236–237
Phaedrus
Phaedrus. Now, my friend, you have given me a fair hold; for you certainly must speak as best you can, lest we be compelled to resort to the comic you’re another; be careful and do not force me to say O Socrates, if I don’t know Socrates, I have forgotten myself, and he yearned to speak, but feigned coyness. Just make up your mind that we are not going away from here until you speak out what you said you had in your breast. We are alone in a solitary spot, and I am stronger and younger than you; so, under these circumstances, take my meaning, and speak voluntarily, rather than under compulsion.
Socrates
Socrates. But, my dear Phaedrus, I shall make myself ridiculous if I, a mere amateur, try without preparation to speak on the same subject in competition with a master of his art.
5
Phaedrus
Phaedrus. Now listen to me. Stop trying to fool me; for I can say something which will force you to speak.
Socrates
Socrates. Then pray don’t say it.
Phaedrus
Phaedrus. Yes, but I will. And my saying shall be an oath. I swear to you by— by what god? By this plane tree? I take my solemn oath that unless you produce the discourse in the very presence of this plane tree, I will never read you another or tell you of another.
Socrates
Socrates. Oh! Oh! You wretch! How well you found out how to make a lover of discourse do your will!
Phaedrus
Phaedrus. Then why do you try to get out of it?
10
Socrates
Socrates. I won’t any more, since you have taken this oath; for how could I give up such pleasures?
Phaedrus
Phaedrus. Speak then.
Socrates
Socrates. Do you know what I’m going to do?
