It is no joke, Toxaris, to venture single combat with a man like you for opponent, equipped with arguments so pointed and so apt. However, I will not basely leave the whole Greek cause in the lurch on such short notice and retire before you; for, seeing that so many Scythians, as your stories and ancient paintings show, of which you delivered such a vigorous account a little while ago, were worsted by two, it would be a great scandal if all the Greeks, so many nations and so many cities as they are, should lose their case by default to you. If this should happen, it would be fair to cut off, not my right hand, as your custom is, but my tongue. But shall we limit ourselves as to the number of friendly exploits, or shall he who is able to mention most have so much better chance of victory?

Oh dear, no. Let us agree that victory shall not lie in the number of exploits; but if yours are better and more striking than mine, though the same in number, they will, of course, wound me more vitally, and I shall give way sooner before their blows.

Very well. Let us agree how many are enough. Five apiece, it strikes me.

I think so, too. But first declare, and upon oath, that you will speak the very truth. Otherwise, to invent this kind of thing is no great job, and refutation would be difficult; but if you should take your oath it would be impious not to believe you.

We will swear, if you do not think an oath superfluous. But which of our gods do you Or will the God of Friendship do?

Certainly; but I will take our national oath when it is my turn to speak.

Then let Zeus, the God of Friendship, witness that all I shall tell you I speak either of my own knowledge or having learned from others, with all the exactitude in my power, and adding nothing of my own to the story.

[His first story celebrates the friendship of Agathokles of Samos for Deinias of Ephesos. Deinias was a very rich young man, who was surrounded by evil companions, and soon wasted his whole substance in riotous living. Thereupon Agathokles, a man of moderate means and his friend from childhood, whose good advice had made him insupportable in the heyday of Deinias's prosperity, sold the house of his fathers and handed over the proceeds to his friend. Deinias finally killed two persons in a disgraceful embroglio, and was sentenced to transportation for life to one of the Cyclades. Agathokles accompanied him into exile, tended him through a long illness, and after his death continued to live in the island to be near the grave of his friend.]

I wish you were not on oath, Mnesippos, so that I might be at liberty to disbelieve your story. By your account this Agathokles is a true Scythian in friendship. I hope you are not going to tell of any one else like him.

Then hear about another, Euthydikos of Chalkis. Simylos, the ship-master of Megara, told me the story, swearing that he had seen the thing with his own eyes. He said he was sailing from Italy to Athens early in the autumn, carrying passengers from various places, and among these were Euthydikos and Damon his friend, a Chalkidian like himself. They were of the same age, but Euthydikos was strong and robust, while Damon was pale and feeble and seemed to be just recovering from a long illness. Now, as far as Sicily, Simylos said, the voyage was prosperous, but when they had passed through the strait and come out into the Ionian Sea a great storm fell upon them. It would be useless to give the details-whelming waves and waterspouts and hail-storms and all the horrors of a gale. But when they were just off Zakynthos, scudding under bare poles, with cordage dangling overboard to break the force of the sea, Damon grew sea-sick in such a pitching and tossing, and leaned over the side of the ship to vomit. Just then, I suppose, the ship heeled over more violently to that side and the wave receded at the same time. At all events, he fell head foremost into the sea with all his clothes on, poor wretch! which made swimming all the harder. He straightway gave a choking shriek, hardly keeping himself on top of the wave.

When Euthydikos, who happened to have his clothes off in bed, heard it, he threw himself into the sea, got hold of Damon, who had already given upall this could be seen from a distance in the bright moonlight—and swam along with him, helping to keep him above water. Those on the ship were eager to help them and full of pity for their fate, but they could no nothing, running before such a gale. One thing only was possible, and that they did; they threw overboard for them a great number of corks and some puntingpoles, so that they might swim on one of these if they chanced on it; and finally they threw over the companion - ladder bodily, which was a large one. Consider, now, in Heaven's name, what stronger proof of affection a man could give to his friend who had fallen by night into such a wild sea than to share his death! Pray, call before your eyes the towering waves, the noise of the broken water, the boiling foam, the night, the despair; then that drowning man, hardly keeping his head above water, stretching out his hands to his comrade, and the comrade leaping to him instantly and swimming with him, fearful lest Damon should perish before him. This is the way to see that in Euthydikos, too, I have described for you no unworthy friend.