Socrates. Why have you come at this time, Crito? Or isn’t it still early? Crito. Yes, very early. Socrates. About what time? Crito. Just before dawn. Socrates. I am surprised that the watchman of the prison was willing to let you in. Crito. He is used to me by this time, Socrates, because I come here so often, and besides I have done something for him. Socrates. Have you just come, or some time ago? Crito. Some little time ago.
 Socrates. Then why did you not wake me at once, instead of sitting by me in silence? Crito. No, no, by Zeus, Socrates, I only wish I myself were not so sleepless and sorrowful. But I have been wondering at you for some time, seeing how sweetly you sleep; and I purposely refrained from waking you, that you might pass the time as pleasantly as possible. I have often thought throughout your life hitherto that you were of a happy disposition, and I think so more than ever in this present misfortune, since you bear it so easily and calmly. Socrates. Well, Crito, it would be absurd
 if at my age I were disturbed because I must die now. Crito. Other men as old, Socrates, become involved in similar misfortunes, but their age does not in the least prevent them from being disturbed by their fate. Socrates. That is true. But why have you come so early? Crito. To bring news, Socrates, sad news, though apparently not sad to you, but sad and grievous me and all your friends, and to few of them, I think, so grievous as to me. Socrates. What is this news? Has the ship come from Delos ,
 at the arrival of which I am to die? Crito. It has not exactly come, but I think it will come today from the reports of some men who have come from Sunium and left it there. Now it is clear from what they say that it will come today, and so tomorrow, Socrates, your life must end. Socrates. Well, Crito, good luck be with us! If this is the will of the gods, so be it. However, I do not think
 it will come today. Crito. What is your reason for not thinking so? Socrates. I will tell you. I must die on the day after the ship comes in, must I not? Crito. So those say who have charge of these matters. Socrates. Well, I think it will not come in today, but tomorrow. And my reason for this is a dream which I had a little while ago in the course of this night. And perhaps you let me sleep just at the right time. Crito. What was the dream? Socrates. I dreamed that a beautiful, fair woman, clothed in white raiment, came to me and called me
 and said, Socrates, on the third day thou wouldst come to fertile Phthia . Hom. Il. 9.363 . Crito. A strange dream, Socrates. Socrates. No, a clear one, at any rate, I think, Crito. Crito. Too clear, apparently. But, my dear Socrates, even now listen to me and save yourself. Since, if you die, it will be no mere single misfortune to me, but I shall lose a friend such as I can never find again, and besides, many persons who do not know you and me well
 will think I could have saved you if I had been willing to spend money, but that I would not take the trouble. And yet what reputation could be more disgraceful than that of considering one’s money of more importance than one’s friends? For most people will not believe that we were eager to help you to go away from here, but you refused. Socrates. But, my dear Crito, why do we care so much for what most people think? For the most reasonable men, whose opinion is more worth considering, will think that things were done as they really will be done.
 Crito. But you see it is necessary, Socrates, to care for the opinion of the public, for this very trouble we are in now shows that the public is able to accomplish not by any means the least, but almost the greatest of evils, if one has a bad reputation with it. Socrates. I only wish, Crito, the people could accomplish the greatest evils, that they might be able to accomplish also the greatest good things. Then all would be well. But now they can do neither of the two; for they are not able to make a man wise or foolish, but they do whatever occurs to them.
 Crito. That may well be. But, Socrates, tell me this: you are not considering me and your other friends, are you, fearing that, if you escape, the informers will make trouble for us by saying that we stole you away, and we shall be forced to lose either all our property or a good deal of money, or be punished in some other way besides?