Why, then, are you silent, Socrates, when Hippias has been delivering such a fine display? Why do you not join us in praising some part of his speech, or else, if he seems to you to have been wrong in any point, refute him—especially now that we who might best claim to have a share in philosophical discussion have been left to ourselves?

Indeed, Eudicus, there are some points in what Hippias was just now saying of Homer, about which I should like to question him. For I used to hear your father Apemantus say that Homer’s was a finer poem than the , and just as much finer as Achilles was finer than Odysseus for he said that one of these poems was made with Odysseus; the other with Achilles as its subject. So that is a point about which, if it is agreeable to Hippias, I should like to ask—what he thinks about these two men, which of them he says is the better; for he has told us in his exhibition many other things of sorts about Homer and other poets.

It is plain enough that Hippias will not object answering if you ask him a question. Oh, Hippias, if Socrates asks you a question, will you answer? or what will you do?

Why, Eudicus, it would be strange conduct on my part, if I, who always go up to Olympia to the festival of the Greeks from my home at Elis, and entering the sacred precinct, offer to speak on anything that anyone chooses of those subjects which I prepared for exhibition, and to answer any questions that anyone asks—should now avoid being questioned by Socrates.

You are in a state of blessedness, Hippias, if at every Olympiad you come to the sanctuary with fair hopes concerning your soul and its wisdom; and I should be surprised if any of the physical athletes when he goes to that same place to take part in the contests, has such fearless confidence in his body as you have in your intellect.

Naturally, Socrates, I am in this state: for since I began to contend at the Olympic games, I never yet met anyone better than myself in anything.

That is splendid, Hippias! Your reputation will be a monument of wisdom for the city of Elis and your parents. But now what do you say about Achilles and Odysseus? Which do you say is the better and in what respect? For when there were many of us in the room, and you were making your exhibition, I could not keep up with what you were saying: for I hesitated to ask questions, because there was a great crowd in the room, also for fear of hindering your exhibition by doing so; but now, since we are fewer and Eudicus here urges me to question you, speak and tell us clearly what you said about these two men; how did you distinguish them?

Why I am glad, Socrates, to explain to you still more clearly what I say about these and others also. For I say that Homer made Achilles the bravest man of those who went to Troy, and Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest.

Oh dear, Hippias! Would you do me the favour not to laugh at me if I find it hard to understand what you say, and keep asking questions over and over? Please try to answer me gently and courteously.

Of course; for it would be a disgrace, Socrates, if I, who teach others good manners and charge them money for it, should not myself, when questioned by you, be considerate and reply gently.

That is excellent. For when you said that the poet made Achilles the bravest of men, and Nestor the wisest, I thought I understood what you meant; but when you said that he made Odysseus the wiliest, to tell you the truth, I do not in the least know what you mean by that. Now tell me, and perhaps it may result in my understanding better. Has not Homer made Achilles wily?