study of Hellenistic Greek, or of the Κοινή, which has flourished increasingly since the beginning of the present century, has brought Modern Greek more and more within the view of classical philologists. As I have insisted on utilizing Modern Greek for Hellenistic philology for about twenty years, I may claim some credit if a knowledge of Modern Greek is now admitted to be indispensable to Hellenistic studies; but philologists only reluctantly acknowledge this new demand, and hesitate to acquire as full an acquaintance with Modern Greek as the study of the Κοιή demands.

The speeches of Nicias and Alcibiades in the debate leading up to the launching of the Sicilian expedition (Thuc. 6.9–14, 6.20–3, 6.16–18) contain a significant number of words, phrases, and themes that recur in Thucydides' later chapters reporting the launching of the expedition and its ultimate fate in Sicily. The verbal and thematic echoes often consist of words of sight and hearing; among the recurring themes are rivalry and competition, the contrast between public and private expenditures, and the desire for acquisition and financial profit.

I. The present paper was read as one of ‘Three Notes of Doubt and One of Despair’ at the Oxford Philological Society in June 1948. Generally speaking, there is nothing to be said in favour of publishing an article on a text one is admittedly unable to under-stand. But in this case it has seemed advisable to start a discussion. I am therefore grateful to my friend P. Fraser for having consented to communicate his thoughts on the matter in an appendix to my note. We both hope that other scholars will be able to provide the satisfactory solution that has escaped us. Meanwhile we thank P. Maas, C. H. Roberts, and H. M. Last for their great help.

This paper is primarily an attempt to study the Homeric evidence on houses, particularly on the , in relation to the relevant remains. The reverse procedure, illuminating the archaeological evidence by references to Homer, is a hazardous one, as we shall see. It is often unclear just what is represented by the descriptions in the poems, and what period, if any, the things described belong to. I shall be concerned with these questions here. Are the houses in the poems Mycenaean: genuine traditions from the period in which the stories are set? Or are they Geometric: contemporary? Or a memory of some time in between? Or a mixture? We know so little about the development of the epic tradition that any possible source of information is worth pursuing.