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"O Geordie!" exclaimed the king, "these are auld-warld frailties, of whilk we dare not pronounce even ourselves absolutely free. But the warld grows worse from day to day, Geordie. The juveniles of this age may weel say with the poet 'Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores
Thus, what little virtue may remain in the mind of youth is contaminated by precept, as well as example; and the rising generation is in a fair way of being even more corrupted than that which has preceded it. "AEtas parentum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores, mox daturos Progeniem vitiosiorem."
The laws against vagabonds have always been very rigorous in England. England, in her Gothic legislation, seemed to be inspired with this principle, Homo errans fera errante pejor. For a long time England troubled herself as much concerning the gipsies, of whom she wished to be rid as about the wolves of which she had been cleared.
Yet a bigotry of belief in this idle notion has always prevailed amongst moralists, pagan alike and Christian. Horace, for example, informs us that "Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores mox daturos Progeniem vitiosiorem." The last generation was worse, it seems, than the penultimate, as the present is worst than the last.
In our times we learned Latin because our books were in Latin; now you study Latin a little but have no Latin books. On the other hand, your books are in Castilian and that language is not taught aetas parentum pejor avis tulit nos nequiores! as Horace said." With this quotation he moved away majestically, like a Roman emperor. The youths smiled at each other.
And though since I agree with the divine Petrarca, when he declares, quoting the `Aulularia' of Plautus, who again was indebted for the truth to the supreme Greek intellect, `Optimam foeminam nullam esse, alia licet alia pejor sit' I cannot boast that thou art entirely lifted out of that lower category to which Nature assigned thee, nor even that in erudition thou art on a par with the more learned women of this age; thou art, nevertheless yes, Romola mia," said the old man, his pedantry again melting into tenderness, "thou art my sweet daughter, and thy voice is as the lower notes of the flute, `dulcis, durabilis, clara, pura, secans aera et auribus sedens, according to the choice words of Quintilian; and Bernardo tells me thou art fair, and thy hair is like the brightness of the morning, and indeed it seems to me that I discern some radiance from thee.
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