“Who too much exalts himself too much values himself, Who too much abases himself, he undervalues himself, But that man who wills to do well, He governs himself the medium way.” In the page of metrical explanation subjoined, the usual mythic narrative is closely followed. The full idea is carried out in _3 Henry VI._ (act v. sc. 6, l. 18, vol. v. p. 332), Gloucester and King Henry being the speakers,— “_Glou._ Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet for all his wings, the fool was drown’d. _K. Hen._ I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point Than can my ears that tragic history.” In the 1st part also of the same dramatic series (act iv. sc. 6, l. 46, vol. v. p. 78), John Talbot, the son, is hemmed about in the battle near Bourdeaux. Rescued by his father, he is urged to escape, but the young hero replies,— “Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France, To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son: Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot. _Tal._ Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side; And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride.” The tearful tale of Niobe, who that has read Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ (bk. vi. fab. 5) could not weep over it! Seven stalwart sons and seven fair daughters clustered round the haughty dame, and she gloried in their attendance upon her; but at an evil hour she dared to match herself with Latona, and at a public festival in honour of the goddess to be the only one refusing to offer incense and prayers. The goddess called her own children to avenge the affront and the impiety; and Apollo and Diana, from the clouds, slew the seven sons as they were exercising on the plain near Thebes. Yet the pride of Niobe did not abate, and Diana in like manner slew also the seven daughters. The mother’s heart was utterly broken; she wept herself to death, and was changed to stone. Yet, says the poet, _Flet tamen_,—“ Yet she weeps,”— _Liquitur, et lacrymas etiam nunc marmora manant,—_ [Sidenote: _i.e._] “It melts, and even now the marble trickles down tears.” Alciat adopts the tale as a warning; _Pride_ he names his 67th Emblem.