How comes it then that the most impudent men in Athens, and the loudest speakers, are overborne by me, the nervous man, who can speak no louder than another? Because truth is strong, and consciousness of corruption weak. Conscience paralyses their audacity; conscience cripples their tongues, closes their lips, stifles them, puts them to silence.

You remember the most recent occasion, at Peiraeus only the other day, when you refused to appoint Aeschines to an embassy, how he bellowed at me: I will impeach you,—I will indict you,—aha! aha! In this exclamation Demosthenes perhaps imitates the melodramatic style and intonation of his adversary. Aeschines is like our stage villain, crying, Aha! A time will come. And yet a threat of impeachment involves endless speeches and litigation; but here are just two or three simple words that a slave bought yesterday could deliver: Men of Athens, here is a strange thing! This man accuses me of offences in which he himself took part. He says that I have taken bribes, when he took them, or shared them, himself.