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 the souls of all who hear him with the music of his words. "I myself am conscious" (Alcibiades continues) "that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly from the voice of the charmer, he would enchain me until I grew old sitting at his feet. For he makes me confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the needs of my own soul, and occupying myself with the affairs of the Athenians; therefore I stop my ears, and tear myself away from him. He is the only person who ever made me feel ashamed of myself—a feeling which you might think was not in my nature, and there is no one else who has that effect on me And oftentimes I wish he were dead; and yet I know that I should be much more sorry than glad, if he were to die."

Then he goes on to tell some anecdotes of the temperance of Socrates, his endurance of fatigue, and his personal courage; and he assures them, in conclusion, that they will never find any other man who in the least resembles this wonderful being.

Again the doors are violently opened, and a fresh band of revellers enter. All is now confusion and uproar. Phædrus, the physician, and some of the more sober spirits, wisely take their departure; while the few who remain settle down to make a night of it. Aristodemus (who tells the story) falls asleep himself, and is only awakened by the cocks crowing at daybreak. All the last night's party have gone, or are asleep on their couches in the room, except Agathon, Aristophanes, and Socrates. These three are still passing a large wine-cup from one to the other; and Socrates is giving the two dramatists a lecture on their