quitting the city, or going beyond the boundaries, nor do you seem to me ever to go outside the walls.
_Socr._ Pardon me, my excellent friend; for I am a lover of learning: now the fields and trees will not teach me any thing, but men in the city do. You, however, appear to me to have discovered a charm to entice me out. For as those, who, by shaking leaves or some fruit before them, lead their hungry flocks, so do you, by holding out written speeches before me, seem as if you could lead me about all Attica, and wherever else you please. But now, for the present, since I am come here, I am resolved to lay me down, and do you in whatever posture you think you can read most conveniently, take this and read.
_Phæ._ Listen then. 11. “You are well acquainted with the state of my affairs, and I think you have heard that it would be for our advantage if this took place. And I claim, not for this reason to fail in my request, because I do not happen to be one of your lovers: for they repent of the benefits they have conferred, as soon as their desires cease; but the others have no time at which it is convenient for them to repent; since not from necessity, but voluntarily, they confer benefits according to their ability, so as but to consult their own interests.
Besides, lovers consider what of their affairs they have managed badly by reason of their love, and what benefits they have conferred, and adding thereto what labour they have undergone, they think that they have long since conferred sufficient favours on the objects of their love. But those who do not love have no pretence to make of the neglect of their own affairs on this score, nor can they take into account the labours they have undergone, nor make differences with their friends a pretext: so that, all such evils being removed, nothing remains for them but to do cheerfully whatever they think they will gratify them by doing. 12. Besides, if for this reason it is right to make much of those who love, because they say they are most devotedly attached to those whom they love, and are always ready, both in words and deeds, to incur the enmity of others, so that they can but gratify the objects of their love, it is easy to discover whether they speak the truth, because those whom they afterwards fall in love with they will prize more highly than the former, and it is evident that if the latter require it, they will behave ill to the former. And how is it reasonable to lavish such a treasure[117] on one afflicted with such a calamity, as no experienced person would ever attempt to avert? for they themselves confess that they are rather diseased than in their right minds, and that they know that they are out of their senses, but are unable to control themselves.
How therefore, when they recover their senses, can they think that those things were right about which they were so anxious when in that state of mind? 13. Moreover, if you should choose the best from among your lovers, your choice must be made from a few; but if from among all others the one most suited to you, from many: so that there is much more hope that among the many there is one worthy of your affection. If, therefore, you respect the established usages of mankind, and are afraid lest, when men discover it, it should be a disgrace to you, it is probable that lovers, thinking that they are envied by others in the same way that they envy each other, should be so elated as to talk, and, out of ambition, publish to the world that they have not bestowed their labour in vain; but that such as are not in love, having a control over themselves, should prefer what is best to celebrity amongst men. 14.
Besides, it must needs happen that many should hear of and see lovers following the objects of their affection, and doing this sedulously, so that when they are seen conversing with one another men think that they are together on account of desire already indulged or about to be so: but they do not attempt to blame those who do not love, on account of their familiarity, being aware that it is necessary to converse with some one, either on account of friendship or some other pleasure. 15.
Moreover, if you have experienced uneasiness from the consideration that it is difficult for friendship to last, but that when a difference takes place under other circumstances a common calamity happens to both; but that when you have lavished what you prize most highly great injury would befal you, you would with good reason be more afraid of those who love. For there are many things that grieve them, and they think that every thing is done to their detriment. Wherefore they prohibit the objects of their love from associating with others, fearing those who possess wealth, lest they should get the better of them by means of their riches, and the well-educated, lest they should surpass them in intelligence; and they are apprehensive of the influence of every one who possesses any other advantage. By persuading you, then, to keep aloof from such as these, they cause you to be destitute of friends. If, therefore, regarding your own interest, you pursue a wiser course than they recommend, you are sure to quarrel with them. 16. But such as are not in love, but have obtained the accomplishment of their wishes through merit, will not envy your associating with others, but will rather hate those who will not associate with you, thinking that you are despised by them, and are benefited by those who associate with you. So that there is much more reason to hope that friendship will be produced between these by this means, than enmity. Moreover, most lovers conceive a desire for the person before they know their habits or are acquainted with their own qualities, so that it is uncertain whether they will still wish to be their friends when their desire has ceased; but with those who are not in love, and who have done this, having been friends with each other before, it is not probable that acts of kindness will make their friendship less, but that they will be left as monuments of future services. 17. Besides, it will tend to your improvement if you are persuaded by me rather than by a lover. For they, contrary to your best interests, praise all that you say and do, partly fearing lest they should offend you, partly being themselves depraved in their judgment, through desire, for love shews itself in such things: it makes the unsuccessful consider as distressing things which occasion no pain to others, and compels the successful to praise things which are not worthy the name of pleasures; so that it is much more proper to pity than envy those that are loved. 18. But if you will be persuaded by me, first of all I will associate with you, not attending to present pleasure, but future advantage, not overcome by love, but controlling myself, not conceiving violent enmities for trifling offences, but slowly indulging slight anger for great offences, pardoning involuntary faults, and endeavouring to divert you from such as are voluntary; for these are the marks of a friendship that will endure for along time. If, however, it has occurred to you that it is not possible for affection to be strong unless one is in love, you should consider that in that case we should not be very fond of our children or our fathers and mothers, nor acquire faithful friends, who have become such not from desire of this kind, but from other useful qualities. 19. Moreover, if it is right to gratify those most who most need it, it is right also with respect to others to benefit, not the best men, but the most needy; for, being delivered from the greatest evils, they will feel the deepest gratitude towards us. And besides this, in private entertainments it will not be proper to invite our friends, but mendicants and those who are in need of a hearty meal; for these will greet and follow us, and will come to our doors, and be highly delighted, and feel the utmost gratitude, and pray for many blessings upon us. 20. But surely it is right to gratify those not who are exceedingly needy, but who are best able to repay a kindness, nor those who love only, but those who deserve this favour; nor such as will enjoy the bloom of your youth, but who, when you are old, will share their own fortune with you; nor those who, when they have effected their object, will boast of it to others, but who, out of modesty, will be silent towards all men; nor those who are devoted to you for a short time, but who will be greatly attached to you throughout life; nor who, when their desire has ceased, will seek a pretext for quarrelling, but who, when your bloom is gone, will then exhibit their own excellence.
21. Do you, then, remember what I have said, and consider this, that friends admonish lovers that their course of life is a bad one, but no one ever yet found fault with those who are not in love, as if, on that account, they consulted ill for their own interests. Perhaps, however, you may ask me whether I advise you to gratify all who are not in love.
But I think that not even a lover would exhort you to be thus affected towards all your lovers: for neither if one considers the matter reasonably is such a course deserving of equal gratitude, nor if you wished it, is it equally possible to keep it secret from others; but it is requisite that no harm should result from the business; on the contrary, advantage to both. I, for my part, think that enough has been said, but if you require any thing more, under the impression that it has been omitted, question me.”
----- Footnote 117: Youth.
----- 22. What do you think of the speech, Socrates? Does it not appear to you to be wonderfully composed in other respects, and especially as to the language?
_Socr._ Divinely indeed, my friend, so much so that I am amazed. And I had this feeling through you, Phædrus, by looking at you, for you appeared to me to be enraptured with the speech while you were reading it. For supposing you to understand such matters better than I do, I followed you, and, in following you, I felt the same enthusiasm with you, my inspired friend.
_Phæ._ Well; do you think proper to jest in this manner?
_Socr._ Do I appear to you to jest, and not to be in earnest?
_Phæ._ Don’t, Socrates! But tell me truly, by Jupiter the god of friendship, do you think that any other man in Greece could speak more ably and fully than this on the same subject?
23. _Socr._ But what? ought the speech to be praised by you and me for this reason, that its composer has said what he ought, and not only because every word is clear, and rounded, and accurately polished off?
For, if it ought, it may be granted for your sake, since it escaped me by reason of my nothingness: for I attended only to its rhetoric, but this I did not think that even Lysias himself would think sufficient.
And to me, indeed, it seemed, Phædrus, unless you say otherwise, that he has repeated the same things twice and thrice, as if he had not the faculty of saying much on the same subject, or perhaps he did not care about this. Moreover he appeared to me to make a wanton display of his ability to express these things in different ways, and both ways most elegantly.
24. _Phæ._ You say nothing to the purpose, Socrates: for the speech has this very merit in the highest degree. For he has omitted nothing belonging to his subject, which was worthy to be mentioned: so that, beyond what has been said by him, no one could ever say more things or of greater weight.
_Socr._ On this point I am no longer able to agree with you; for the ancient and wise, both men and women, who have spoken and written on this subject, would confute me, if I were to admit this out of compliment to you.
_Phæ._ Who are they? and where have you heard better things than these?
_Socr._ I am unable to say on the moment; but I am sure that I have heard them from some one or other, either from the beautiful Sappho, or the wise Anacreon, or some other writer. Whence do I form this conjecture? some how or other, my divine friend, my breast is full, and I feel that I could say other things in addition to those and not inferior to them. That I understand none of them of myself, I am well aware, being conscious of my ignorance. It remains then, I think, that I must have filled myself, like a vessel, by means of hearing, from some foreign source; but owing to my stupidity I have forgotten even this, both how and from whom I heard it.
25. _Phæ._ You have told me excellent news, my noble friend. For though you cannot tell me from whom and how you heard it, even if I bid you, yet do the very thing that you say; promise that you will say other things better and not less in quality than those contained in the book, without making use of any thing in it. And I promise you, after the manner of the nine Archons, that I will dedicate at Delphi, a golden statue as large as life, not only of myself, but also of you.
_Socr._ You are very kind, Phædrus, and really worth your weight in gold, if you suppose I mean that Lysias was entirely wrong, and that it is possible to say something altogether different from what he has said; for I do not think that this could happen even to the poorest writer.
26. For instance with respect to the subject in hand; do you think that any one who was maintaining that favours ought to be shewn to one who is not in love rather than to one who is, if he neglected to extol the prudence of the former and to blame the folly of the latter, these being obvious points, could have any thing else to say? But I think that such points are to be allowed and granted to a speaker, and that of such things not the invention but the method of handling is to be praised, but of things which are obvious, and which are not difficult to discover, the invention as well as the method of handling.
_Phæ._ I grant what you say; for you appear to me to have spoken fairly.
I will therefore do thus; I will allow you to suppose that one who is in love is more diseased than one who is not, but for the rest if you say other things more fully and of greater weight than Lysias, you shall stand in Olympia, of solid gold, near the offering of the Cypselidæ.
27. _Socr._ You are quite serious, Phædrus, because in teasing you I have attacked your favourite, and you think that I shall really attempt to say something more skilfully wrought than his wisdom has produced.
_Phæ._ For that matter, my friend, you have given me as good a hold on you; for you must speak, at all events, as well as you are able. And take care that we are not compelled to have recourse to that troublesome method of comedians, of retorting upon one another, and do not compel me to say[118], “If I, Socrates! know not Socrates, I have also forgotten myself,” and, “he longed to speak, but affected shyness.” But make up your mind that we shall not leave this spot before you have given utterance to what you said you have in your breast. For we two are by ourselves, in a lonely place, and I am both stronger and younger; from all this understand what I mean, and on no account prefer speaking by compulsion rather than willingly.
----- 28. _Socr._ But, my excellent Phædrus, it would be ridiculous in me, who am but a novice in comparison with an experienced author, to attempt to speak extempore on the same subject.
_Phæ._ Do you know how the case stands? Let me have no more of your airs; for I have that to say which will force you to speak.
_Socr._ On no account say it then.
_Phæ._ Nay, but I will say it. And what I have to say is an oath. For I swear to you, by whom, by what god? shall it be by this plane-tree? that unless you make a speech to me before this very tree, I will never again either shew or repeat to you another speech by any one whomsoever.
_Socr._ Ah, wicked one! how well have you found out how to compel a lover of speeches to do whatever you bid him.
_Phæ._ Why then do you hesitate?
_Socr._ I shall not any longer, since you have sworn this oath. For how should I ever be able to debar myself of such a feast?
_Phæ._ Begin then.
_Socr._ Do you know then, what I mean to do?
_Phæ._ About what?
_Socr._ I shall speak with my face covered, that I may run through my speech as quickly as possible, and that I may not, by looking at you, be put out through shame.
_Phæ._ Do but speak; and as to the rest, do as you please.
29. _Socr._ Come then, ye Muses, whether from the character of your song, ye are called tuneful[119], or whether ye derive this appellation from the musical race of the Ligyans, assist me in the tale which this best of men compels me to relate, that so his friend, who heretofore appeared to him to be wise, may now appear still more so.
----- Footnote 119: There is here a play on the words λίγειαι “tuneful,” and Λιγύων “Ligyans,” which cannot be retained in an English version.
----- There was once a boy, or rather a youth, of exceeding beauty; and he had very many lovers. One of them was a cunning fellow; who though he was no less in love than the rest, persuaded the boy that he was not in love.
And once, as he was courting him, he endeavoured to persuade him that favour ought to be shewn to one who was not in love, in preference to one who was. And he spoke as follows.
On every subject, my boy, there is one method of beginning, for those who mean to deliberate well; they must know what the thing is about which the deliberation is to be, or else of necessity go altogether astray. But it has escaped the notice of most men that they do not know the essence of each several thing. As if they did know, then, they do not agree with each other at the outset of the enquiry, and as they proceed they pay the probable penalty, for they agree neither with themselves nor with each other. Let not you and I, then, fall into the error which we condemn in others, but since the question proposed to us is, whether we ought rather to enter into a friendship with one who is in love or not, having by mutual agreement settled on a definition of love, what it is, and what power it has, and looking back and referring to this, let us prosecute our enquiry whether it occasions advantage or detriment. 30. That love, then, is a kind of desire, is clear to every one; and we know that they who are not in love, desire beautiful things.
How then shall we distinguish a lover from one who is not in love? Here it is necessary to observe, that in each of us there are two ruling and leading principles, which we follow wherever they lead, one being an innate desire of pleasures, the other an acquired opinion, which aims at what is most excellent. These sometimes agree in us, and sometimes are at variance; and sometimes one gets the upper hand, at other times the other. When opinion therefore with the aid of reason leads to that which is best, and gets the upper hand, we give the name of temperance to this power; but when desire drags us irrationally to pleasures and rules within us, this ruling power takes the name of excess. But excess has many names; for it has many limbs and many forms. 31. And of these principles whichever happens to get the predominance gives its own designation to the person who possesses it, and that neither honourable nor worth acquiring. For instance with respect to food, desire that gets the better of the highest reason, and of the other desires, will be called gluttony, and will cause the person who possesses it to be called by the same name; again with respect to drinking, when it has usurped dominion, by leading its possessor in this direction, it is clear what designation it will acquire: and with respect to other things akin to these, and the names of kindred desires, it is manifest how they ought to be called, according as each for the time being happens to be dominant. Why all this has been said is already pretty evident, but every thing becomes in a manner more clear by being mentioned than if not mentioned. 32. For desire without reason having got the upper hand of opinion that tends to what is right, and being driven towards the pleasure derived from beauty, and being strongly impelled by its kindred desires to corporeal beauty, receives its name from this very strength and is called love[120]. But, my dear Phædrus, do I appear to you, as I do to myself, to be moved by some divine influence?
----- Footnote 120: I have followed Stallbaum in omitting the words ἐῤῥωμένως and νικήσασα, but still fear that I have failed to convey the full meaning of this difficult and corrupt passage.
----- _Phæ._ Assuredly, Socrates, an unusual fluency has got possession of you.
_Socr._ Listen to me then in silence. For in truth the place appears to be divine. If, therefore, in the progress of my speech I should be frequently entranced by the genius of the spot, you must not be surprized. For what I utter now is not very far removed from dithyrambics.
_Phæ._ You say most truly.
33. _Socr._ Of this, however, you are the cause. But hear the rest; for perhaps the attack of the trance may be averted: though this will be the care of the deity, but let us again direct our discourse to the boy.
Well then, my excellent boy, what that is, about which we are to deliberate, has been declared and defined. Keeping this in view, then, let us proceed to consider what advantage or detriment will probably accrue from one who is in love and one who is not, to him that shews favour to them.
He that is ruled by desire and is a slave to pleasure, must necessarily, I think, endeavour to make the object of his love as agreeable to himself as possible. But to one diseased every thing is pleasant that does not oppose his wishes; but that which is superior and equal is hateful to him. A lover therefore will never willingly allow his favourite to be either superior to or on an equality with himself, but is always endeavouring to make him inferior and more deficient. An ignorant person is inferior to a wise one, a coward to a brave one, one who is unable to speak to a rhetorician, a dull to a clever one. 34.
Since so many evils, and even more than these, are engendered or naturally exist in the mind of the beloved object, the lover must of necessity rejoice at the existence of the one sort and endeavour to introduce the others, or be deprived of immediate pleasure. He must therefore needs be envious, and by debarring his favourite from much other and that profitable society, whence he might become most manly, he is the occasion of great harm, and of the greatest by debarring him of that by means of which he would become most wise; and this is divine philosophy, from which a lover must needs keep his favourite at a distance, through the fear of being despised; and must so manage every thing else, that he may be ignorant of every thing, and look to the lover for every thing, thus being most agreeable to him, but most detrimental to himself. As concerns the mind, then, a man that is in love is in no respect a profitable guardian and companion.
But as to the habit and care of the body, what it will be and how he will attend to it, of which a man has become the lord, who is compelled to pursue the pleasant in preference to the good, is next to be considered. 35. He will be seen pursuing some delicate and not hardy youth, not reared in the open air but under the shade of mingled trees, a stranger to manly toil, and dry sweats, but no stranger to a delicate and effeminate mode of life, adorned with foreign colours and ornaments, through want of such as are natural, and studious of all such other things as accompany these: what they are, is clear, and it is not worth while to enter into further detail; but having summed them up under one head, we will proceed to another part of our subject. Such a body both in battle and other great emergencies, enemies will look upon with confidence, but friends and lovers themselves will fear for. This, however, as sufficiently evident, may be dismissed. 36. In the next place we must declare what advantage or what detriment, with respect to our possessions, the society and guardianship of one in love will occasion. But this indeed is manifest to every one, and especially to a lover, that he would desire above all things that the object of his love should be bereft of his dearest, fondest, and holiest treasures: for he would have him gladly deprived of father and mother, kindred and friends, thinking that they are an hindrance to, and blamers of the sweetest intercourse with him. Moreover if he has abundance of gold, or any other property, he will think that he cannot be so easily caught, nor when caught easily managed. Wherefore it must of necessity happen that a lover should grudge his favourite possession of abundance, and should rejoice at its loss. Further still, a lover will wish his favourite to continue as long as possible without a wife, without child, and without home, from a desire to enjoy his own delights for as long a time as possible. 37. There are, indeed, other evils besides these, but some deity has mingled present pleasure with most of them: with a flatterer, for instance, a dreadful beast and great bane, nature has nevertheless mingled a kind of pleasure that is by no means inelegant.
And some one perhaps may blame a mistress as detrimental, and many other similar creatures and pursuits, which for the day, however, afford the greatest enjoyment; but to a favourite, a lover besides being detrimental, is the most disagreeable of all for daily intercourse. For the ancient proverb says, that equal delights in equal; I suppose, because an equality of age leading to equal pleasures produces friendship by similarity of tastes. But still the intercourse even of these brings satiety: and moreover, necessity is said to be irksome to every one in every thing; and this in addition to their dissimilarity is especially the case with a lover towards his favourite. 38. For an old man who associates with a young one, does not willingly leave him, either by day or night, but is driven on by necessity and frenzy, which leads him on by constantly giving him pleasure, through seeing, hearing, touching, and by every sense feeling the presence of the beloved object, so that he would with pleasure cling constantly to him: but by giving what solace or what pleasures to the object of his love, can he prevent him during an intercourse of equal duration, from feeling the utmost disgust, while he sees a face old and no longer in its bloom, with the other things that accompany it, which are unpleasant even to hear spoken of, much more so to have actually to do with from an ever-pressing necessity; when he has too to keep a suspicious watch over himself at all times and in all company, and has to listen to unreasonable and extravagant praises, and reproaches as well, which when the lover is sober are intolerable, and when he is drunk, are not only intolerable but disgraceful from the loathsome and undisguised freedom of his language. 39. Thus he that is in love is detrimental and disgusting, but when he ceases to love, he is thenceforth unfaithful towards him who by many promises and with many oaths and entreaties he could hardly prevail on at that time to endure his troublesome familiarity in the hope of advantage. But now, when payment ought to be made, having received within himself another ruler and master, reason and prudence, instead of love and madness, he has become another man unknown to his favourite. He then demands a return for former favours, reminding him of what was done and said, as if he was talking to the same person; but the other through shame, dares neither say that he has become another man, nor is he able to adhere to the oaths and promises of the former insensate reign, now that he has got possession of his senses and has become prudent, fearing lest, by doing the same things as before, he should become like what he was, and the same thing again. 40. Hence he becomes a runaway, and of necessity a defrauder, who was before a lover, and the shell being turned[121], he changes from pursuit to flight; but the other is forced to pursue him with indignation and curses, having been ignorant from the very beginning that he ought never to have granted favours to one that is in love and of necessity out of his senses, but much rather to one who is not in love, and in his right mind; otherwise he must necessarily give himself up to one that is unfaithful, morose, envious, disgusting, detrimental to his property, detrimental to his bodily habit, but far more detrimental to the cultivation of his soul, than which in truth there neither is nor ever will be any thing more precious in the sight of gods and men. It is right, therefore, my boy, to reflect on these things, and to know that the attachment of a lover is not united with good will, but like food for the sake of repletion, “as wolves love a lamb, so lovers love a boy.”
----- Footnote 121: In allusion to a game among children, in which a shell, white on one side and black on the other, was thrown up into the air, and according as either side fell uppermost, one set of playmates ran off and the other pursued, or vice versa.
----- This is it, Phædrus; you must not expect to hear me say another word, but must let my speech end here.
41. _Phæ._ But I thought it was only in the middle, and that it would say as much about one who is not in love, that he ought rather to be favoured, mentioning in turn what advantages he has. Why then, Socrates, do you stop short now?
_Socr._ Did you not observe, my excellent friend, that I was now uttering epics, and no longer dithyrambics, and this while giving expression to blame? If then I should begin to praise the other, what do you think would become of me? Do you not know that I shall be thrown into an exstacy by the Nymphs, to whom you have purposely exposed me? I say then, in one word, that whatever vices I have attributed to the one, to the other the contrary advantages belong. What need then is there for a long speech? for enough has been said about both. Thus the story will be treated as it ought to be treated: I will, therefore, cross over the river and go home, before I am compelled by you to do something more difficult.
42. _Phæ._ Not yet, Socrates, before the heat has passed away. Do you not see that it is now nearly high-noon, as it is called? Let us, then, remain here, and converse together about what has been said, and as soon as it grows cool, we will go home.
_Socr._ You are a strange man for speeches, Phædrus, and really wonderful. For I think that of all the speeches made during your life-time no one has been the occasion of more being made than yourself, whether by speaking them yourself, or in some way or other compelling others. I except Simmias of Thebes; but you far surpass all the rest.
And now again you appear to me to be the occasion of another speech being made.
_Phæ._ You do not announce war indeed. But how and what speech is this?
43. _Socr._ When I was about to cross the river, my good friend, the divine and wonted signal was given me, (it always deters me from what I am about to do,) and I seemed to hear a voice from this very spot, which would not suffer me to depart before I had purified myself, as if I had committed some offence against the deity. Now I am a prophet, though not a very good one, but like bad writers, am good enough for my own purposes. Accordingly, I clearly perceive my offence: for, my friend, the soul is in some measure prophetic; and mine troubled me some time since as I was delivering the speech, and some how I was cast down, as Ibycus says, for fear I should offend the gods, and gain honour from men in exchange. But now I perceive my offence.
_Phæ._ What do you say it is?
_Socr._ A dreadful, dreadful speech, Phædrus, you both brought here yourself, and compelled me to utter.
_Phæ._ How so?
_Socr._ Foolish, and in some sort impious: and can any thing be more dreadful than this?
44. _Phæ._ Nothing, if you say truly.
_Socr._ What then? Do you not think that Love is son of Venus, and a god?
_Phæ._ So it is said.
_Socr._ Yet not by Lysias, nor by that speech of yours which was uttered through my mouth when bewitched by you. But if Love be, as indeed he is, a god, or something divine, he cannot be in any respect evil; yet both our late speeches spoke of him as such. In this therefore they committed an offence against Love, besides their silliness was very amusing, in that they said nothing sound or true, yet they prided themselves as if they were something, because they might perhaps impose on some simpletons and gain their approbation. It is necessary, therefore, my friend, that I should purify myself. But there is an ancient purification for those who offend in matters relating to mythology, which Homer was not acquainted with, but Stesichorus was. For, being deprived of sight for defaming Helen, he was not ignorant like Homer, but as a friend of the Muses, knew the cause, and immediately composed the following lines: “This tale is not true, thou didst not go on board the well-benched ships, nor reach the towers of Troy.” Thus having composed this entire recantation as it is called, he immediately recovered his sight. I however, will be wiser than them in this respect; for before I suffer any harm for defaming Love, I will endeavour to present him my recantation, with my head bare, and not, as before, covered through shame.
45. _Phæ._ There is nothing, Socrates, that you could say to me more agreeable than this.
_Socr._ For, my good Phædrus, you must be sensible how shamelessly both our speeches were composed, as well mine as that which was read from the book. For, if any generous man, and of mild disposition, who is either now in love with, or has formerly been enamoured of another like himself, had happened to hear us say that lovers contract violent enmities for trifling causes, and are envious of, and detrimental to, their favourites, can you suppose that he would do otherwise than think he was listening to men brought up among sailors, and who had never witnessed an ingenuous love, and would be far from assenting to the censures we cast upon Love?
_Phæ._ Probably he would, by Jupiter, Socrates.
_Socr._ Out of respect to him, then, and fear of Love himself, I am anxious to wash out as it were the brackish taste by a sweet speech. And I advise Lysias, too, to write as soon as possible, that it is proper, under similar circumstances, to favour a lover rather than one who is not in love.
46. _Phæ._ You may be well assured that this will be done; for, when you have spoken in praise of the lover, Lysias must needs be compelled by me to write another speech on the same subject.
_Socr._ This I believe, while you continue the man you are.
_Phæ._ Speak then with confidence.