University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

Strepsiades, Scholar.
Streps.
Though I have fail'd, i'l not give over thus,
But say my prayers, and go my self to school
To learn this Art: but how can I, by Age
Dull and forget full, reach such subtleties?
Yet on I will, why should I doubt? ho, friend.

Schol.
A mischief on you, who's that knocks at dore?

Streps.
Strepsiades, Cecinnian Phædo's Son.

Schol.
'Twas rudely done to knock so hard, y'have made
My labouring brain miscarry of a Notion.

Streps.
Forgive me, I was bred far off ith' Country:
But pray what notion was't that prov'd abortive?

Schol.
'Tis lawfull to discover that tonone
But fellow-scholars.

Streps.
Then you may tell me,
For I come hither to be one of you.

Schol.
I will; so will value't as a mysterie.
Socrates t'other day ask'd Chærephon
How many of her feet a flea could leap,
For one by chance had bit Chærephons eyebrow,
And leap'd from thence upon the head of Socrates.

Streps.
How could he measure this?

Schol.
Most dexterously.
Both feet oth' flea he dipt in melting wax,
Which strait congeals to shooes; these he plucks off,
And with them most exactly measures it.

Streps.
Great Jupiter, how subtle are these wits!

Schol.
If you shouldst hear their other speculations,
You would say so indeed.

Streps.
Pray what was that?

Schol.
This Charæphon the Sphettian ask'd him once,
If a Gnat sounded from her mouth or tail.

Streps.
And what said he?
It had a strait thin gut,
At end of it a bladder, into which
The air being forc'd, sounded in breaking forth.

Streps.
Then I perceive that a gnat's tail's a Trumpet;
How blest is this Anatomist of Gnats!
Sure he can hide himself from purblind justice,
That knows so well these dark intestine waies.
Why should we cry up Thales any longer?
Come open me your Phrontisterium,
And quickly let me see this Socrates,
I long to learn, open the dore,—O Hercules
What strange beasts have we here!

Schol.
Why do you wonder?
Whom do they look like think you?

Streps.
Like the poor
Lacedæmonian Captives tane at Pylus.
Why look they so intently on the ground?
These seek out things that appertain to Earth!
Oh they seek leeks; trouble your selves no more friends,
For I know better where are good and great ones.

Schol.
Come let's go in.

Streps.
Let's stay a while and talk with 'em.

Schol.
No, no, they cannot long endure the air.

Streps.
What's this, for Heavens sake say?

Schol.
This is Astronomy.

Streps.
And this?

Schol.
Geometry.

Strop.
But what is't good for?

Schol.
To measure land:

Streps.
What, arable or pasture?

Schol.
No, the whole Earth.

Streps.
A pretty jest indeed.
That were a mighty help to husbandmen.

Schol.
Here's all the world, and this is Athens.

Streps.
How?
I'l scarce believe that, what's become oth' Judges?
Where the Cicynians my Countymen?

Schol.
Here; this Eubæa; see how far 'tis stretch'd.

Streps.
I, almost stretch'd in pieces betwixt us,
And Pericles; and where is Lacedæmon?

Schol.
Here.

Strepss.
'Tis too nigh us, why, with all your skill
Do you not help to thrust it farther off.

Schol.
It is not possible.

Streps.
No? you will rue't then.
But what man's that hangs yonder in the basket?

Schol.
That's he.

Streps.
He, what he?

Schol.
Socrates.

Streps.
How, Socrates?
Call him.

Schol.
Call him your self, I'm not at leasure.