On the Crown

If I must deal with that subject, I say that, if my policy and my principles are considered, they will be found to resemble in spirit and purpose those of the venerated names of antiquity. Yours are like those of the men who maligned them: for it is certain that, even in their days, there were men who were always carping at the living and commending the dead—a spiteful vocation, and just like yours. You tell me I am not at all like those great men.

Are you like them, Aeschines? Or your brother? Or any other orator of this generation? In my opinion, none. Then, my honest friend— to call you nothing worse—assay a living man by the standard of living men, men of his own time. That is the test you apply to everything else—to dramatists, to choruses, to athletes.

Philammon did not leave Olympia without a crown, because he was not so strong as Glaucus of Carystus, or other bygone champions: he was crowned and proclaimed victor, because he fought better than the men who entered the ring against him. You must compare me with the orators of today; with yourself, for instance, or anyone you like: I exclude none.

When the commonwealth was at liberty to choose the best policy, when there was a competition of patriotism open to all comers, I made better speeches than any other man, and all business was conducted by my resolutions, my statutes, my diplomacy. Not one o f you ever put in an appearance— except when you must needs fall foul of my measures. But when certain deplorable events had taken place, and there was a call, not for counsellors, but for men who would obey orders, who were ready to injure their country for pay, and willing to truckle to strangers, then you and your party were at your post, great men with gorgeous equipages.[*](To keep a stud of horses, whether for racing purposes or for use in the cavalry, was at Athens the favorite method for displaying wealth.) I was powerless, I admit; but I was still the better patriot.