Socrates. Of course. And he tells how refutation and further refutation must be accomplished, both in accusation and in defence. Shall we not bring the illustrious Parian, Evenus, into our discussion, who invented covert allusion and indirect praises? And some say that he also wrote indirect censures, composing them in verse as an aid to memory; for he is a clever man. And shall we leave Gorgias and Tisias undisturbed, who saw that probabilities are more to be esteemed than truths, who make small things seem great and great things small
 by the power of their words, and new things old and old things the reverse, and who invented conciseness of speech and measureless length on all subjects? And once when Prodicus heard these inventions, he laughed, and said that he alone had discovered the art of proper speech, that discourses should be neither long nor short, but of reasonable length. Phaedrus. O Prodicus! How clever! Socrates. And shall we not mention Hippias, our friend from Elis ? I think he would agree with him. Phaedrus. Oh yes. Socrates. And what shall we say of Polus and his shrines of learned speech, such as duplication and sententiousness and figurativeness, and what of the names with which Licymnius presented him to effect beautiful diction? Phaedrus. Were there not some similar inventions of Protagoras, Socrates? Socrates. Yes, my boy, correctness of diction, and many other fine things. For tearful speeches, to arouse pity for old age and poverty, I think the precepts of the mighty Chalcedonian hold the palm, and he is also a genius,
 as he said, at rousing large companies to wrath, and soothing them again by his charms when they are angry, and most powerful in devising and abolishing calumnies on any grounds whatsoever. But all seem to be in agreement concerning the conclusion of discourses, which some call recapitulation, while others give it some other name. Phaedrus. You mean making a summary of the points of the speech at the end of it, so as to remind the hearers of what has been said? Socrates. These are the things I mean, these and anything else you can mention concerned with the art of rhetoric. Phaedrus. There are only little things, not worth mentioning. Socrates. Never mind the little things; let us bring these other things more under the light and see what force of art they have and when. Phaedrus. They have a very powerful force, at least in large assemblies. Socrates. They have; but my friend, see if you agree with me in thinking that their warp has gaps in it. Phaedrus. Go on and show them. Socrates. Tell me; if anyone should go to your friend Eryximachus or to his father Acumenus and should say I know how to apply various drugs
 to people, so as to make them warm or, if I wish, cold, and I can make them vomit, if I like, or can make their bowels move, and all that sort of thing; and because of this knowledge I claim that I am a physician and can make any other man a physician, to whom I impart the knowledge of these things ; what do you think they would say? Phaedrus. They would ask him, of course, whether he knew also whom he ought to cause to do these things, and when, and how much. Socrates. If then he should say: No, not at all; but I think that he who has learned these things from me will be able to do by himself the things you ask about? Phaedrus. They would say, I fancy, that the man was crazy and, because he had read something in a book or had stumbled upon some medicines, imagined that he was a physician when he really had no knowledge of the art. Socrates. And what if someone should go to Sophocles or Euripides and should say that he knew how to make very long speeches about a small matter, and very short ones about a great affair, and pitiful utterances, if he wished, and again terrible and threatening ones, and all
 that sort of thing, and that he thought by imparting those things he could teach the art of writing tragedies? Phaedrus. They also, I fancy, Socrates, would laugh at him, if he imagined that tragedy was anything else than the proper combination of these details in such a way that they harmonize with each other and with the whole composition. Socrates. But they would not, I suppose, rebuke him harshly, but they would behave as a musician would, if he met a man who thought he understood harmony because he could strike the highest and lowest
 notes. He would not say roughly, You wretch, you are mad, but being a musician, he would say in gentler tones, My friend, he who is to be a harmonist must know these things you mention, but nothing prevents one who is at your stage of knowledge from being quite ignorant of harmony. You know the necessary preliminaries of harmony, but not harmony itself. Phaedrus. Quite correct.