Read on, and see if you can sleep with your decsion...

No doubt you think, gentlemen, that I have been condemned for lack of arguments which I could have used if I had thought it right to leave nothing unsaid or undone to secure my acquittal. But that is very far from the truth. It is not a lack of arguments that has caused my condemnation, but a lack of effrontery and impudence, and the fact that I have refused to address you in the way which would give you the most pleasure. You would have liked to hear me weep and wail, doing and saying all sorts of things which I regard as unworthy of myself...I do not regret the way in which I pleaded my case. I would rather die as the result of this defense than live as the result of the other sort. In a court of law, just as in warfare, neither I nor any other ought to use his wits to escape death by any means. In battle it is often obvious that you could escape being killed by giving up your arms and throwing yourself upon the mercy of your pursuers, and in every kind of danger there are plenty of devices for avoiding death if you are unscrupulous enough to stick at nothing. But I suggest, gentlemen, that the difficulty is not so much to escape death; the real difficulty is to escape from doing wrong, which is far more fleet of foot. I, the slow old man, have been overtaken by the slower of the two, but my accusers, who are clever and quick, have been overtaken by the faster--by iniquity. When I leave this court, I shall go away condemned by you to death, but they will go away convicted by truth herself of depravity and wickedness. And they accept their sentence even as I accept mine.

For my own part. I bear no grudge at all against those who condemned me and accused me...However, I ask them to grant me one favor. When my sons grow up, gentlemen, if you think that they are putting money or anything else before goodness, take your revenge by plaguing them as I plagued you; and if they fancy themselves for no reason, you must scold them just as I scolded you, for neglecting the important things and thinking that they are good for something when they are good for nothing. If you do this, I shall have had justice at your hands, both I myself and my children.

...[T]he prison officer came in, and walked up to him. "Socrates," he said, "...I have come to know during this time that you are the noblest and the gentlest and the bravest of all the men who have ever come here..." As he spoke, he burst into tears, and turning round, went away...

...[Q]uite calmly and with no sign of distaste, he drained the cup in one breath. Up till this time most of us had been fairly successful in keeping back our tears, but when we saw that he was drinking, we could do so no longer. In spite of myself, the tears came pouring our, so that I covered my face and wept brokenheartedly--not for him, but for my own calamity at losing such a friend. But Appolodorus, who had never stopped crying even before, now broke out into such a storm of passionate weeping that he made everyone in the room break down, except Socrates himself who said "Really, my friends, what a way to behave! Why, that was my main reason for sending away the women, to prevent this sort of disturbance, because I am told that one should make one's end in a tranquil frame of mind. Calm yourselves and try to be brave."

This made us feel ashamed, and we controlled out tears. Socrates walked about, and presently, saying that his legs were heavy, lay down on his back--that was what the man recommended. The man--he was the same one who administered the poison--kept his hand upon Socrates, and after a little while examined his feet and legs, then pinched his foot hard and asked if he felt it. Socrates said no. Then he did the same thing to his legs, and moving gradually upward in this way, he let us see that he was getting cold and numb. Presently he felt him again, and said that when it reached his heart, Socrates would be gone.

The coldness was spreading about as far as his waist, when Socrates uncovered his face, for he had covered it up, and said--they were his last words--"Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius. See to it and don't forget."

"No, it shall be done," said Crito. "Are you sure there is nothing else?"

Socrates made no reply to this question, but after a little while, he stirred, and when the man uncovered him, his eyes were fixed. When Crito saw this, he closed the mouth and eyes.

Such, Echecrates, was the end of our comrade, who was, we may fairly say, of all those whom we knew in our time, the bravest and also the wisest and most upright man.

A final word