Tell me, said Euthydemus, do the Scythians and men in general see things possible of sight, or things impossible? Possible, I presume. And you do so too? I too. Then you see our cloaks? Yes. And have they power of sight?The quibble is on the double meaning of δυνατὰ ὁρᾶν—(a)possible, and (b)able to see. So in what follows, σιγῶντα λέγειν may mean both the speaking of a silent person, or speaking of silent things. Quite extraordinarily, said Ctesippus. What do they see? he asked. Nothing. Perhaps you do not think they see—you are such a sweet innocent. I should say, Euthydemus, that you have fallen asleep with your eyes open and, if it be possible to speak and at the same time say nothing, that this is what you are doing. Why, asked Dionysodorus, may there not be a speaking of the silent? By no means whatever, replied Ctesippus. Nor a silence of speaking? Still less, he said. Now, when you speak of stones and timbers and irons, are you not speaking of the silent? Not if I walk by a smithy, for there, as they say, the irons speak and cry aloud, when they are touched; so here your wisdom has seduced you into nonsense. But come, you have still to propound me your second point, how on the other hand there may be a silence of speaking. (It struck me that Ctesippus was specially excited on account of his young friend’s presence.) When you are silent, said Euthydemus, are you not making a silence of all things? Yes, he replied. Then it is a silence of speaking things also, if the speaking are among all things. What, said Ctesippus, are not all things silent? I presume not, said Euthydemus. But then, my good sir, do all things speak? Yes, I suppose, at least those that speak. But that is not what I ask, he said: are all things silent or do they speak? Neither and both, said Dionysodorus, snatching the word from him: I am quite sure that is an answer that will baffle you! At this Ctesippus, as his manner was, gave a mighty guffaw, and said: Ah, Euthydemus, your brother has made the argument ambiguous with his both, and is worsted and done for. Then Cleinias was greatly delighted and laughed, so that Ctesippus felt his strength was as the strength of ten: but I fancy Ctesippus—he is such a rogue—had picked up these very words by overhearing the men themselves, since in nobody else of the present age is such wisdom to be found. So I remarked: Why are you laughing, Cleinias, at such serious and beautiful things? What, have you, Socrates, ever yet seen a beautiful thing? asked Dionysodorus. Yes, I have, I replied, and many of them, Dionysodorus.