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Scœn 4.

Scholar, Strepsiades, Socrates, Chærephon.
Schol.
Oh. oh!

Strep.
Torch to thy work, set fire apace.

Schol.
What art thou doing man?

Streps.
That which I'm doing;
Disputing somewhat hotly with your school here.

Schol.
Alasse, who's this that sets our house on fire?

Streps.
He whom you cosen'd of his cloak.

Schol.
Thou kill'st,
Thou kil'lst us man.

Streps.
That is the thing I mean,
If my fork hold and ladder, do not fail me.

So.
How now, what do you make on our house-ridge.

Streps.
I walk i'th air and gaze upon the Sun.

So.
Alasse I'm choak'd.

Streps.
Why dost thou scorn the Gods then?

Chær.
Oh me I burn;

Streps.
Now you may calculate
The motions of the Moon; tear, pluck, beat, burn 'em.
For many reasons they deserve the flame,
But most because they did the Gods disclaim.