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One who gives himself up to work of this kind is entitled to address your public prosecutor in the words of Archimedes, when, at the sacking of Syracuse, he was set upon, sword in hand, by the savage soldiery while drawing and studying his mathematical figures in the sand: "Noli turbare circulos meos."
This stanza in Ariosto has become famous as a beautiful transcript of a beautiful passage in Statius, which, indeed, it surpasses in style, but not in feeling, especially when we consider with whom the comparison originates: "Ut lea, quam saevo foetam pressere cubili Venantes Numidae, natos erecta superstat Mente sub incerta, torvum ac miserabile frendens Illa quidem turbare globes, et frangere morsu Tela queat; sed prolis amor crudelia vincit Pectora, et in media catulos circumspicit ira."
The noli turbare no longer held in check our own exertions of force, and we would not be held in check or protected, for in every heart the demon made deep wounds, and, driven by wild torture, every hand grasped the unfamiliar sword, not for defence, no for attack, that the hateful ignominy might be atoned for, and revenged, by Death!
In the steerage the sight was so horrible to behold, with men, women and children of all nationalities huddled and tossed in thick, dark heaps, that even a cat-shark, which had made its way through the chimney of the stoke-hole and then through the engine, did not feel sufficiently courageous or hungry to mingle in the gathering. Noli turbare circulos meos, these people, too, seemed to be saying.
Haec spes immodicas premit, haec infesta superbis Imminet, huic celsas hominum contundere mentes Incessusque datum et nimios turbare paratus. Quam veteres Nemesin genitam de nocte silenti Oceano discere patri. Stant sidera fronti. Frena manu pateramque gerit, semperque verendum Ridet et insanis obstat contraria coeptis.
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