Nam ob istuc Dyscolum
gnatum meum, qui grandior natu est, scholis
pridem docendum tradidi, et mirum in modum
proficeret, id si liceat (heu) per improbam
didascalorum amentiam, qua tenerior
pueri cutis diverberatur, et eadem
est omnibus crudelitas doctoribus,
quasi sit rigore docendum, haud clementia.
id usque sensi a primo ad octavum ultimum,
quibus omnibus mores iidem et par rigor.
liventibus nam clunibus semper domum a
scholis puer revertitur, vibicibusque
ostendit (heu) magistri amaritudinem.
(Georgius Macropedius, Rebelles 88b-100)
For that is what I had in mind when I handed my son Dyscolus (he is the oldest one) over to be taught in school, a long time ago. And he would have done exceptionally well – if only that were possible. But alas, for the wicked, mindless attitude of the teachers who have been beating his delicate young boy’s skin – and that goes for all the instructors: the same cruelty everywhere, as if teaching were a matter of being harsh rather than being gentle. From teacher number one to teacher number eight and last, we have seen nothing but hard and cruel measures: always the same story, the lad returns home from school with his buttocks black and blue, thus showing through the punishment he receives (oh woe is me) the venom and hatred of the master. (tr. Yehudi Lindeman)