The Clouds - Page 2

I will not indeed say that she was idle; but she wove. And I used to show her this cloak by way of a pretext and say "Wife, you weave at a great rate."

Servant re-enters.

Servant. We have no oil in the lamp.

Strepsiades. Ah me! Why did you light the thirsty lamp? Come hither that you may weep!

Servant. For what, pray, shall I weep?

Strepsiades. Because you put in one of the thick wicks.

[Servant runs out]

After this, when this son was born to us, to me, forsooth, and to my excellent wife, we squabbled then about the name: for she was for adding hippos to the name, Xanthippus, or Charippus, or Callipides; but I was for giving him the name of his grandfather, Phidonides. For a time therefore we disputed; and then at length we agreed, and called him Phidippides. She used to take this son and fondle him, saying, "When you, being grown up, shall drive your chariot to the city, like Megacles, with a xystis." But I used to say, "Nay, rather, when dressed in a leathern jerkin, you shall drive goats from Phelleus, like your father." He paid no attention to my words, but poured a horse-fever over my property. Now, therefore, by meditating the whole night, I have discovered one path for my course extraordinarily excellent; to which if I persuade this youth I shall be saved. But first I wish to awake him. How then can I awake him in the most agreeable manner? How? Phidippides, my little Phidippides?

Phidippides. What, father?

Strepsiades. Kiss me, and give me your right hand!

Phidippides. There. What's the matter?

Strepsiades. Tell me, do you love me?

Phidippides. Yes, by this Equestrian Neptune.

Strepsiades. Nay, do not by any means mention this Equestrian to me, for this god is the author of my misfortunes. But, if you really love me from your heart, my son, obey me.

Phidippides. In what then, pray, shall I obey you?

Strepsiades. Reform your habits as quickly as possible, and go and learn what I advise.

Phidippides. Tell me now, what do you prescribe?

Strepsiades. And will you obey me at all?

Phidippides. By Bacchus, I will obey you.

Strepsiades. Look this way then! Do you see this little door and little house?

Phidippides. I see it. What then, pray, is this, father?

Strepsiades. This is a thinking-shop of wise spirits. There dwell men who in speaking of the heavens persuade people that it is an oven, and that it encompasses us, and that we are the embers. These men teach, if one give them money, to conquer in speaking, right or wrong.

Phidippides. Who are they?

Strepsiades. I do not know the name accurately. They are minute philosophers, noble and excellent.

Phidippides. Bah! They are rogues; I know them. You mean the quacks, the pale-faced wretches, the bare-footed fellows, of whose