Horace,
The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace
“ To gain our fleet free passage o'er the flood.' Blood! ay, your own, you madman. 'Nay, not so: My own, I grant it: but a madman's, no.'"He that sees things amiss, his mind distraught By guilty deeds, a madman will be thought; And, so the path of reason once be missed, Who cares if rage or folly gave the twist? When Ajax falls with fury on the fold, He shows himself a madman, let us hold: When you, of purpose, do a crime to gain A meed of empty glory, are you sane? The heart that air-blown vanities dilate, Will medicine say 'tis in its normal state? ”
