Here floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through all veins; spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all the scum frotheth together!

Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed eyes and sticky fingers—

On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pendemagogues and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious—

Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, overmellow, sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious—

Spit on the great city and turn back!

Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his mouth—

Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra. Long have thy speech and thy species disgusted me!

Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to become a frog and a toad?

Floweth there not a tainted, frothy swamp-blood in thine own veins, when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?

Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?

I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me — why didst thou not warn thyself?

Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but not out of the swamp!

They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool; but I call thee my grunting-pig — by thy grunting thou spoilest even my praise of folly.

What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one sufficiently flattered thee: therefore didst thou seat thyself beside this filth, that thou mightest have cause for much grunting —

That thou mightest have cause for much vengeance! For vengeance, thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!

But thy fool’s-word injureth me, even when thou art right! And even if Zarathustra’s word were a hundred times justified, thou wouldst ever — do wrong with my word!

Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed, and was long silent. At last he spake thus:

I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there — there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.

Woe to this great city! And I would that I already saw the pillar of fire in which it will be consumed!

For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath its time and its own fate.

This precept, however, give I unto thee in parting, thou fool: Where one can no longer love, there should one — pass by!

Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.