_Ly_. Why, Polystratus, I never knew what an orator you were. After that eloquent close-packed indictment of my booklet, I almost despair of the defence. You and she were not quite judicial, though; you less than she, in condemning the accused when its counsel was not in court. It is always easy to win a walk-over, you know; so no wonder we were convicted, not being allowed to speak or given the ear of the court. But, still more monstrous, you were accusers and jury at once. Well, what am I to do? accept the verdict and hold my tongue? pen a palinode like Stesichorus? or will you grant an appeal? _Poly_. Surely, if you have anything to say for yourself. For you will be heard not by opponents, as you say, but by friends. Indeed, my place is with you in the dock. _Ly_. How I wish I could, have spoken in her own presence! that would have been far better; but I must do it by proxy. However, if you will report me to her as well as you did her to me, I will adventure. _Poly_. Trust me to do justice to the defence; but put it shortly, in mercy to my memory. _Ly_. So severe an indictment should by rights be met at length; but for your sake I will cut it short. Put these considerations before her from me, then. _Poly_. No, not that way, please. Make your speech, just as though she were listening, and I will reproduce you to her. _Ly_. Very well, then. She is here; she has just delivered the oration which you have described to me; it is now counsel’s turn. And yet—I must confide my feelings to you—you have made my undertaking somehow more formidable; you see the beads gather on my brow; my courage goes; I seem to see her there; my situation bewilders me. Yet begin I will; how can I draw back when she is there? _Poly_. Ah, but her face promises a kindly hearing; see how bright and gracious. Pluck up heart, man, and begin.