After these the comedian, talking of those who bear afflictions uneasily, speaks consonantly to this purpose:— If we in wet complaints could quench our grief, At any rate we’d purchase our relief; With proffered gold would bribe off all our fears, And make our eyes distil in precious tears. But the Gods mind not mortals here below, Nor the least thought on our affairs bestow; But with an unregarding air pass by, Whether our cheeks be moist, or whether dry. Unhappiness is always sorrow’s root, And tears do hang from them like crystal fruit. And Dictys comforts Danae, who was bitterly taking on, after this manner:— Dost think that thy repinings move the grave, Or from its jaws thy dying son can save? If thou would’st lessen it, thy grief compare;— Consider how unhappy others are; How many bonds of slavery do hold; How many of their children robbed grow old; How sudden Fate throws off th’ usurped crown, And in the dirt doth tread the tyrant down. Let this with deep impression in thee sink, And on these revolutions often think. He bids her consider the condition of those who have suffered equal or greater afflictions, and by such a parallel to comfort up her own distempered mind.