On the Mysteries (143-148)

Now since Athens as a city was spared because of the brave exploits of your forefathers, I likewise claim to be spared because of the brave deeds of mine; for my own forefathers themselves played no small part in those very exploits to which Athens owed her salvation, and I therefore have the right to expect from you the mercy shown to you yourselves by the Greeks.

Think, furthermore, what a citizen you will have in me, if you give me your protection. I was once, as you know, a man of great wealth. Then to begin with, through no fault of my own, but through the disasters which overtook Athens, I was plunged into utter penury and want. I then started life afresh, a life of honest toil, with my brains and my hands to help me. Nay more, I not only know what it is to be the citizen of a city such as this; I know what it is to be an alien sojourning in the lands of neighbouring peoples; I have learnt the meaning of self-control and good sense; I have learnt what it is to suffer for one’s mistakes.[*]

I have been on terms of familiarity with many, and I have had dealings with still more. In consequence, I have formed ties and friendships with kings, with states, and with individuals too, in plenty. Acquit me, and you will share in them all, and be able to make use of them whenever occasion may arise.

The position is in fact this, gentlemen. If you sentence me to death today, you leave not a single member of our family alive; it perishes root and branch. Yet the home of Andocides and Leogoras does not disgrace you by its presence. It was far more truly a disgrace during my exile, when Cleophon[*] the lyre-maker occupied it. Not one of you, in passing our house, was ever reminded of an injury done him by its owners whether privately or publicly.

They have held countless commands, and have won you many a victory over your foes on land and sea. They have held countless other offices and handled public monies; yet not once have they been found guilty of fraud. We have not wronged you, and you have not wronged us. Our house is the oldest in Athens, and has always been the first to open its doors to those in need. Yet never once has any member of my family appeared on trial before you and asked you to show your gratitude for these services.

So although they are dead, at least do not forget what they did. Remember their achievements: imagine that you can see them in the flesh, begging you for my life. For after all, whom can I produce here to plead for me? My father? He is dead. My brothers? I have none. My children? They are still unborn.