"Nay, nay, Socrates, I cannot allow you to catch me like this. Perhaps I spoke thoughtlessly when I mentioned my soul just now. Certainly I had not intended that you should tie me up with your questions and draw conclusions which it was impossible for me to foresee." "Then I suppose the fault must be mine, for in truth I had not designed to catch anyone, least of all yourself, my dear Agathon. But we will defer the consideration of the matter to a more favourable time, for I see Philogamus approaching and, if we may judge by the outward signs, he seems to be, as one might say, in a terrible state." Hereupon we turned to observe Philogamus, to whom indeed something painful and calamitous must have happened, for his garments were disarrayed and his hair was unkempt, and anger was seated upon his frowning brow, and he was muttering to himself and calling the gods to witness that he was unjustly treated and that no such misfortune had ever before happened to any other man; and he was beating his hands wildly together and was forgetting to salute his friends. Seeing him thus distraught Socrates plucked him by the sleeve as he passed and addressed him. "Hail, Philogamus," he said, "what great misfortune do you announce to us? Have the Barbarians at last seized upon the Piraeus, and are they even now marching irresistibly on the Acropolis? Are you sent out to summon us to arms? Here are a few of us who will join with you, laying aside even their most pressing private business, and will help to defend the State and themselves to the last gasp. Only do you deliver your message and let us know." "This," said Philogamus, "is no moment for laughing, though in laughter, O Socrates, you are always easily first, as they say, and the rest nowhere. But have you not heard what has happened?" "No," said Socrates, "and we much desire to know. I can speak confidently for myself, and Agathon here is, I am sure, in a fever of impatience." "Listen, then, and, by the gods, you shall be made aware of an injustice that calls for immediate redress. They are even now on the point of calling up the married men to go to the War." "That is very interesting; and what do the married men say to it?" "What do they say?" shouted Philogamus. "They say they will not go unless, according to the promises of Darbius and Ascuthius, all the unmarried men are taken first;" and he began once more beating his breast and glaring with his eyes like a dog who has been for long without water. "Softly, my good friend," said Socrates, "softly. As to the promise, I know it is being rigidly kept. All the willing single men are gone or going, and the unwilling are being compelled to join as quickly as is possible. What more can be done?" "Something ought to be done."