I'll up, and, with permission of the gods,
Try if I cannot learn these arts myself:
But being old, sluggish, and dull of wit,
How am I sure these subtilties won't pose me?
Well! I'll attempt it.

SCENE II.-House of SOCRATES.
STREPSIADES knocking violently at the door.
Streps. Hoa! within there! Hoa!
Disciple. (half-opening the door.) Go, hang your-
self! and give the crows a dinner-
What noisy fellow art thou at the door?
Streps. Strepsiades of Cicynna, son of Pheidon.
Dis. Whoe'er thou art, 'fore heaven, thou art
a fool

Not to respect these doors; battering so loud, And kicking with such vengeance, you have marr'd

The ripe conception of my pregnant brain,
And brought on a miscarriage.

Streps.
Oh! the pity!
Pardon my ignorance: I'm country bred
And far a-field am come: I pray you tell me
What curious thought my luckless din has stran-
gled,

Just as your brain was hatching.

Dis. These are things We never speak of but amongst ourselves. Streps. Speak boldly then to me, for I am come To be amongst you, and partake the secrets Of your profound academy.

Contrive to measure this?

Dis.
Most accurately:
He dipt the insect's feet in melted wax,
Which, hard'ning into sandals as it cool'd,
Gave him the space by rule infallible.

Streps. Imperial Jove! what subtilty of thought!
Dis. But there's a deeper question yet behind;
What would you say to that?
Streps.
I pray, impart it.
Dis. 'Twas put to Socrates, if he could say,
When a gnat humm'd, whether the sound did issue
From mouth or tail.

Streps.
Aye; marry, what said he?
Dis. He said your gnat doth blow his trumpet
backwards

From a sonorous cavity within him,
Which, being filled with breath, and forc'd along
The narrow pipe or rectum of his body,
Doth vent itself in a loud hum behind.

Streps. Hah! then I see the podex of your gnat
Is trumpet-fashion'd-Oh! the blessings on him
For this discovery; well may he escape
The law's strict scrutiny, who thus developes
The anatomy of a gnat.

Dis.

Another grand experiment was blasted
By a curst cat.
Streps. As how, good sir; discuss?
Dis. One night as he was gazing at the moon,
Curious and all intent upon her motions,

Streps.

A cat on the house ridge was at her needs,
And squirted in his face.
Beshrew her for it!
Yet I must laugh no less to think a cat
Should so bespatter Socrates.
Dis.
Last night

We were bilk'd of our supper.
Streps.

Were you so?

What did your master substitute instead?
Dis. Why, to say truth, he sprinkled a few ashes
Upon the board, then with a little broach,
Crook'd for the nonce, pretending to describe
A circle, neatly filch'd away a cloak.

Streps. Why talk we then of Thales? Open to me,
Open the school, and let me see your master:
I am on fire to enter-Come, unbar!

(The door of the School is unbarred. The Socratic scholars are seen in various grotesque situations and positions. Strepsiades, with signs of astonishment, draws back a pace or two, then exclaims) O Hercules, defend me! who are these? What kind of cattle have we here in view? Dis. Where is the wonder? What do they resemble?

Streps. Methinks they're like our Spartan pri

soners,

Captur'd at Pylos. What are they in search of?
Why are their eyes so riveted to the earth?
Dis. There their researches centre.
Streps.

'Tis for onions They are in quest-Come, lads, give o'er your search;

I'll show you what you want, a noble plat,
All round and sound-but soft! what mean those
gentry,
Who dip their heads so low?

Dis.
Marry, because
Their studies lead that way: They are now diving
To the dark realms of Tartarus and Night.

Streps. But why are all their cruppers mounted up?

Dis. To practise them in star-gazing, and teach them

Their proper elevations: but no more:
In, fellow-students, in: if chance the master come
And find us here-

(Addressing himself to some of his fellow-students, who were crowding about the new-comer,) Streps. Nay, prythee let 'em stay, And be of council with me in my business. Dis. Impossible: they cannot give the time. Streps. Now for the love of heav'n, what have we here?

Explain their uses to me.

Dis. This machine (observing the apparatus) Is for astronomy

Streps.

Dis.
Sireps. As how?

Nor is this all;

Dis.

And this?

For geometry.

For measuring the earth.

Do it yourself: I've other things to mind. [Exit. Streps. Hoa! Socrates-What hoa, my little Socrates!

Soc. Mortal, how now! Thou insect of a day, What wouldst thou?

Streps. I would know what thou art doing. Soc. I tread in air, contemplating the sun. Streps. Ah! then I see you're basketed so high, That you look down upon the gods-good hope, You'll lower a peg on earth.

Sublime in air,

Soc.
Sublime in thought I carry my mind with me,
Its cogitations all assimilated

To the pure atmosphere, in which I float;
Lower me to earth, and my mind's subtle powers,
Seiz'd by contagious dulness, lose their spirit;
For the dry earth drinks up the generous sap,
The vegetating vigour of philosophy,
And leaves it a mere husk.

Streps.
What do you say?
Philosophy has sapt your vigour? Fie upon it.
But come my precious fellow, come down quickly,
And teach me those fine things I'm here in quest
of.

Soc. And what fine things are they? Streps. A new receipt For sending off my creditors, and foiling them *These words, like the autos n of the Pythagoreans, mark the usual veneration of the Greek disciple for his master with great effect.

By the art logical; for you shall know
By debts, pawns, pledges, usuries, executions,
I am rackt and rent in tatters.
Soc.

Why permit it? What strange infatuation seiz'd your senses? Streps. The horse-consumption, a devouring plague;

But so you'll enter me amongst your scholars, And tutor me like them to bilk my creditors, Name your own price, and by the gods I swear I'll pay you the last drachm.

Soc. By what gods? Your gods? Gods are not current coin with me. Streps. How swear you then! As the Byzantians swear

What to gain?

Streps. Soc. (instead of the sacred meat, which was thrown on the sacrificed victim, a basket of stones is showered on the head of Strepsiades.) 'Twill sift your faculties as fine as powder, Bolt 'em like meal, grind 'em as light as dust; Only be patient. Streps. Truly, you'll go near To make your words good; an' you pound me thus,

You'll make me very dust, and nothing else.

Soc. (assuming all the magical solemnity and tone of voice of an adept.)

Keep silence then, and listen to a prayer,
Which fits the gravity of age to hear-
Oh! Air, all powerful Air, which dost enfold
This pendant globe, thou vault of flaming gold,
Ye sacred Clouds, who bid the thunder roll,
Shine forth, approach, and cheer your suppliant's
soul!

Streps. Hold, keep 'em off awhile, till I am ready.

Ah! luckless me, would I had brought my bonnet,
And so escap'd a soaking.
Soc.
Come, come away!
Fly swift, ye Clouds, and give yourselves to view!

The poet plays upon a tragedy of Sophocles, then current in every body's mouth; the story of which had been taken out of the fabulous and romantic history of this old Baotian prince. In the play Athamas is to be sacrificed to the gods, and like other victims he is led to the altar with a chaplet on his head.

Whether on high Olympus' sacred top
Snow-crown'd ye sit, or, in the azure vales
Of your own father Ocean sporting, weave
Your misty dance, or dip your golden urns
In the seven mouths of Nile; whether ye dwell
On Thracian Mimas, or Mæotis' lake,
Hear me, yet hear, and thus invok'd approach!
Chorus of Clouds. (The scene is at the remotest
part of the stage. Thunder is heard. A large
and shapeless Cloud is seen floating in the air;
from which the following song is heard.)
Ascend, ye watery Clouds, on high,
Daughters of Ocean, climb the sky,
And o'er the mountain's pine-capt brow
Towering your fleecy mantle throw:
Thence let us scan the wide-stretch'd scene,
Groves, lawns, and rilling streams between,
And stormy Neptune's vast expanse,
And grasp all nature at a glance.
Now the dark tempest flits away,
And lo! the glittering orb of day
Darts forth his clear ethereal beam,
Come let us snatch the joyous gleam.
Soc. Yes, ye Divinities, whom I adore,
I hail you now propitious to my prayer.
Didst thou not hear them speak in thunder to

These gross scurrilities, for low buffoons
And mountebanks more fitting. Hush! be still,
List to the chorus of their heavenly voices,
For music is the language they delight in.
Chorus of Clouds. (approaching nearer.) Ye
Clouds, replete with fruitful showers,
Here let us seek Minerva's towers,
The cradle of old Cecrops' race,
The world's chief ornament and grace;
Here mystic fanes and rites divine
And lamps in sacred splendour shine;
Here the gods dwell in marble domes,
Feasted with costly hecatombs,
That round their votive statues blaze,
Whilst crowded temples ring with praise;
And pompous sacrifices here

Make holidays throughout the year,
And when gay spring-time comes again,
Bromius convokes his sportive train,
And pipe, and song, and choral dance
Hail the soft hours as they advance.
Streps. Now, in the name of Jove, I pray thee
tell me

Who are these ranting dames, that talk in stilts? Of the Amazonian cast no doubt.

Soc.

Not so, No dames, but Clouds celestial, friendly powers To men of sluggish parts; from these we draw

Sense, apprehension, volubility,

Wit to coufute, and cunning to ensnare.
Streps. Aye, therefore 'twas that my heart leapt
within me

For very sympathy when first I heard 'em:
Now I could prattle shrewdly of first causes,
And spin out metaphysic cobwebs finely,
And dogmatize most rarely, and dispute
And paradox it with the best of you:
So, come what may, I must and will behold 'em;
Show me their faces, I conjure you.
Soc.
Look,
Look towards Mount Parnes as I point-There,
there!

Now they descend the hill; I see them plainly,
As plain as can be.

Streps. Where, where? I prythee, show me. Soc. Here! a whole troop of them through woods and hollows,

A bye-way of their own.

Streps.

What ails my eyes,

That I can't catch a glimpse of them?

Soc.

Here at the very entrance

Streps.

If yet I see them clearly.
Soc.
Sand-blind or worse.
Streps.

Behold!

Never trust me,

Then you must be

Nay, now by father Jove, I cannot choose but see them-precious creatures! For in good faith here's plenty and to spare.

Enter CHORUS OF CLOUDS.

Soc. And didst thou doubt if they were goddesses?

Streps. Not I, so help me! only I'd a notion That they were fog, and dew, and dusky vapour. Soc. For shame! Why, man, these are the nursing mothers

Of all our famous sophists, fortune-tellers,
Quacks, med'cine-mongers, bards bombastical,
Chorus projectors, star interpreters,
And wonder-making cheats-The gang of idlers,
Who pay them for their feeding with good store
Of flattery and mouth-worship.
Streps.
Now I see
Whom we may thank for driving them along
At such a furious dithyrambic rate,
Sun-shadowing clouds of many-colour'd hues,
Air-rending tempests, hundred-headed Typhons;
Now rousing, rattling them about our ears,
Now gently wafting them adown the sky,
Moist, airy, bending, bursting into showers;
For all which fine descriptions these poor knaves
Dine daintily on scraps.

Soc.

And proper fare;

What better do they merit?
Streps.

Under favour,
If these be clouds, (d'you mark me?) very clouds,
How came they metamorphos'd into women?
Clouds are not such as these.

Soc.
And what else are they?
Streps. Troth, I can't rightly tell, but I should

guess

Something like flakes of wool, not women, sure; And look! these dames have noses.

Of nonsuiting my creditors.

Ch.
A trifle-
Granted as soon as ask'd; only be bold,
And show yourself obedient to your teachers.
Streps. With your help so I will, being undone,
Stript of my pelf by these high-blooded cattle,
And a fine dame, the torment of my life.
Now let them work their wicked will upon me;
They're welcome to my carcass : let 'em claw it,
Starve it with thirst and hunger, fry it, freeze it,
Nay, flay the very skin off; 'tis their own;
So that I may but fob my creditors,
Let the world talk; I care not though it call me
A bold-faced, loud-tongued, overbearing bully;
A shameless, vile, prevaricating cheat;

A tricking, quibbling, double-dealing knave;
A prating, pettyfogging limb o' the law;

A sly old fox, a perjurer, a hang-dog,

A ragamuffin made of shreds and patches,
The leavings of a dunghill.-Let 'em rail,
Yea, marry, let 'em turn my guts to fiddle-strings.
May my bread be my poison! if I care.

Ch. This fellow hath a prompt and daring spirit

Come hither, sir; do you perceive and feel
What great and glorious fame you shall acquire
By this our schooling of you?
Streps.
What, I pray you?
Ch. What but to live the envy of mankind
Under our patronage?

It may not be unimportant to remark, that a word is here omitted, which expresses the willingness of Strepsiades to give up his carcass to the dirt and filth, as well as hardy privations of his future teachers. All the ideas of the poet on the Socratic character are evidently formed upon exteriors, and show that he had very little knowledge of the inner Socrates.

Soc. Well then be quick, and when I speak of things

Mysterious and profound, see that you make
No boggling, but-
Streps.
I understand your meaning;
You'd have me bolt philosophy by mouthfuls,
Just like a hungry cur.

Soc.
Oh! brutal, gross
And barbarous ignorance! I much suspect,
Old as thou art, thou must be taught with stripes:
Tell me now, when thou art beaten, what dost
feel?

Streps. The blows of him that beats me I do

feel;

But having breath'd awhile I lay my action
And cite my witnesses; anon more cool,

I bring my cause into the court, and sue
For damages.

Soc.

Strip off your cloak! prepare. Streps. Prepare for what? what crime have I committed?

Soc. None; but the rule and custom is with us, That all shall enter naked. Streps.

And why naked? I come with no search-warrant; fear me not; I'll carry nought away with me. Soc.

Conform yourself, and strip.

No matter;

Streps.
And if I do,
Tell me, for my encouragement, to which
Of all your scholars will you liken me.

Soc. You shall be call'd a second Chærephon. Streps. Ah! Charephon is but another name For a dead corpse-excuse me.

* Aristophanes generally makes himself merry with the paleness and meagre body of this pupil of Socrates. See "The Wasps and the Birds."