where else, there go his hands again; ward or look you in the face he cannot and will not. So with you. If you hear of Philip in the Chersonese or at Thermopylæ, you vote to send a force there; if you hear of him somewhere else, you run, so to say, after his heels up and down, and are, in fact, commanded by him. No plan have you devised for the war; no circumstance do you see beforehand, but only when you learn that something is done or is about to be done. Formerly, perhaps, this was allowable; now it is come to a crisis to be borne no longer. It seems as if some god, in shame at our proceedings, had put this activity into Philip. For had he been willing to remain quiet in possession of his conquests and prizes, and attempted nothing further, some of you, I think, would be satisfied with a state of things which brands our nation with the shame of cowardice and of the foulest disgrace. But by continually encroaching and grasping after more, he may possibly rouse you, if you have not altogether despaired, I marvel, indeed, that not one of you notices with concern and anger that the beginning of this war was to chastise Philip; the end is to protect ourselves against his attacks."
Towards the conclusion of his speech, Demosthenes reproaches the people with their silly fondness for gossiping about Philip's reported movements, and bids them remember that he now is and long has been their enemy:—
"Some among ourselves go about and say that Philip is concerting with the Lacedæmonians the de-
