l me what I
should say to him:--he wanted to know why you, who never before wrote
a line of poetry, now that you are in prison are turning Aesop's fables
into verse, and also composing that hymn in honour of Apollo.

Tell him, Cebes, he replied, what is the truth--that I had no idea of
rivalling him or his poems; to do so, as I knew, would be no easy task.
But I wanted to see whether I could purge away a scruple which I felt
about the meaning of certain dreams. In the course of my life I have
often had intimations in dreams 'that I should compose music.' The same
dream came to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another, but
always saying the same or nearly the same words: 'Cultivate and make
music,' said the dream. And hitherto I had imagined that this was only
intended to exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which
has been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best of music.
The dream was bidding me do what I was already doing, in the same way
that the competitor in a race is bidden by the spectators to run when he
is already running. But I was not certain of this, for the dream might
have meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being under
sentence of death, and the festival giving me a respite, I thought that
it would be safer for me to satisfy the scruple, and, in obedience to
the dream, to compose a few verses before I departed. And first I made
a hymn in honour of the god of the festival, and then considering that a
poet, if he is really to be a poet, should not only put together words,
but should invent stories, and that I have no invention, I took some
fables of Aesop, which I had ready at hand and which I knew--they were
the first I came upon--and turned them into verse. Tell this to Evenus,
Cebes, and bid him be of good cheer; say that I would have him come
after me if he be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely
to be going, for the Athenians say that I must.

Simmias said: What a message for such a man! having been a frequent
companion of his I should say that, as far as I know him, he will never
take your advice unless he is obliged.

Why, said Socrates,--is not Evenus a philosopher?

I think that he is, said Simmias.

Then he, or any man who has the spirit of philosophy, will be willing to
die, but he will not take his own life, for that is held to be unlawful.

Here he changed his position, and put his legs off the couch on to the
ground, and