It has frequently been observed that the Prometheus Vinctus shows certain Sophoclean characteristics of rhythm. In order to vary the rhythm of his iambics and to avoid monotony, Sophocles often knits consecutive trimeters closely together by placing at the end of one line some word which looks forward to the next line, and so precludes the reader from stopping for the natural pause after the sixth foot. Sometimes he uses in this way subordinating words which introduce a dependent clause in the next line (Antig. 311); sometimes proclitics (O.C. 495) or quasi-proclitics (O.R. 267). (Sometimes, too, he even allows elision at the end of the trimeter, but this peculiarly Sophoclean device does not concern us now.)

The parodos of the Frogs is one of the most controversial passages in Aristophanes. Was it intended to parody the Eleusinian Mystery procession—or some other ritual? A writer wishing to discuss any part of the parodos must first outline his position with regard to this basic problem. I shall therefore as simply and briefly as possible state my own view and the reasons for it before dealing with the specific question posed by the title of the article.

Since the days of Merula it has been regularly assumed by editors and critics of Ennius that, despite the express statement of Cicero to the contrary, the Annales did contain some narrative of the events of the first Punic War. Familiar as the passage in the Brutus is, it must be quoted once again: “Tamen illius quem uatibus et Faunis annumerat Ennius Bellum Punicum quasi Myronis opus delectat. Sit Ennius sane, ut est certe, perfectior: qui, si ilium, ut simulat, contemneret, non omnia bella persequens, primm illud Punicum, acerrimum bellum, reliquisset”.

The chapters in which Thucydides describes the revolt of Potidaea and the subsequent operations there (I. 56–65) have often been criticized for their lack of clarity and precision. Their unevenness suggests an inadequate mastery of technique, and it seems very probable that they were written in the earliest years of the Peloponnesian war and never revised. Although opportunities to interrogate Peloponnesian prisoners must occasionally have come his way (cf. 1. 22. 3), his accounts of military operations which took place long before his banishment are founded very largely upon evidence derived from Athenian sources; but the chapters on Potidaea do not suffer from this disadvantage, and their faults are in no way attributable to a dearth of information from Peloponnesian sources, which seem, strangely enough, to have provided him with much of his material. His narrative is written as much from a Peloponnesian as from an Athenian point of view, and indeed it achieves warmth and colour only where its subject is the Corinthian Aristeus, whose plans and even motives are described in some detail, though they did not substantially influence the course of events. His treatment of Aristeus is sufficiently remarkable to merit examination with the object of seeking an explanation of its peculiarities.

Mr. Last's very interesting note (Class. Quart. XVII., pp. 35–36) is so ingenious and the Egyptian evidence falls so pat that it deserves to be right, but I very much doubt if it is. In fact the Aithiopians do not stand alone, and the context of their longevity deserves consideration. If that context is recalled, it may appear that ‘to say that the legend was attached by the Greeks to the Aithiopians through their remoteness from the Mediterranean world is no explanation’ is itself a hard saying.

This is our well received text of Propertius' celebrated address to the shades of Callimachus and Philitas at 3.1.1–2:

Callimachi Manes et Coi sacra Philitae,

in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus.

Well received it may be, but scholarly worries and disagreements about the precise meaning of sacra, and indeed about the real purpose of the address, perhaps have diverted editors' eyes from a possible corruption. I would like to suggest that the pairing of ethnic adjective and personal name, Coi and Philitae, in line 1 may not be Propertian.

‘To attempt to say anything new about Horace may seem absurd.’ To attempt to say anything new about the Roman Odes may seem still more absurd; my purpose, nevertheless, is to reconsider the lines of Carm. 3.3 set out above, and to reinterpret an argument begun by the editor of the Delphin Horace (1691) in which the authority of Bentley is against me. My question is: what does Horace mean the reader to understand by describing Augustus as drinking nectar ‘purpureo ore’?

In the above paper I suggested that in Anth. Pal. ix. 519 and xi. 12 Philip V of Macedon was himself the Cyclops and the Centaur, and that these two identifications were not only appropriate to Philip's character (as popularly interpreted), but also historically associated with the Argead dynasty. In my case for the ‘Centaur’ identification, however, I overlooked one of the most important pieces of evidence, though it had been available since 1926; and that is the meaning of the word κέντανυος In an article published that year E. H. Sturtevant showed that κέντανυος is a word of Thraco-Macedonian origin with the same meaning as the Greek ϕίλɩππος. The first part κενττ– is the κενττ– οΤ κενθ which is a constituent of several Thracian personal names, e.g. Aulu-centus, Aulu-centius, Ἐπται-κενθος, Zipa-centhus, etc. (almost a score are quoted by Sturtevant). The second half of the word, avro-, occurs in Ἀβρο-ξελμης, Ἀβρου-πολις Ἀβρο-τονον etc. (with such variants as Αὐλου-ξελμις, Ἀλλου-πορις, which led Tomaschek to suggest that ἀβρο(υ)- and αὐλο(υ)- are alternative forms of the same word). Already Tomaschek had identified κεντ- with the Greek ϕιλ-, and had argued that Thracian avro- ‘was borrowed from Iranian neighbours of the Thracians. Avestan aurva-, aurvañt (“runner, swift”) is strikingly similar in form to Thracian avro-, avrū-, and the Avestan word applies so frequently to the horse that it might easily come to mean ”horse”’. From a combination of the two forms Sturtevant gets the convincing κένταυρος (cf. the reverse form Aulu-centus) = ϕίλιππος.

1. IN the C.Q.xxxiv (1940), pp. 118 ff., I wrote on ‘Some Uses of the Imperfect in Greek’ (hereafter quoted as ‘Uses’). It occurred tome to check the suggestions there made by examining all the instances in one author. I had no hesitation in choosing Herodotus, who of all authors, except perhaps Homer, presents the most baffling diversity of types (I quote by chapter and the lines of Stein's annotated edition). For purposes of comparison I also read Thucydides and Xenophon's Anabasis 1–4. It would appear that Thucydides retains something of Herodotus' freedom, Xenophon comparatively little.

Recently, Jenny Strauss Clay has put forward the suggestion that the ‘goat island’ on which Odysseus lands before crossing over to the Cyclopes is ‘none other than Hyperia, the former home of the Phaeacians from which they emigrated to Scheria under the leadership of Nausithoos on account of the depredations of the Cyclopes.’ She arrives at this suggestion by combining the former proximity of the Phaeacians and Cyclopes (6.4–6) with the fact that the island ⋯νδρ⋯ν χηρεύει (9.124), ‘is bereft of men’ (i.e. in her opinion the Phaeacians).

The argument seems debatable. First, the word χηρεύει is a hapax, which Homer may or may not have used in a metaphorical way; our words ‘desert’ and ‘deserted’ are also used of places which have not been inhabited before. Second, nothing in the description of the island suggests previous habitation. Third, the Phaeacians are said to have left Hyperia to escape the plundering of the Cyclopes (6.4–6), but the Cyclopes are also explicitly described as lacking ships and shipbuilders (9.125f.). Consequently, Hyperia will hardly have been an island, nor the ‘goat island’ Hyperia.

Modern studies of Odysseus' visit to the Cyclopes often focus on the nature/culture aspects of the episode. The wild goats of ‘goat island’ in line 124 — βóσκει δέ τε μηκ⋯δας αἶγας — have regularly been included in these analyses. For example, C. Calame has well pointed out that ‘ce dernier trait distingue le complexe sémantique que définit l'Île Petite de celui que représente Polyphème et son monde: alors que Polyphème avait avec le monde des hommes le trait commun de l'élevage du petit bétail, la figure sémantique de l'Île Petite inverse exactement les traits caractérisant le monde des hommes.’

The study of the republican Roman Senate was revolutionized by Professor Broughton's Magistrates, and to a lesser extent more recently by Professor Lily Ross Taylor's Voting Districts of the Roman Republic. Naturally, neither of these two great works rounded up all the available evidence without exception, and a considerable amount of mopping-up has been carried out. More remains to be done, however, and this article aims at providing some further information on republican senators, their tribes, and their origins, as an addendum to (in the first section) M.R.R. and its Supplement, and (in the second) the prosopogra- phical chapter of Professor Taylor's book.

A calm has succeeded the clamour of the Virgilian Bimillenary, to be shattered all too soon by the commemoration of Augustus. In this brief interval there may be leisure to examine a question touching the career of Asinius Pollio and the history of the years 42·39 B.C. The Virgilian celebrations evoked two outstanding studies of the Fourth Eclogue, a poem dedicated to Pollio and written during—or perhaps just after—the consulate of Pollio (40 B.C.). Carcopino restated and sought to reinforce an opinion widely held in late antiquity among commentators of Virgil—the miraculous child of the poem was Saloninus, a son of Asinius Pollio: the child was born, he suggests, soon after the conclusion of the Pact of Brundisium, and shortly before the end of the year 40, while Pollio was still consul. At the time Pollio was at Salonae, on the coast of Dalmatia, which city his son's name commemorates. Tarn, however, adopting and reinforcing the theory put forward by Slater in 1912, argued that the Fourth Eclogue shows traces of being an epithalamium in form, designed to celebrate the wedding of Antony and Octavia, the seal and bond of the Pact of Brundisium which was concluded in the autumn of the year 40 between the dynasts Antony and Octavian; Pollio, a friend and a partisan of Antony, acted as his plenipotentiary in the negotiations; the new epoch was thus introduced under the auspices of Pollio, ‘te duce’; the child was the child to be expected from the marriage of Antony and Octavia; it turned out in fact to be a girl.

Epode 10: the Mystery of Mevius' Crime

Horace's tenth Epode, an inverse propempticon, calls down dire curses on the head of a man named Mevius as he leaves on a sea-voyage.1 Scholars have naturally been interested in what Mevius had done to merit such treatment, but answers have been difficult to find, for nothing explicit is said on this topic in the poem; as Leo noted, ‘[Horatius] ne verbo quidem tarn gravis odii causam indicat’. This is in direct contrast with the Strasbourg epode usually attributed to Hipponax (fr. 115 West), which served as Horace's model in this poem; there it is clear that the similar curses on a departing sailor are caused by his breaking of oaths to the poet and betrayal of their previous friendship (15–16 ⋯ς μ' ἢδίκησε, λ⋯ξ δ' ⋯π' ⋯ρκίοις ἔβη, τò πρίν ⋯ταῖρος ⋯ώμ ). One might expect Horace to give some kind of indirect suggestion of the nature of Mevius’ offence, but even this is despaired of by Fraenkel: ‘There is no hint at the sort of crime which Mevius is said to have committed, nor is anything said about the man himself; he remains an entirely shadowy figure’. The best that scholars have been able to do is to follow the ancient commentary of Porphyrio in suggesting that Horace's Mevius is to be identified with the poetaster attacked by Vergil in Ecl. 3.90 ‘qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina, Mevi’. Though it is pleasant to think of Vergil and Horace, perhaps by now friends in the circle of Maecenas, ganging up on a luckless hack, there is, as Fraenkel points out, no mention in the tenth Epode that Mevius is a poet, and his literary incompetence, assuming he is Vergil's poet, does not seem to underlie or indeed warrant the bitter imprecations of the poem: Catullus might wish a dire fate on the works of a bad poet (e.g. Volusius – 36.18–20, 95.7–8), but to long for their author's shipwreck and consumption by gulls might indeed seem excessive.

The motive of Clodius in attacking the validity of Caesar's laws in the latter part of 58 B.C. has been the subject of many conjectures on the part of modern historians. In a recent article1 Pocock has propounded a new theory as to the position and policy of the turbulent tribune, which is highly suggestive and deserving of a careful consideration. In the first place Pocock, in opposition to all previous historians, flatly denies that Clodius made any such attack at all, and offers a new explanation of the passage in Cicero's speech for his house where this is asserted. In the oration in question Cicero declares that Clodius called Bibulus before the people and by the testimony of the former consul showed that all Caesar's laws had been passed in disregard of the auspices, drawing from this the conclusion that they should all be annulled by the senate. If the conscript fathers would do this, Clodius offered to bring Cicero back on his own shoulders as the saviour of his country.2 Pocock believes that Cicero has flagrantly misrepresented Clodius and wilfully distorted his meaning. Some of Cicero's friends had denied the legality of Clodius' tribuneship and hence of the great orator's exile, and what Clodius did was to demonstrate that this denial logically involved the repudiation of all the Julian legislation. His offer to bring back Cicero was an ironical difiance, and amounted to telling the nobles that they had better not raise such a question unless they had the courage to cancel all Caesar's laws, something which he knew that they would not dare to do.

tantane me tenuit vivendi, nate, voluptas,

ut pro me hostili paterer succedere dextrae,

quern genui? tuane haec genitor per vulnera servor

morte tua vivens? heu, nunc misero mihi demum

exitium infelix, nunc alte vulnus adactum!

If any words are unmistakably Ciceronian, these are. Every schoolboy knew them. Generations of Latin prose composers have trotted them out with unassailable confidence. It seems almost indelicate to suggest that they are not Ciceronian at all; but it would solve the problem presented by Sallust Cat. 20.9 if this were the case. Sallust's placing of the hallowed words in the mouth of Catiline has always been something of a scandal, to be laughed off (if you can find a joke in it), or played down (Syme, Sallust, p.106, ‘If that is malice, it is not very noxious’’),