Myths and fancies I'll have none.
No such leisure for: They
undo us, then we're undone.
Know myself, Delphians say.
Other's curiosities?
Not worthy my one concern.
Out ridiculosities!
Such nothings I will not learn.
Except I a monster Typho,
or other simple loathsome--
replete with passions' typos.
Nature gave me gentle sum.
Loft or lesser race,
I ask you, friend. Have we not
time? Conduct me, to the place,
please to respite where we're wrought.
Where truth stories I would hear,
such that mirror stuff to sear
from that I am, from which I'm made.
[Original. Now I have no leisure for such enquiries; shall I tell you why? I must first know myself, as the Delphian inscription says; to be curious about that which is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my own self, would be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this; the common opinion is enough for me. For, as I was saying, I want to know not about this, but about myself: am I a monster more complicated and swollen with passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a gentler and simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and lowlier destiny? But let me ask you, friend: have we not reached the plane-tree to which you were conducting us?]
