Crito

Socrates, standing upon death’s kneel, refused to relent against his convictions.

The laws that confine me to this state are unjust, but they are the laws of Athens. Without Athens, there isn’t me. My father, from whose seeds I came forth, will not have married my mother, if it wasn’t for those laws. If it wasn’t for these laws, and wasn’t for this state, I wouldn’t have the rum in my belly or the intellect I possess which I acquired through learned education. What is me is given to me by Athens, and as such I am beheld to the laws which emanate from Athens.

So my dear Crito, even if my death shall bring you a bad name for not doing your part as a friend, for not injecting the necessary convictions within me to plot my escape and make mockery of these laws, I shall stay, albeit reluctantly, to await the next day when the cup of hemlock is laid before me. I shall drink and partake of the hemlock, as this is the will of Athens. For if the laws are transcended, what do we make of these laws, and what then do we make of Athens from whom these very laws emanate?