In recent years philosophers working within the field of Platonic studies have begun to stress the relationship between form and content in Plato’s works. This ‘revelation’ in its turn has led to a richer understanding of Platonic texts; no longer (or at least not so often) do we find a Socratic argument excised from its dramatic context and syllogistically and analytically examined. Analysis, of course, can never be divorced from philosophy but with respect to the corpus Platonicum philosophical analysis has been supplemented by a sensitivity to the denouement of an argument, in other words, the dramatic context.

The Corinthian piece belongs to the early series of pegasi with incuse pattern reverse. Due to the flattening of the under-type, a confident identification with one of the obverses illustrated by Ravel is impossible.

It has been claimed that there are no examples of overstriking of the earliest wide-flan staters of Magna Graecia on pegasi. This contention is now invalidated as far as Kroton is concerned.

The primary purpose of this essay is to illustrate from Greek the tendency for rare phonetic features of a language to become still rarer or completely lost. In the main the period studied will be that from Homer to classical Attic and Ionic, and the features studied will be initial consonant groups. This will lead sometimes to the consideration of the circumstances in which words with such features that have become rare are used in classical literature.

Some attempt is made also to account for the rarity of some phonetic features and for the presence in Greek of combinations rare in it and related languages, from some point of view abnormal to their patterning. The raw material and occasionally the interpretation of it is taken from standard works.

The defeat of Bardylis ‘the king of the Illyrians‘ was one of the decisive battles of ancient history. It ended forty years of military ascendancy by the Illyrians, during which huge losses had been inflicted on the Molossians, Amyntas III had twice been driven out of Macedonia, and Perdiccas III and 4,000 Macedonians had been killed ‘in a great battle’ of359B.C.(Diod. 16.2.5). One reason for that ascendancy was that the Illyrians adopted Greek hoplite equipment and tactics earlier than their opponents. The victory of Philip marked the beginning of Macedonia’s progress to a military supremacy, of which the marks were the infantry fighting with the pike (sarissa) and the cavalry exploiting a break in an enemy line. Evidence about the battle is provided only by Diodorus andFrontinus, and there are uncertainties about the background to the affair. I think that progress can be made if we ask the appropriate questions.

This article compares the use of certain literary, structural and historical features by Polybius, Livy and Silius Italicus in their representations of the battle of Zama in 202 BC between the Romans and Carthaginians. It is argued that through their application of these features they present the battle as an iconic event and position it as a grand finale to the Second Punic War. The comparisons highlight some of the literary constructs in Polybius’ Histories and illustrate how some later authors adapt and possibly respond to Polybius’ presentation.

Similarities in presentation to emphasise the importance of the battle do not necessarily mean that the authors convey the same message over the long term effects of its outcome. For example, where Polybius’ special treatment of the battle of Zama, Hannibal and Scipio reflects his belief in the pivotal role the Roman victory played in changing the balance of power across the ancient Mediterranean world (15.9.2, 10.2), Silius Italicus’ special treatment may also be read as presenting the outcome of the battle in terms of causing a shift in power balance, in this case within the city of Rome, and leading to the development of the principate and the one-man rule of imperial Rome (17.653-4, 3.261-4).

According to St. Matthew, Pontius Pilate had a wife; after a warning dream, she spoke out against her husband’s decision concerning Christ. The gospel does not mention her name, but a number of apocryphal writings, composed between the third and seventh centuries, give her the cognomen of Procia, under which name, and as the wife of Pilate, she is included in the calendars of the Greek Orthodox and Ethiopian Churches. The earliest source which adds the nomen Claudia to the cognomen Procla was available to St. Jerome, and so extant in the early fifth century — but versions of it surviving today are said to bear little relation to the one he referred to, and their authenticity is doubtful. The name Claudia Procia nevertheless attached itself to the legend, and under it Pilate’s wife has survived even into the fiction of this century.

In early 58, the tribune Clodius proposed a lex de capite civis Romani reaffirming the essence of an earlier lex Sempronia, that no Roman citizen should be put to death without a trial. Since Cicero, as consul in 63, had overseen the summary execution of five men, he was, without doubt, the target of Clodius’ rogation. On the day before the bill de capite civis Romani was voted upon, however, and at the insistence of friend and foe alike, Cicero departed from the city, but his ‘timely’ exit did not put an end to this episode. Very soon after his departure, chattels were removed from his estates under the aegis of the consuls, and his wife was subjected to financial harassment.

‘Socratic irony’ is a familiar enough phrase. In the words of the Concise Oxford Dictionary it means the ‘simulation of ignorance as [a] means of confuting [one’s] adversary’ in argument. It is named after the philosopher Socrates, who was notorious for his use of the device as a means of discomforting his opponents without exposing himself to the risk of being shown to be wrong. Examples of Socratic irony abound in the early dialogues of Plato: the locus classicus for this unpopular trait is a disgusted outburst of Thrasymachus in the first book of the Republic. Socrates has just explained why neither he nor Polemarchus has given a satisfactory account of justice— ‘You see, we have not the ability as I believe’—when Thrasymachus realizes the familiar trick being played on him.

This article identifies and defends a previously unobserved dedicatory acronym to Maecenas in the second half of Ecl. 6.69 (MAEC- in reverse: Calamos, En Accipe, Musae) and contextualizes the specific linguistic choices and central themes of that acronym within a broader network of Vergilian word games. I argue that the dedicatory acronym in Ecl. 6.69 shares linguistic and thematic features with numerous previously identified Vergilian word games, and that from this network of wordplay emerges a common discourse on poetic lineage, genre, and patronage. An awareness of this network of wordplay in Vergil's corpus provides a starting point for a more comprehensive and nuanced interpretation both of individual Vergilian word games and of Vergilian wordplay as a general phenomenon. On a literary level, the conclusions I draw from the MAEC- acronym and the relationship between wordplay and various thematic issues inform a clearer picture of generic shifts and expectations in Eclogue 6, the Eclogues in general, and Vergil's corpus more broadly, and contribute to an understanding of the subtle ways in which Vergil negotiates issues of patronage in his first collection.

C.J. Simpson “has suggested recently that far from displaying Agrippa’s modesty and moderation, as Dio has it, his refusal of a triumph in 19 B.C. was motivated by pride and annoyance: firstly, because the offer of a triumph had not been made freely by the Senate, but on Augustus’ order, it was not a sincere recognition of his merits; and secondly, the most recent triumphator, Cornelius Balbus, had been a mere Spaniard; and Augustus’ refusal of a triumph in 19 provided a useful precedent. Agrippa’s refusal needs more of an explanation than personalities and hurt feelings. It may be that there were more substantial issues of imperial prerogatives and the image of the regime at stake, at a difficult stage in the constitutional evolution of the Augustan principate.

Astronomical themes, with a rather limited scope, were a minor but recurrent element in ancient poetry, and Horace makes considerable use of them in the Odes. Most of the examples involve risings and settings as guides to the time of year, and most are within the range of the phenomena mentioned in Hesiod’s Works and Days. But in Odes 3.29.17-20, for the special interest of Maecenas, Horace breaks new ground by drawing more topical material from the Julian calendar, to remind his friend that it is now July and too hot for working in Rome: the (evening) rising of Cepheus on the 9th, the (morning) risings of Procyon on the 15th and Regulus on the 29th, and the entry of the sun into Leo on the 17th. Such an array of calendaric lore is clearly designed to appeal to Maecenas, who must have had a particular interest in astronomical phenomena.

My aim is to establish whether there is a concept of ‘miracle’ or ‘the miraculous’ implicit in the Homeric poems (and therefore perceived and understood by Homer's audience). Such a question is fraught with difficulties, as it necessarily involves broader (and still widely debated) issues such as Homeric man's view of the gods and the essential nature of the early Greek oral epic tradition. But, if an answer can be found, it should in the process help us to gain more insight into those wider issues—the theological basis of the Iliad and the Odyssey, and the world-view of Homer's audience.

Whether the result of internal revolution or external factors, in the late sixth century BC Rome underwent regime change. A king, or at least a sole ruler of some sort, was replaced by a governmental system in which power was distributed amongst a wider aristocratic group. Just what that elite group comprised at that point in time remains open to question, and the institutional reality is certainly more complicated than the simple shift from monarchy to consulship portrayed in the later literary sources;1 but as part of that change, according to Roman tradition, a priesthood was instituted to perform the deposed king’s sacred duties. This priesthood provides us with an opportunity to reappraise the role of religion in the development of the Roman state, and a useful locus from which to assess changes in religious and political power in the transition from monarchy to Republic at Rome.

Of the c. 270 inscribed Greek and Latin inscriptions held at Burdur Archaeological Museum in Turkey, only three definitely are metrical, all of which are in Greek. A fourth, fragmentary item reused as a Moslem gravestone has not been located during research at the Museum in the last decade. The one presented here is unpublished, and will be included more briefly in an edition of all the Greek and Latin inscriptions at Burdur which is currently being prepared for publication by R. A. Kearsley and the present writer. As with the other unpublished verse text (inv. 23.43.88, also funerary), there is no specific provenance known, but both can be attributed generally to the region of Pisidia. The other inscription, first published last century, was brought into the Museum from Akören in 1994 (inv. no. 499.141.94); it has been presented in an improved edition with commentary and photographs elsewhere.

It is an almost universal principle that texts should not receive emendation until the reading of the MSS. has received careful consideration. An initial awkwardness may, after reflection, prove to be a poet's sacrifice of style to achieve some higher end – an allusion to traditional literature, a word-order reflecting the structure of his ideas, or the accurate expression of ideas which are not easily put into verse. The last reason is usually held responsible for the short-comings of Parmenides' poetry, while in his prologue, with which I am here concerned, sacrifices of the first kind may also be expected, as literary allusions have been proved plentiful and significant. In a previous publication I have also argued for a carefully contrived word-order at B8.53, hinting that this may also be the case at B1.3. If my hunch were correct, then it would involve restoring the manuscript reading in that line.

In his Philippics Cicero more than once refers to Fadia, whom he depicts as Antony's wife, and to the children she bore him. He also discusses Fadia in his correspondence with Atticus. Plutarch was aware of the Philippics and much of Cicero's correspondence, and therefore of Fadia, and yet, in his Life of Antony, he says nothing about her. This paper examines three possible explanations for the biographer's silence: (i) an informed sensibility regarding the historical value of invective; (ii) the narrative design of this Life and its contribution to Plutarch's characterisation of Antony; (iii) Plutarch's (disturbing by contemporary standards) disapproval of an aristocrat's siring children on women of the lower orders – even by way of legitimate marriage or concubinage. It is, it appears, the ensemble of these factors which excludes Fadia from Plutarch's biography, and the pertinence of each adds to our appreciation of Plutarch's biographical principles.

This article shows how, from the time of its construction up until late antiquity and beyond, written sources reflected and perpetuated the fama of Pompey's theatre. Such was its reputation as the Roman theatre par excellence that, even after its absorption into the fabric of medieval Rome, in the earlier fifteenth century Italian proto-antiquarians were prompted by what they had read to attempt to locate it. A key figure in the process of sifting and applying the ancient sources was Biondo Flavio (1392–1463). Roughly contemporary with the early stages of Alberti's De re aedificatoria, but probably preceding the blueprint of the Roman theatre in that work, Biondo's pioneering ‘theatre-made-of-words’ in his Roma instaurata presented a newly accurate understanding of its structure and use (clearly distinguishing it from the amphitheatre) which proved influential in inspiring further topographical and antiquarian interest and research in the early sixteenth century.

Many have recognised poem 63 as a study in contrasts – light versus darkness, masculine versus feminine, rationality versus madness, animal versus human, culture versus nature. Caught between these polarities is the figure of Attis, removed from everything bright, male, sane, human, and civilised by one impassioned act. The poem suggests that it is partly the nature of the place, its quasi-Hippocratic airs, waters, and places, that emasculates Attis, making him like a notha mulier, iuvenca, and famula. This article will use ecofeminist theory – in particular, Val Plumwood's Feminism and the Mastery of Nature – to investigate the logic of domination running between the poem's polarities and to show how a foreign ‘Eastern’ wilderness effeminises Greek Attis. Moreover, it will be shown that the characterisation of Attis and the galli as a dux and his comites associates the story with the Roman imperial endeavour, suggesting that we can read the poem alongside others that portray conquest (11, 29) and the experience of young men abroad on provincial cohorts (10, 28, 47). In this way, Catullus implies that the imperial project is also made weak and feminine by its very contact with foreign places.