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I was going from the Academy straight to the Lyceum on the road outside
the wall close to the wall itself, but when I reached the little gate,
where is the fountain of the Panops, I there met with Hippothales son of
Hieronymus, Ctesippus the Pæanian, and other young men with them
standing together in a group. And Hippothales seeing me approach said,
“Socrates, whither are you going, and whence come you?”
“From the Academy,” I replied, “and am going straight to the Lyceum.”
“Hither, then,” said he, “straight to us. Won’t you come here? it is
worth while.”
“Where do you mean,” said I, “and whom do you mean by ‘you’?”
“Hither,” he replied, shewing me an enclosure opposite the wall and an
open gate, “there we are passing away our time, we and a good many other
fine fellows.”
“And what is this, and what your occupation?”
“A palæstra,” he said, “lately built; our occupation consists chiefly in
conversation, which we would gladly share with you.”
“You do well,” said I. “But who teaches there?”
“Your friend and encomiast,” said he, “Miccus.”
“By Jupiter,” said I, “he is no mean person, but an apt sophist.”
“Will you follow us then,” said he, “that you may see those that are
there?”
2. “I should be glad to hear this first, and on that condition I enter,
who is the beauty?”
“To some of us,” said he, “Socrates, one appears so, to some, another.”
“But who appears so to you, Hippothales? Tell me this.” Then he blushed
at the question. And I said, “Hippothales, son of Hieronymus, you need
no longer tell me this, whether you are in love with any one or not: for
I know that you are not only in love, but are already pretty far gone in
love. I, for my part, am in other matters poor and useless, but this
somehow has been given me by the deity, to be able quickly to discern
both a lover, and one that is beloved.”
On hearing this, he blushed still more. Whereupon Ctesippus said, “It is
a fine thing in you to blush, Hippothales, and hesitate to tell Socrates
the name, though if he were to stay here with you even for a short time
he would be tired to death with hearing you frequently telling it. 3. He
has certainly deafened our ears, Socrates, and filled them with the name
of Lysis: and if he is somewhat tipsy, it is easy for us, even when we
awake out of sleep, to fancy that we hear the name of Lysis. And what he
tells of him in his ordinary talk, though wearisome, is not so very much
so; but when he attempts to overwhelm us with his poems and
set-speeches! and what is still more wearisome than these, is that he
sings about his favourite with a wonderful voice, which we must endure
to listen to. But now when questioned by you, he blushes.”
“This Lysis, then,” said I, “is a youth, as it seems. I conjecture this,
because on hearing the name I did not know it.”
“They don’t often call him by his own name,” said he, “but he still goes
by his father’s name, because his father is so very well known. For I am
very sure, that you are far from being unacquainted with the form of the
youth; for he may be sufficiently known from this only.”