(Socrates is brought in)
The gods be blessed; the plurality is for death. Socrates, the gods condemn you through our mouth to drink Hemlock so that death will follow.
SOCRATES: We are all mortal. Nature condemns you all to die in a short time. And probably you will all have an end sadder than mine. Diseases which lead to death are worse than a goblet of Hemlock. As to the rest, I owe praise to the judges who opined in favor of innocence. To the others, I owe only my pity.
ONE JUDGE: (leaving)
Certainly this man deserves a state pension rather than a bowl of
Hemlock.
ANOTHER JUDGE: That's true; but at the same time what's the point of getting embroiled with a priest of Ceres?
ANOTHER JUDGE: I'm really quite comfortable in putting a philosopher to death. Those folk have a certain pride in wit which it's good to humble a little.
ONE JUDGE: Gentlemen, one thing. While our shoulder is at the wheel, wouldn't we do better to put to death all the geometers who pretend that the three angles of a triangle add up to two right angles? They strangely scandalize the populace that reads their books.
ANOTHER JUDGE:
Yes, yes, we'll hang them at the next session. Let's go to dinner.
(Exit the judges.)
(There should be a scene change here to Socrates cell. But there is no indication in the text.)