In a recent note, I collected instances of ‘stichometric allusion’, the technique in which poets allude, in one or more of their own verses, to source verses with corresponding line numbers. The technique existed in Hellenistic Greek poetry, but seems more prevalent (or at least, detectable) among the Latin poets of the Augustan era, who applied it to Greek and Latin predecessors alike, as well as internally to their own work. New illustrations of each type may be added here to those previously brought to light. Further examples, detected in an unsystematic fashion, no doubt lie dormant in published discussions and commentaries. Callimachus is still the only known Greek practitioner; perhaps his Roman successors considered the technique not merely Hellenistic but Callimachean. Authors of later ages employ the same techniques in equally haphazard fashion, although this does not mean that they had necessarily noticed examples from antiquity.

There can, I think, be little dispute that the most exciting plays about Philoctetes are those which have been described by Bowra, Kitto, and now B. M. W. Knox. It is a matter for regret that we must choose between them, or even reject all of them, since only one play is in question, the Philoctetes of Sophocles. My purpose, however, is not to compare the merits of these rivals, but something more restricted and rather duller. I shall make use of them in reexamining the difficulties raised by Sophocles' handling of the prophecy of Helenus, for it is to these that they largely owe their origin.

TheProblems, which occupy pp. 859-967 of the Berlin Aristotle, have probably been less read and studied than any other treatise in the Aristotelian Corpus; they contain, however, a vast quantity of interesting information on a great variety of subjects, and an enquiry into their composition may be not without interest.

Despite Lachmann's attempt to place them in the second century, it is now generally agreed that the Fables of Avianus cannot have been written before the late fourth or early fifth century. The linguistic and metrical evidence is decisive. For these matters I merely refer to the material collected in the prefaces to the editions of Ellis and Hervieux. Though these works appeared in 1887 and 1894 respectively, when the study of Late Latin was in its infancy, I suspect that a fresh study with the aid of modern tools would serve only to confirm their conclusions.

In Virgil, as in modern narrative, the act of saying is barely mentioned or left out altogether. At times the transition from indirect to direct speech comes abruptly, without warning (Aen. 2. 657 ff., 675 ff., 10. 825 ff.). On the other hand, the stress falls on the speaker's position within the general narrative. We are thus drawn away from the actuality of speech to a broader frame of reference. The characters seem to be more concerned with the distant implications of the action than with the present moment. Their motivations and fortunes cover the years. They merge, therefore, into legend, history, romance; and the words they speak illustrate their extending roles.

It is obvious that A.P. attached importance to chronology and considered it his business to supply his sketch of Athienian constitutional development, at every stage, with such chronological indications as were available. Thus his account of Peisistratos (14 ff.) largely follows Herodotus (1. 59 ff.), but with the addition of a more detailed chronology of the tyrant's comings and goings (and some other matter derived from the Atthidographers). From the archonship of Solon to that of Xenainetos he has constructed what is evidently intended to be a continuous chronological chain, by marking the intervals between events.

The words χρ⋯ and δεῖ with their inflectional and dialectic variations, are less definite and stable in their semantic range than the other Greek expressions for the general ideas of necessity, obligation, or propriety. Their semantic boundaries varied with the dialect, province of literature, and period–which cannot, indeed, be entirely separated. From Homer to Aristotle there is a steady trend, so plain that the slight notice taken of it is rather surprising. Everyone sees that the two are sometimes differentiated; yet it seems to be loosely taken for granted that they are substantially equivalent, and that either may, almost anywhere, be taken as an equivalent of the verbal in -τ⋯ος. The statements in Liddell and Scott under χρ⋯ present an admirable confusion of all periods and styles, and J. H. H. Schmidt, with no mention of dates, makes a distinction that resembles a reversal of the true relation.

The cento of Proba has recently enjoyed a remarkable upsurge of scholarly interest. A welcome translation was provided in 1981, and an article of five years later, scrutinizing the evidence for its date and authorship, has aroused much controversy. In two recent contributions vindicating the traditional date new or more precise suggestions have been made about the poem's historical context. In between these, yet another article has argued, without confirming or refuting the revised dating and attribution, that in various ways the work reflects the interest of the aristocratic ladies of the Anician family. And now there is a second article by Danuta Shanzer, repeating many of her early points (not always with greater clarity) and adding some interesting new ones. All this sudden attention is not unmerited, for as Herzog observed long ago the work is not of the comic or trivializing kind that Ausonius envisaged in his comments on the genre and does not degrade Vergil but rather, at least in the often quoted words of its prefatory poem, ‘improves’ him.

This inquiry starts from two passages in book 1 of Cicero's de Re Publica, both concerned with the failings of democracy as a political form. The first occurs in Scipio Aemilianus' opening criticism of the three unmixed constitutions. The weakness of democracy is that (1. 43)

cum omnia per populum geruntur quamvis iustum atque moderatum, tamen ipsa aequabilitas est iniqua, cum habet nullos gradus dignitatis:

We know enough about Posidonius' life to trace his wanderings: he was born into a wealthy and influential family in Apamea, Syria; he went through all the steps of an Hellenistic education; in Athens he encountered his Stoic teacher Panaetius; and finally he settled—except for some travelling throughout the Mediterranean and to Rome—in the high society of Rhodes, where he actively participated in political life and headed a Stoic school.

Sextus Empiricus does not reveal anything of himself as distinct from ‘the Sceptic’ except in a passing and incidental way. He does not refer to his contemporaries, nor to his country, nor to any personal experiences, in such a way as to provide a definite picture of his life and times. The few references he makes to his involvement in the medical profession are as perplexing as they are enlightening. The only attachments which Sextus strongly identifies with in his extant writings are the demands of the Pyrrhonean philosophy.

The long-awaited publication of Otto Zwierlein's edition of Seneca's Tragedies provides a welcome opportunity to present a few observations on the penultimate scene of pseudo-Seneca's Octavia (846–76).

The scene in question features Nero quarrelling with his Guard Prefect over the fate of the Empress Octavia. In this altercation there are three textual points which have for long been in dispute. The first section of the article is concerned with these, favouring an emendation (858) discarded in the new Oxford edition, but questioning two of the verse divisions suggested (867b–868a) or adopted (870a) by Zwierlein.

Herodotus' extension of tisis from a merely ethical principle to an encompassing law of nature is now widely recognized. The unjust expulsion of Demaratus from the Spartan kingship obtains its clear revenge from both Leotychidas and Cleomenes (6.72.1, 84.3). Hipparchus' vision of a giant prophet who announces the universal penalty for human injustice (5.56.1) embodies a statement of the ethical law which Herodotus sees operating in the realm of animals as well as of men: for any act of injustice one must pay the penalty, (3.109.2). Herodotus similarly analyses the Persians' aim at Salamis: they sought to force the Greeks to ‘pay t n e penalty’ for the Greek success at Artemision (8.76.2, ).

Heroides 11 has long enjoyed a favourable reputation among critics, largely because Ovid appears to show a tactful restraint in his description of Canace's last moments and to refrain, for once in the Heroides, from descending into what Jacobson terms ‘nauseating mawkishness’. Despite appearances, however, Ovid's wit is not entirely extinguished in this poem, for a devastating irony accompanies the certainty of Canace's imminent death. My objective is to demonstrate the nature of this irony by adopting a methodological approach which owes much to Kennedy's analysis of Heroides 1 in the light of the later books of the Odyssey. Kennedy's argument – that without knowing it Penelope is about to give her letter to its intended addressee – is based on two premises which are postulated by the epistolary mode of the poem. The first is that we are to imagine Ovid's heroines writing at a specific moment within a dramatic context; the second is that they have a specific motive for writing at that moment. In Kennedy's hands, this approach assumes the privileged position of the reader of Heroides 1 who, through access to the Odyssey, is alive to the ironies which Ovid's Penelope cannot realize. I propose to establish a similarly privileged position for the reader of Heroides 11, a position from which Canace's death can be seen to be both ill-timed and unnecessary. The key to identifying the ironic circumstances of Canace's death lies in reconstructing the background to the Canace and Macareus myth and the possible precedents which Ovid drew on in his treatment of the story. The situation is more complex than in the case of Heroides 1, however, since the literary sources familiar to Ovid and his readers have, in this instance, largely been lost to us and can only be reconstructed from fragmentary evidence.

One of four laws passed by Clodius early in 58 b.c. in some way modified the regulations governing obnuntiatio, the right possessed by magistrates and augurs to obstruct proceedings of the popular assemblies through announcement of unfavourable omens. The precise nature of the change is obscured by the fact that our main source, Cicero, describes it, as he does all of Clodius' legislation, in hyperbolic and polemical terms, alleging that it wholly abolished the right of obnuntiatio, a claim contradicted by other evidence in his writings, which provide many examples of its continuing use. The later ancient sources repeat the substance of Cicero's main allegations and, accordingly, do little to help disentangle the facts from the hyperbole. Inadequate information about the earlier regulations relating to obnuntiatio, which were contained in two laws of the mid-second century, the Leges Aelia et Fufia, further hampers the search for the precise terms of Clodius' amendment.

None of this, however, has discouraged speculation. The problem has exerted a peculiar fascination and has generated a succession of careful studies. Five main hypotheses have emerged: that the right of obnuntiatio was taken from curule magistrates; that it was taken from curule magistrates, but only in relation to legislative comitia; that it was taken from both curule magistrates and tribunes, but only in relation to legislative comitia; that it was abolished entirely, but soon restored by senatorial annulment of the reform; that it was left intact, but the assemblies were empowered to disallow it on any given occasion.

The use of dialogue in Xenophon's Hellenica is a phenomenon that needs explanation. Among previous historians, Herodotus had used it frequently but Thucydides hardly at all. In Xenophon's own time, Ctesias had used it but not the author of the Hellenica Oxyrhynchia nor Ephorus to any great extent, as far as we can tell. Theopompus had plagiarized one of the Hellenica dialogues as well as adding others of his own. Generally, dialogue occurred less frequently in history writing than the set speech.

Yet there have been no serious studies of dialogue in the Hellenica, and where opinions are expressed they often vary. Sordi considered that the purpose of dialogue was decorative and agreed with the estimates of ancient critics about the liveliness of the conversations. Breitenbach also thought they had literary merit but suggested that their purpose was moral and didactic. Henry agreed that their purpose was didactic but thought them flat and lifeless and lacking in literary merit. Bruce thought their purpose was to illustrate personality.

These differences of opinion should be settled. Moreover, Sordi's view that the content, style and purpose of dialogue is quite different from that of the set speech, and that this reflects a difference of genre within the Hellenica, dialogue being typical of memoir and the set speech of ‘serious’ history, cannot go unchallenged. Herodotus used dialogue in what was clearly not memoir. Further, there has been no serious attempt to place dialogue in the Hellenica in the tradition of dialogue writing in history or to examine its relationship to dramatic dialogue or the philosophical dialogue. This needs to be attempted. Such are the aims of this paper.

A problem in the text of Pindar, the interpretation of λαρ⋯ετον, O. 2. 87, seems to be vanishing, swept away by a remarkable consensus of recent criticism, a consensus the more remarkable in that it accepts a false solution to a genuine difficulty. This article has two purposes, the first and more important of which is to argue that the currently prevailing answer is manifestly wrong, the second to offer evidence in support of a different approach.

Simply read γαρυ⋯των, recent critics maintain, and all problems disappear. Since -ο- and -ω- were not yet distinguished in the orthography of Pindar's day, γαρυ⋯των is as correct as the unanimous γαρύɛτον of the MSS, testimonia, and scholia. By this simple change, the argument proceeds, the troublesome dual of the MSS is purged and with it the ‘historicist hare’, as one critic has recently called it, which less enlightened Pindarists chased for so long. If there is no dual, there is no need to speculate as to the identity of the ‘pair’ likened to κ⋯ρακɛς and contrasted with the ‘divine bird of Zeus’, the man who is wise φυᾷ. We need no longer suppose that the μαθ⋯ντɛς are Simonides and Bacchylides – the traditional answer – or any other specific rivals.

Unfortunately for this view, there is no evidence to justify taking γαρυ⋯των as a plural, which is of course precisely what critics have been doing. It is – if anything – a third dual imperative (an extremely rare form), and every bit as much a dual as the γαρύɛτον of the MSS.

Mr Stoneman is not alone in his ready dismissal of the ‘historicist hare’. Here is the view of Professor Lloyd-Jones: ‘… the lightest possible alteration converts the dual to a plural imperative, so that the number two vanishes’. A year before, Professor C. A. P. Ruck had chided the scholiasts for ‘reading out of Pindar's ΓΑΡΥΕΤΟΝ the dual…rather than the plural’. Bowra had declared that γαρυ⋯των ‘would be the plural of the imperative’. The belief is widespread and persistent; those who wish a full conspectus of earlier views on the matter may consult the massive compilation made by Dr J. van Leeuwen in 1964.

Not all critics and editors have endorsed the change from the traditional reading. While it has been in the successive Teubner editions since Schröder adopted it in 1900, neither Turyn nor Bowra accepted it. But among those who have argued for γαρυ⋯των, only one has expressed any doubt that it is a plural, and that one is Theodor Bergk, who first proposed it. Indeed Bergk expressed no doubt about its being a dual.

Ephoros is known to have conceived each of his books as a unit with a specific theme, so that where we have any quantity of material it is worth while asking what the theme of a book was supposed to be. Clearly Ephoros i was about the return of the Herakleidai and the early history of the Peloponnese, but that defines the starting-point, not the scope of the book: I propose to argue that he presented here the contrast of the three Heraklid kingdoms, the degeneration and downfall of the Argive and Messenian Heraklids as opposed to the salvation of the Spartan state by Lykourgos.