Why, Polystratus, I never knew what an orator you were. After that eloquent close-packed indictment of my booklet, I almost despair of the defence. You and she were not quite judicial, though; you less than she, in condemning the accused when its counsel was not in court. It is always easy to win a walk-over, you know; so no wonder we were convicted, not being allowed to speak or given the ear of the court. But, still more monstrous, you were accusers and jury at once. Well, what am I to do? accept the verdict and hold my tongue? pen a palinode like Stesichorus? or will you grant an appeal?
Surely, if you have anything to say for yourself. For you will be heard not by opponents, as you say, but by friends. Indeed, my place is with you in the dock.
How I wish I could have spoken in her own presence!
that would have been far better; but I must do it by proxy.
Trust me to do justice to the defence; but put it shortly, in mercy to my memory.
So severe an indictment should by rights be met at length; but for your sake I will cut it short. Put these considerations before her from me, then.
No, not that way, please. Make your speech, just as though she were listening, and I will reproduce you to her.
Very well, then. She is here; she has just delivered the oration which you have described to me; it is now counsel’s turn. And yet—I must confide my feelings to you—you have made my undertaking somehow more formidable; you see the beads gather on my brow; my courage goes; I seem to see her there; my situation bewilders me. Yet begin I will; how can I draw back when she is there?
Ah, but her face promises a kindly hearing; see how bright and gracious. Pluck up heart, man, and begin.