“God gives no benefits,” you say. Whence, then, comes all that you possess, all that you give, all that you withhold, all that you hoard, all that you steal? Whence come the countless things that delight your eyes, your ears, your mind? Whence the profusion that supplies even our luxury? For it is not merely our necessities that are provided — we are loved to the point of being spoiled! Whence all the trees yielding their varied fruits, all the healing plants, all the different sorts of foods distributed throughout the whole year, so that even the slothful find sustenance from the chance produce of the earth? Whence, too, the living creatures of every kind, some born upon dry and solid ground, others in the waves, others that descend through the air, in order that every part of Nature’s domain might pay to us some tribute? Whence the rivers — these that encircle the fields in loveliest curves, those that, as they flow on in their vast and navigable courses, provide a channel for commerce, some of which in the days of summer undergo a wonderful increase in size in order that, by the sudden overflow of the summer torrent, they may water the parched lands that lie outstretched beneath a burning sky? And what of the springs of healing waters? What of the warm waters that bubble forth upon the very coast of the sea?
And thee, O lordly Larius, and, Benacus, thee,
Rising with a roar of billows like the sea?2