He is not in his right mind, said Ctesippus; he is talking nonsense,
and is stark mad.

  O Hippothales, I said, if you have ever made any verses or songs
in honour of your favourite, I do not want to hear them; but I want to
know the purport of them, that I may be able to judge of your mode
of approaching your fair one.

  Ctesippus will be able to tell you, he said; for if, as he avers,
the sound of my words is always dinning in his ears, he must have a
very accurate knowledge and recollection of them.

  Yes, indeed, said Ctesippus; I know only too well; and very
ridiculous the tale is: for although he is a lover, and very devotedly
in love, he has nothing particular to talk about to his beloved
which a child might not say. Now is not that ridiculous? He can only
speak of the wealth of Democrates, which the whole city celebrates,
and grandfather Lysis, and the other ancestors of the youth, and their
stud of horses, and their victory at the Pythian games, and at the
Isthmus, and at Nemea with four horses and single horses-these are the
tales which he composes and repeats. And there is greater twaddle
still. Only the day before yesterday he made a poem in which he
described the entertainment of Heracles, who was a connexion of the
family, setting forth how in virtue of this relationship he was
hospitably received by an ancestor of Lysis; this ancestor was himself
begotten of Zeus by the daughter of the founder of the deme. And these
are the sort of old wives' tales which he sings and recites to us, and
we are obliged to listen to him.

  When I heard this, I said: O ridiculous Hippothales! how can you
be making and singing hymns in honour of yourself before you have won?

  But my songs and verses, he said, are not in honour of myself,
Socrates.

  You think not? I said.

  Nay, but what do you think? he replied.

  Most assuredly, I said, those songs are all in your own honour;
for if you win your beautiful love, your discourses and songs will
be a glory, to you, and may be truly regarded as hymns of praise
composed in honour of you who have conquered and won such a love;
but if he slips away from you, the more you have praised him, the more
ridiculous you will look at having lost this fairest and best of
blessings; and therefore the wise lover does not praise his beloved
until he has won him, because he is afraid of accidents. There is also
another danger; the fair, when any one praises or magnifies them,
are filled with the spirit of pride and vain-glory. Do you not agree
with me?

  Yes, he said.

  And the more vain-glorious they are, the more difficult is the
capture of them?

  I believe you.

  What should you say of a hunter who frightened away his prey, and
made the capture of the animals which he is hunting more difficult?

  He would be a bad hunter, undoubtedly.

  Yes; and if, instead of soothing them, he were to infuriate them
with words and songs, that would show a great want of wit: do you
not agree.

  Yes.

  And now reflect, Hippothales, and see whether you are not guilty
of all these errors in writing poetry. For I can hardly suppose that
you will affirm a man to be a good poet who injures himself by his
poetry.

  Assuredly not, he said; such a poet would be a fool. And this is the
reason why I take you into my counsels, Socrates, and I shall be
glad of any further advice which you may have to offer. Will you
tell me by what words or actions I may become endeared to my love?

  That is not easy to determine, I said; but if you will bring your
love to me, and will let me talk with him, I may perhaps be able to
show you how to converse with him, instead of singing and reciting
in the fashion of which you are accused.

  There will be no difficulty in bringing him, he replied; if you will
only go with Ctesippus into the Palaestra, and sit down and talk, I
believe that he will come of his own accord; for he is fond of
listening, Socrates. And as this is the festival of the Hermaea, the
young men and boys are all together, and there is no separation
between them. He will be sure to come: but if he does not, Ctesippus
with whom he is familiar, and whose relation Menexenus is his great
friend, shall call him.

  That will be the way, I said. Thereupon I led Ctesippus into the
Palaestra, and the rest followed.

  Upon entering we found that the boys had just been sacrificing;
and this part of the festival was nearly at an end. They were all in
their white array, and games at dice were going on among them. Most of
them were in the outer court amusing themselves; but some were in a