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Cho.
Nay, rather, you are yourself the cause of these things, having turned yourself to wicked courses. Strep.
Why, pray, did you not tell me this, then, but excited with hopes a rustic and aged man? Cho.
We always do this to him whom we perceive to be a lover of wicked courses, until we precipitate him into misfortune, so that he may learn to fear the gods. Strep.
Ah me ! it is severe, O Clouds! But it is just; for I ought not to have withheld the money which I borrowed. Now, therefore, come with me, my dearest son, that you may destroy the blackguard Chaerephon and Socrates, who deceived you and me. Phid.
I will not injure my teachers. Strep.
Yes, yes, reverence Paternal Jove. Phid.
“Paternal Jove” quoth'a! How antiquated you are! Why, is there any Jove? Strep.
There is. Phid.
There is not, no; for Vortex reigns having expelled Jupiter. Strep.
He has not expelled him; but I fancied this, on account of this Vortex here. Ah me, unhappy man! When I even took you who are of earthenware for a god. Phid.
Here rave and babble to yourself. Exit Phidippides
Aristophanes. Clouds. The Comedies of Aristophanes. William James Hickie. London. Bohn. 1853?.
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