1
Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him with clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave him no way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it! Shoulder to shoulder, close the ranks; Let wallet succour wallet, staff aid staff! We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed. You, Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand firm, all of you. Let him reap the fruits of his revilings. What, Epicurus, Aristippus, tired already? ’tis too soon; ye sages, Be men; relume that erstwhile furious wrath!
2
Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you, villain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters you have assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather an elaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes a separate death to every one of us. First Phil. Impale him, say I. Second Phil. Yes, but scourge him first. Third Phil. Tear out his eyes. Fourth Phil, Ah, but first out with the offending tongue.
2
What say you, Empedocles?
2
Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to vilify his betters..
2
’Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to - Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock; so each might have taken a piece home with him.
3
Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants.
3
Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer: 'Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.
3
Why, it is in Homer’s name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps pay reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him: Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.
3
Why, two can play at that game; exempli gratia, Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.
3
Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to Euripides; it may be he will protect me: Leave him his life; the suppliant’s life is sacred.
