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"Now for Poets, Rhetoricians, Historians, Philosophers, Mathematicians, Sophisters, &c., they are like Grasshoppers, sing they must in Summer, and pine in the Winter, for there is no preferment for them. Even so they were at first, if you will believe that pleasant Tale of Socrates, which he told fair Phædrus under a Plane-tree, at the banks of the river Ilissus. About noon, when it was hot, and the Grasshoppers made a noise, he took that sweet occasion to tell him a Tale, how Grasshoppers were once Scholars, Musicians, Poets, &c., before the Muses were born, and lived without meat and drink, and for that cause were turned by Jupiter into Grasshoppers; and may be turned again into Tithonus' Grasshoppers, or frogs of the Lycians, for any reward I see as they did, without any viaticum, like so many Manucodiatæ, those Indian Birds of Paradise, as we commonly call them, those I mean that live with the Air, and Dew of Heaven, and need no other food: for, being as they are, their Rhetorick only serves them to curse their bad fortunes, & many of them for want of means are driven to hard shift; from Grasshoppers they turn Humble-Bees and Wasps, plain Parasites, and make the Muses, Mules, to satisfy their hunger-starved paunches, and get a meal's meat.", R.Burton, "Anatomy of Melancholy", никак не могу подобрать правильную интонацию для декламирования этого текста.