1
I no not suppose, men of Athens, that there is one of all your number so disloyal to the city as not to feel distressed and pained by these events. If, then, it were possible by nursing indignation to render undone any of the things that have been done, this is what I should be urging upon you all. But since the facts are unalterable and you must take forethought whereby you may escape the same misfortune in the future, the keenness of your indignation, men of Athens, over what has now taken place ought to set the measure for your determination that the same shall not occur again, nor should you think that any of your advisers has such a wonderful plan to propose as will be capable of redressing the present evils without any of you shouldering a share of the burden. For no speech would be wonderful enough for that, only some divine intervention.
2
Now the origin of this present state of affairs hinges upon this fact, that, for the sake of a momentary popularity with you, some of those who speak in this place declared to the Assembly: There is no need to pay a special war-tax or to do military service, but everything will take care of itself. To be sure, the absurdity of this ought to have been exposed by some other speaker—the sort of exposure that profits the State: still, even as things now are, it seems to me that Fortune is somehow kinder to you than are those at the head of affairs.