EUTHYPHRON.
Chap. 1
Steph. p. 2. Euth. What in the world are you doing here at the archon's porch, Socrates? Why have you left your haunts in the Lyceum? You surely cannot have an action before him, as I have.
Socr. Nay, the Athenians, Euthyphron, call it a prosecution, not an action.
Euth. What? Do you mean that some one is prosecuting you I cannot believe you are prosecuting any one yourself.
Socr. Certainly I am not.
Euth. Then is some one prosecuting you?
Socr. Yes.
Euth. Who is he?
Socr. I scarcely know him myself, Euthyphron; I think he must be some unknown young man. His name, however, is Meletus, and his deme Pitthis, if you can call to mind any Meletus of that deme,—a hook-nosed man with long hair, and rather a scanty beard.
Euth. I don't know him, Socrates. But, tell me, what is he prosecuting you for?
Socr. What for? Not on trivial grounds, I think. It is no small thing for so young a man to have formed an opinion on such an important