On the Crown

It is a matter of principle with me. My view is that the recipient of a benefit ought to remember it all his life, but that the benefactor ought to put it out of his mind at once, if the one is to behave decently, and the other with magnanimity. To remind a man of the good turns you have done to him is very much like a reproach. Nothing shall induce me to do anything of the sort; but whatever be my reputation in that respect, I am content.

I have finished with private matters, but I have still some trifling remarks to offer on public affairs. If you, Aeschines, can name any human being, Greek or barbarian, on whom yonder sun shines, who has escaped all injury from the domination, first of Philip, and today of Alexander, so be it: I grant you that my fortune— or my misfortune, if you prefer the word—has been the cause of the whole trouble.

But if many people, who have never set eyes on me or heard the sound of my voice, have been grievously afflicted—I do not mean as individuals, but whole cities and nations—I say it is vastly more honest and candid to attribute these calamities to the common fortune of mankind, or to some distressing and untoward current of events.

Yet you dismiss those causes, and put the blame upon me, who only took part in politics by the side of my fellow-citizens here, although you must be conscious that a part, if not the whole, of your invective is addressed to all of them, and particularly to yourself. If I had held sole and despotic authority when I offered my counsels, it would have been open to you other orators to incriminate me: