In Athens three o six BC,
Two thinkers lived as we shall see:
One, Epicurus, had a base—
His kitchen garden was the place.
The other, Zeno, worked in town;
In t’painted porch of high renown;
The Stoa Poikile—the same
That gave the Stoics name and fame.
These thinkers each had founded schools;
And while they both were far from fools,
They each professed a sep’rate creed
And to their students gave a lead.
Epicurus one day shopped
In the agora, and he stopped
To hear what Zeno had to say
On this fine, crowded market day.
A seller of amphora cried,
‘How is it just, when I have tried
To serve the market ev’ry day,
An upstart steals my trade away?’
Zeno replied, ‘It may seem wrong
When your advantage for so long
Has served you well, but think it through:
The buyer may want something new.
‘Each man must look to find his role
Within the ordered, cosmic whole;
Refrain from fighting how things are;
Enduring’s the best way by far.’
Now Epicurus begged to say,
‘I think there is another way:
This anxious man will stay in pain
If he sells the same goods again.
‘For us the world has no fixed plan;
No gods ordained when we began
That we should listen to their voice
When making individual choice.
‘This man’s good profit from his trade
And t’reputation he has made
Both give him joy, but now they’re gone
It might be time for moving on.
‘He can be free to live his life,
Without anxiety or strife;
Content in simple joys and diet
To live unseen in friendly quiet.’
The merchant smiled and turned away;
Packed up his stall, called it a day.
‘For after all,’ he said, ‘it’s true:
There’s lots of other things to do.’