De venis mesaraicis obstructis ipsarumque ita affectarum curatione Theses sive Pronunciata LX

and their two craftsman sculptors? If you please, I shall repeat it. The first, about to give a specimen of his art, constructed that huge Colossus (Homer says of brass), visible even to those who are bleary-eyed and sailing from afar. The other, from a scrap of ivory not exceeding the size of a little bee, sculpted an entire ship, complete with sails, shields, ropes, and every utility added, and perfected in all its numbers. This subtle workmanship neither I, nor my brothers (for we are deprived of such keenness of eyesight), but you alone, and those like you—sharp and excellently clear-sighted men—could discern. Perhaps incited by the example of these craftsmen, or rather of Nature, my most adorned teacher and singular friend, Dr. Plater (whom his name and omen truly make "Felix" Latin for happy/fortunate), found the things tà en toîs anatomikoîs dyséphikta kaì mólis ábata that are difficult to grasp and barely accessible in anatomy. Truly, how happily I remember with what facility and learning he had led us just the other day into the new penetralia of the skull (not yet known to the divine Vesalius). From there, led into the organs of hearing, we fell into that labyrinth and net (alas, how admirable!) dedicated to the wind through ventilation and attenuation. Do you ask what I did here? Truly the same as a mouse in pitch; for the more I attempted to extricate myself by my own powers, the more desperately I stuck. But finally, when I had admired this work of Nature more than was fitting (like an ass before a bishop, or an elephant before a painting, ouk échontes diakrínein not having the ability to distinguish), my teacher came to me and my sweetest companions, and with a probe passed variously here and there, he opened to us the chambers and all the hidden recesses. How beautiful it was in there (for I can neither forget, nor ought I) to see the stirrup leaning on the little bone, the anvil on the stirrup, the hammer on the anvil, and the eardrum adhering in turn to this? So that, as much as that Athenian leader and returner, Theseus, established in the Labyrinth, owed to the thread of Ariadne, so much do we all owe to Plater and his probe. If you were present, you would say (I know well enough) that wisdom and industry, which they write flew away to heaven together with Astraea, have slipped down into the soul and the very sweetest face of Plater: