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DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

ALEXANDER THE GREAT,

AND

DIOGENES THE CYNIC.

A

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

ALEXANDER THE GREAT,

AND

DIOGENES THE CYNIC.

ALEXANDER.

WHAT fellow art thou, who darest thus to lie at thy ease in our presence, when all others, as thou seest, rise to do us homage? Dost thou not know us?

Diog. I cannot say I do: but by the number of thy attendants, by the splendour of thy habit; but, above all, by the vanity of thy appearance, and the arrogance of thy speech, I conceive thou mayst be Alexander the son of Philip.

Alex. And who can more justly challenge thy respect, than Alexander, at the head of that victorious army, who hath performed such wonderful exploits, and under his conduct, hath subdued the world?

Diog. Who? why the tailor who made me this old cloke.

* This is an anachronism: for Diogenes was of Sinope, and the meeting between him and Alexander fell out while the latter was confederating the Grecian States in the Peloponnesse before his Asiatic expedition: but that season would not have furnished sufficient matter for this dialogue; we have therefore fixed the time of it at the conqueror's return from India. VOL. VIII.

E

Alex. Thou art an odd fellow, and I have a curiosity to know thy name.

Diog. I am not ashamed of it: I am called Diogenes: a name composed of as many and as well-sounding syllables as Alexander.

Alex. Diogenes, I rejoice at this encounter. I have heard of thy name, and been long desirous of seeing thee; in which wish, since fortune hath accidentally favoured me, I shall be glad of thy conversation a while: and that thou likewise mayest be pleased with our meeting, ask me some favour; and as thou knowest my power, so shalt thou experience my will to oblige thee.

Diog. Why, then, Alexander the Great, I desire thee to stand from between me and the sun; whose beams thou hast withheld from me some time, a blessing which it is not in thy power to recompense the loss of.

Alex. Thou hast a very shallow opinion of my power, indeed; and if it was a just one, I should have travelled so far, undergone so much, and conquered so many nations, to a fine purpose, truly.

Diog. That is not my fault.

Alex. Dost thou not know that I am able to give thee a kingdom?

Diog. I know thou art able, if I had one, to take it from me; and I shall never place any value on that which such as thou art can deprive me of.

Alex. Thou dost speak vainly in contempt of a power which no other man ever yet arrived at. Hath the Granicus yet recovered the bloody colour with which I contaminated its waves? Are not the fields of Issus and Arbela still white with human bones? Will Susa shew no monuments of my victory? Are Darius and Porus names unknown to thee? Have not the groans of those millions reached thy ears, who, but for the valour of this heart, and the strength of this arm, had still enjoyed life

and' tranquillity? Hath then this son of Jupiter, this conqueror of the world, adored by his followers, dreaded by his foes, and worshipped by all, lived to hear his power contemned, and the offer of his favour slighted, by a poor philosopher, a wretched Cynic, whose cloke appears to be his only possession!

Diog. I retort the charge of vanity on thyself, proud\ Alexander! for how vainly dost thou endeavour to raise thyself on the monuments of thy disgrace! I acknowledge indeed all the exploits thou hast recounted and the millions thou hast to thy eternal shame destroyed. But is it hence thou wouldst claim Jupiter for thy father? Hath not then every plague or pestilential vapour the same title? If thou art the dread of wretches to whom death appears the greatest of evils, is not every mortal disease the same? And if thou hast the adoration of thy servile followers, do they offer thee more than they are ready to pay to every tinsel ornament, or empty title? Is then the fear or worship of slaves of so great honour, when at the same time thou art the contempt of every brave honest man, though, like me, an old cloke should be his only possession?

Alex. Thou seemest, to my apprehension, to be ignorant, that in professing this disregard for the glory I have so painfully achieved, thou art undermining the foundation of all that honour which is the encouragement to, and reward of, every thing truly great and noble; for in what doth all honour, glory, and fame consist, but in the breath of that multitude, whose estimation, with such illgrounded scorn, thou dost affect to despise? A reward which hath ever appeared sufficient to inflame the ambition of high and exalted souls; though, from their meanness, low minds may be incapable of tasting, or rather, for which pride, from the despair of attaining it, may inspire thee to feign a false and counterfeit disdain. What

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