that they may not fear the natural resolution of body and soul into their primordial atoms. He is moved almost to tears by the folly and sorrow of his brother-men, and he pleads with them to suffer the sacred lamp of philosophy to shine upon their darkened minds: at nisi purgatum est pectus, quæ prælia nobis atque pericula sunt ingratis insinuandum? quantæ tum scindunt hominem cupedinis acres sollicitum curæ? quantique perinde timores? quidue superbia, spurcitia ac petulantia, quantas efficiunt cladeis? quid luxus, desidiæque? hæc igitur qui cuncta subegerit, ex animoque expulerit dictis, non armis, nonne decebit hunc hominem numero diuom dignarier esse?[20] His doctrine is medicine for the feverish unrest of the day: exit sæpe foras magnis ex ædibus ille esse domi quem pertæsum est, subitoque reuentat; quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. currit agens mannos ad uillam præcipitanter auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans: oscitat extemplo tetigit quom limina uillæ aut abit in somnum grauis, atque obliuia quærit, aut etiam properans urbem petit atque reuisit. hoc se quisque modo fugit ...[21] He has a compassionate scorn for the mourner: aufer abhinc lacrumas, barathre, et compesce querelas ... cedit enim rerum nouitate extrusa uetustas semper et ex aliis aliud reparare necesse est; nec quisquam in barathrum, nec Tartara deditur alta. materies opus est ut crescant postera sæcla; quæ tamen omnia te, uita perfuncta, sequentur: nec minus ergo ante hæc quam tu cecidere cadentque. sic alid ex alio nunquam desistet oriri; uitaque manciplo nulli datur, omnibus usu.[22] Death has no sting for him: num quid ibi horribile apparet? num triste uidetur quidquam? non omni somno securius exstat?[23] Lucretius was, of course, set down by Cicero, as was Shakespeare by Dryden, as being rude and unpolished. His poem is indeed sheer didactic argument with occasional digressions, and he strings his points together with the bald transitional words and phrases of argumentative prose. But in virility of thought and expression, even in majesty of sound and force of vivid imagery, he is, when he cares to be, on a plane quite above and away from the ordinary sphere of classic Latin poetry. Almost alone among Roman writers he has a message of his own to deliver. His fellow-countrymen thought little of him, and failed to preserve any details of his biography. The monks of the Middle Ages consigned him to the hell he had flouted, and Jerome provided him, five hundred years after his death, with an end edifying to piety, but quite incredible to any one who has read his work with sympathy. He was said to have died of a love potion, and to have composed his poem in the intervals of delirium. He appears to have lived between 100 and 50 B.C.