_Echec._ By the gods, Phædo, I can readily excuse you: for, while I am now hearing you, it occurs to me to ask myself some such question as this, What arguments can we any longer believe? since the argument which Socrates advanced, and which was exceedingly credible, has now fallen into discredit. For this argument, that our soul is a kind of harmony, produces a wonderful impression on me, both now and always, and in being mentioned, it has reminded me, as it were, that I too was formerly of the same opinion: so that I stand in need again, as if from the very beginning, of some other argument which may persuade me that the soul of one who dies does not die with the body. Tell me therefore, by Jupiter, how Socrates followed up the argument; and whether he too, as you confess was the case with yourselves, seemed disconcerted at all, or not, but calmly maintained his position; and maintained it sufficiently, or defectively. Relate every thing to me as accurately as you can. _Phæd._ Indeed, Echecrates, though I have often admired Socrates, I was never more delighted than at being with him on that occasion. That he should be able to say something is perhaps not at all surprising; but I especially admired this in him, first of all that he listened to the argument of the young men so sweetly, affably, and approvingly; in the next place, that he so quickly perceived how we were affected by their arguments; and lastly, that he cured us so well and recalled us, when we were put to flight as it were and vanquished, and encouraged us to accompany him, and consider the argument with him. _Echec._ How was that? _Phæd._ I will tell you: I happened to be sitting at his right hand, near the bed, upon a low seat, but he himself sat much higher than I. Stroking my head, then, and laying hold of the hair that hung on my neck, for he used, often, to play with my hairs, “To-morrow,” he said, “perhaps, Phædo, you will cut off these beautiful locks?” “It seems likely, Socrates,” said I. 87. “Not if you are persuaded by me.” “Why so?” I asked. “To-day,” he replied, “both I ought to cut off mine and you yours, if our argument must die, and we are unable to revive it. And I, if I were you, and the arguments were to escape me, would take an oath, as the Argives do, not to suffer my hair to grow until I had renewed the contest, and vanquished the arguments of Simmias and Cebes.” “But,” I said, “even Hercules himself is said not to have been a match for two.” “Call upon me, then,” he said, “as your Iolaus, while it is yet day.” “I do call on you, then,” I said, “not as Hercules upon Iolaus, but as Iolaus upon Hercules.” “It will make no difference,” he replied. “But first of all we must beware lest we meet with some mischance.” “What?” I asked.