SOCRATES.
Do it then, I beg you.
ONE OF THE DISCIPLES.
You smile!
SOCRATES.
I smile at the reflection, that pleasure should arise from pain: thus it is that eternal felicity shall spring from the miseries of this life.
CRITO.
Alas! what have you done?
XANTIPPE.
Ay, for a thousand ridiculous discourses of this kind the poor man has lost his life: indeed, my dear, you will break my heart; I could strangle all the judges with my own hands. I did use to scold you indeed, but I always loved you notwithstanding; these polite well-bred gentlemen have put you to death: O my dear, dear husband!
SOCRATES.
Be calm, my good Xantippe; weep not, my friends; it becomes not the disciples of Socrates to shed tears.
CRITO.
How can we avoid it on so dreadful an occasion? this legal murder!
SOCRATES.
Thus it is that men will often behave to the worshippers of one true God, and the enemies of superstition.
