Go where you please. The odds are greater I can wipe you out with lots of people there to watch us argue.

You’ll wipe me out? Who’d you think you are?

An argument.

Yes, but second rate.

You claim that you’re more powerful than me, but I’ll still conquer you.

What clever tricks do you intend to use?

I’ll formulate new principles.

Yes, that’s in fashion now, thanks to these idiots.

No, no. They’re smart.

I’ll destroy you utterly.

And how? Tell me that.

By arguing what’s just.

That I can overturn in my response, by arguing there’s no such thing as Justice.

It doesn’t exist? That’s what you maintain?

Well, if it does, where is it?

With the gods.

Well, if Justice does exist, how come Zeus hasn’t been destroyed for chaining up his dad.

This is going from bad to worse. I feel sick. Fetch me a basin.

You silly old man— you’re so ridiculous.

And you’re quite shameless, you pervert.

Those words you speak—like roses!

Buffoon!

That I can overturn in my response, by arguing there’s no such thing as Justice.

It doesn’t exist? That’s what you maintain?

Well, if it does, where is it?

With the gods.

Well, if Justice does exist, how come Zeus hasn’t been destroyed for chaining up his dad.

This is going from bad to worse. I feel sick. Fetch me a basin.

You silly old man— you’re so ridiculous.

And you’re quite shameless, you pervert.

Those words you speak—like roses!

Buffoon!

You adorn my head with lilies.

You destroyed your father!

You don’t mean to,

but you’re showering me with gold.

No, not gold— before this age, those names were lead.

But now, your insults are a credit to me.

You’re too obstreperous.

You’re archaic.

It’s thanks to you that none of our young men is keen to go to school. The day will come when the Athenians will all realize how you teach these silly fools.

You’re dirty— it’s disgusting.

But you’re doing very well—

You adorn my head with lilies.

You destroyed your father!

You don’t mean to,

but you’re showering me with gold.

No, not gold— before this age, those names were lead.

But now, your insults are a credit to me.

You’re too obstreperous.

You’re archaic.

It’s thanks to you that none of our young men is keen to go to school. The day will come when the Athenians will all realize how you teach these silly fools.

You’re dirty— it’s disgusting.

But you’re doing very well—

although in earlier days you were a beggar,

claiming to be Telephos from Mysia, eating off some views of Pandeletos, which you kept in your wallet.

That was brilliant— you just reminded me . . .

It was lunacy! Your own craziness—the city’s, too. It fosters you while you corrupt the young.

You can’t teach this boy—you’re old as Cronos.

Yes, I must—if he’s going to be redeemed

although in earlier days you were a beggar,

claiming to be Telephos from Mysia, eating off some views of Pandeletos, which you kept in your wallet.

That was brilliant— you just reminded me . . .

It was lunacy! Your own craziness—the city’s, too. It fosters you while you corrupt the young.

You can’t teach this boy—you’re old as Cronos.

Yes, I must—if he’s going to be redeemed

and not just prattle empty verbiage.

Come over here—leave him to his foolishness.

You’ll regret it, if you lay a hand on him.

Stop this fighting, all these abusive words.

Instead, explain the things you used to teach to young men long ago—then you lay out what’s new in training now. He can listen as you present opposing arguments and then decide which school he should attend.

I’m willing to do that.

All right with me.

Come on then, which one of you goes first?

I’ll grant him that right. Once he’s said his piece,

I’ll shoot it down with brand-new expressions and some fresh ideas. By the time I’m done, if he so much as mutters, he’ll get stung by my opinions on his face and eyes— like so many hornets—he’ll be destroyed.

Trusting their skill in argument, their phrase-making propensity,

these two men here are now intent to show which one will prove to be the better man in oratory.

For wisdom now is being hard pressed— my friends, this is the crucial test.

First, you who crowned our men in days gone by with so much virtue in their characters, let’s hear that voice which brings you such delight— explain to us what makes you what you are.

All right, I’ll set out how we organized our education in the olden days, when I talked about what’s just and prospered, when people wished to practise self-restraint.

First, there was a rule—children made no noise, no muttering. Then, when they went outside, walking the streets to the music master’s house, groups of youngsters from the same part of town went in straight lines and never wore a cloak, not even when the snow fell thick as flour. There he taught them to sing with thighs apart. They had memorize their songs—such as, ”Dreadful Pallas Who Destroys Whole Cities,” and “A Cry From Far Away.” These they sang

in the same style their fathers had passed down. If any young lad fooled around or tried to innovate with some new flourishes, like the contorted sounds we have today from those who carry on the Phrynis style,

he was beaten, soundly thrashed, his punishment for tarnishing the Muse. At the trainer’s house, when the boys sat down, they had to keep their thighs stretched out, so they would not expose a thing which might excite erotic torments

in those looking on. And when they stood up, they smoothed the sand, being careful not to leave imprints of their manhood there for lovers. Using oil, no young lad rubbed his body underneath his navel—thus on his sexual parts there was a dewy fuzz, like on a peach. He didn’t make his voice all soft and sweet to talk to lovers as he walked along, or with his glances coyly act the pimp.

When he was eating, he would not just grab

a radish head, or take from older men some dill or parsley, or eat dainty food. He was not allowed to giggle, or sit there with his legs crossed.

Antiquated rubbish! Filled with festivals for Zeus Polieus, cicadas, slaughtered bulls, and Cedeides.

But the point is this—these very features in my education brought up those men who fought at Marathon. But look at you— you teach these young men now right from the start

to wrap themselves in cloaks. It enrages me when the time comes for them to do their dance at the Panathenaea festival and one of them holds his shield low down, over his balls, insulting Tritogeneia. And so, young man, that’s why you should choose me,

the Better Argument. Be resolute. You’ll find out how to hate the market place, to shun the public baths, to feel ashamed of shameful things, to fire up your heart

when someone mocks you, to give up your chair when older men come near, not to insult your parents, nor act in any other way which brings disgrace or which could mutilate your image as an honourable man. You’ll learn not to run off to dancing girls, in case, while gaping at them, you get hit with an apple thrown by some little slut, and your fine reputation’s done for, and not to contradict your father,

or remind him of his age by calling him Iapetus—not when he spent his years in raising you from infancy.

My boy, if you’re persuaded by this man,

then by Dionysus, you’ll finish up just like Hippocrates’s sons—and then they’ll all call you a sucker of the tit.

You’ll spend your time in the gymnasium— your body will be sleek, in fine condition. You won’t be hanging round the market place,

chattering filth, as boys do nowadays. You won’t keep on being hauled away to court over some damned sticky fierce dispute about some triviality. No, no. Instead you’ll go to the Academy, to race under the sacred olive trees, with a decent friend the same age as you, wearing a white reed garland, with no cares. You’ll smell yew trees, quivering poplar leaves, as plane trees whisper softly to the elms,

rejoicing in the spring. I tell you this— if you carry out these things I mention, if you concentrate your mind on them,

you’ll always have a gleaming chest, bright skin, broad shoulders, tiny tongue, strong buttocks, and a little prick. But if you take up what’s in fashion nowadays, you’ll have, for starters, feeble shoulders, a pale skin, a narrow chest, huge tongue, a tiny bum, and a large skill in framing long decrees.

And that man there will have you believing what’s bad is good and what’s good is bad.

Then he’ll give you Antimachos’ disease— you’ll be infected with his buggery.

O you whose wisdom stands so tall, the most illustrious of all. The odour of your words is sweet, the flowering bloom of modest ways— happy who lived in olden days!

Your rival’s made his case extremely well,

so you who have such nice artistic skill. must in reply give some new frill.

Then he’ll give you Antimachos’ disease— you’ll be infected with his buggery.

O you whose wisdom stands so tall, the most illustrious of all. The odour of your words is sweet, the flowering bloom of modest ways— happy who lived in olden days!

Your rival’s made his case extremely well,

so you who have such nice artistic skill. must in reply give some new frill.

If you wish to overcome this man it looks as if you’ll need to bring at him some clever stratagems —unless you want to look ridiculous.

It’s about time! My guts have long been churning with desire to rip in fragments all those things he said, with counter-arguments. That’s why I’m called Worse Argument among all thinking men,

because I was the very first of them to think of coming up with reasoning against our normal ways and just decrees.

And it’s worth lots of money—more, in fact, than drachmas in six figures—to select the weaker argument and yet still win. Now just see how I’ll pull his system down, that style of education which he trusts. First, he says he won’t let you have hot water when you take a bath. What’s the idea here?

Why object to having a warm bath?

The effect they have is very harmful— they turn men into cowards.

Wait a minute! The first thing you say I’ve caught you out. I’ve got you round the waist. You can’t escape. Tell me this—of all of Zeus’s children which man, in your view, had the greatest heart and carried out the hardest tasks? Tell me.

In my view, no one was a better man

than Hercules.

And where’d you ever see

cold water in a bath of Hercules? But who was a more manly man than him?

That’s it, the very things which our young men are always babbling on about these days— crowding in the bath house, leaving empty all the wrestling schools.

Next, you’re not happy when they hang around the market place— but I think that’s good. If it were shameful, Homer would not have labelled Nestor— and all his clever men—great public speakers.

Now, I’ll move on to their tongues, which this man says the young lads should not train. I say they should. He also claims they should be self-restrained. These two things injure them in major ways.

Where have you ever witnessed self-restraint bring any benefit to anyone? Tell me. Speak up. Refute my reasoning.

There are lots of people. For example, Peleus won a sword for his restraint.

A sword! What a magnificent reward

the poor wretch received! While Hyperbolos, who sells lamps in the market, is corrupt and brings in lots of money, but, god knows, he’s never won a sword.

But his virtue enabled Peleus to marry Thetis.

Then she ran off, abandoning the man, because he didn’t want to spend all night having hard sweet sex between the sheets— that rough-and-tumble love that women like. You’re just a crude old-fashioned Cronos.

Now, my boy, just think of all those things that self-restraint requires—you’ll go without all sorts of pleasures—boys and women, drunken games and tasty delicacies, drink and riotous laughter. What’s life worth if you’re deprived of these? So much for that. I’ll now move on to physical desires. You’ve strayed and fallen in love—had an affair with someone else’s wife. And then you’re caught. You’re dead, because you don’t know how to speak.

But if you hang around with those like me, you can follow what your nature urges. You can leap and laugh and never think of anything as shameful. If, by chance, you’re discovered screwing a man’s wife, just tell the husband you’ve done nothing wrong. Blame Zeus—alleging even he’s someone

who can’t resist his urge for sex and women. And how can you be stronger than a god? You’re just a mortal man.

All right—but suppose

he trusts in your advice and gets a radish rammed right up his arse, and his pubic hairs are burned with red-hot cinders. Will he have some reasoned argument to demonstrate he’s not a loose-arsed bugger?

So his asshole’s large— why should that in any way upset him?

Can one suffer any greater harm than having a loose asshole?

What will you say if I defeat you on this point?

I’ll shut up. What more could a man say?

Come on, then—

Tell me about our legal advocates. Where are they from?

They come from loose-arsed buggers.

I grant you that. What’s next? Our tragic poets,

where are they from?

They come from major assholes.

That’s right. What about our politicians— where do they come from?

From gigantic assholes!

All right then—surely you can recognize how you’ve been spouting rubbish? Look out there— at this audience—what sort of people are most of them?

All right, I’m looking at them.

Well, what do you see?

By all the gods, almost all of them are men who spread their cheeks. It’s true of that one there, I know for sure . . . and that one . . . and the one there with long hair.

where are they from?

They come from major assholes.

That’s right. What about our politicians— where do they come from?

From gigantic assholes!

All right then—surely you can recognize how you’ve been spouting rubbish? Look out there— at this audience—what sort of people are most of them?

All right, I’m looking at them.

Well, what do you see?

By all the gods, almost all of them are men who spread their cheeks. It’s true of that one there, I know for sure . . . and that one . . . and the one there with long hair.

So what do you say now?

We’ve been defeated. O you fuckers, for gods’ sake take my cloak— I’m defecting to your ranks.

What now? Do you want to take your son away? Or, to help you out, am I to teach him how to argue?

Teach him—whip him into shape.

Don’t forget to sharpen him for me, one side ready to tackle legal quibbles. On the other side, give his jaw an edge for more important matters.