before he’s even learned them. Nonetheless, I’ll call him outside here into the light.

Strepsiades, where are you? Come on out— and bring your bed.

I can’t carry it out— the bugs won’t let me.

Get a move on. Now!

Put it there. And pay attention.

There!

Come now, of all the things you never learned what to you want to study first? Tell me.

Poetic measures? Diction? Rhythmic verse?

I’ll take measures. Just the other day

the man who deals in barley cheated me—

about two quarts.

That’s not what I mean. Which music measure is most beautiful— the triple measure or quadruple measure?

As a measure nothing beats a gallon.

My dear man, you’re just talking nonsense.

Then make me a bet—I say a gallon is made up of quadruple measures.

O damn you—you’re such a country bumpkin— so slow! Maybe you can learn more quickly

if we deal with rhythm.

Will these rhythms help to get me food?

Well, to begin with, they’ll make you elegant in company— and you’ll recognize the different rhythms,

the enoplian and the dactylic, which is like a digit.

Like a digit! By god, that’s something I do know!

Then tell me.

When I was a lad a digit meant this!

You’re just a crude buffoon!

No, you’re a fool— I don’t want to learn any of that stuff.

Well then, what?

You know, that other thing— how to argue the most unjust cause.

But you need to learn these other matters before all that. Now, of the quadrupeds which one can we correctly label male?

Well, I know the males, if I’m not witless—

the ram, billy goat, bull, dog, and fowl.

And the females?

The ewe, nanny goat, cow, bitch and fowl.

You see what you’re doing? You’re using that word “fowl” for both of them,

Calling males what people use for females.

What’s that? I don’t get it.

What’s not to get? ”Fowl” and “Fowl” . . .

By Poseidon, I see your point. All right, what should I call them?

Call the male a “fowl”— and call the other one “fowlette.”

“Fowlette?” By the Air, that’s good! Just for teaching that I’ll fill your kneading basin up with flour, right to the brim.

Once again, another error!

You called it basin—a masculine word— when it’s feminine.

How so? Do I call

the basin masculine?

Indeed you do. It’s just like Cleonymos.

How’s that? Tell me.

You treated the word basin just as you would treat Cleonymos.

But my dear man, he didn’t have a basin— not Cleonymos—not for kneading flour. His round mortar was his prick—the wanker— he kneaded that to masturbate. But what should I call a basin from now on?

Call it a basinette, just as you’d say

the word Sostratette.

Basinette—it’s feminine?

It is indeed.

All right, then, I should say Cleonymette and basinette.

You’ve still got to learn about people’s names— which ones are male and which are female.

I know which ones are feminine.

Go on.

Lysilla, Philinna, Cleitagora, Demetria . . .

Which names are masculine?

There are thousands of them—Philoxenos, Melesias, Amynias . . .

You fool,

those names are not all masculine.

What? You don’t think of them as men?

Indeed I don’t. If you met Amynias, how would you greet him?

How? Like this, “Here, Amynia, come here.”

You see? You said “Amynia,” a woman’s name.

And that’s fair enough, since she’s unwilling to do army service. But what’s the point? Why do I need to learn what we all know?

That’s irrelevant, by god. Now lie down—

right here.

And do what?

You should contemplate—

think one of your own problems through.

Not here, I beg you—no. If I have to do it, let me do my contemplating on the ground.

No—you’ve got no choice.

Now I’m done for— these bugs are going to punish me today.

Now ponder and think,

focus this way and that. Your mind turn and toss. And if you’re at a loss, then quickly go find

a new thought in your mind. From your eyes you must keep all soul-soothing sleep.

O god . . . ahhhhh . . .

What’s wrong with you? Why so distressed?

I’m dying a miserable death in here! These Corinthian crawlers keep biting me.

gnawing on my ribs, slurping up my blood, yanking off my balls,

tunneling up my arse hole— they’re killing me!

Don’t complain so much.

Why not? When I’ve lost my goods, lost the colour in my cheeks, lost my blood, lost my shoes, and, on top of all these troubles,

I’m here like some night watchman singing out— it won’t be long before I’m done for.

What are you doing? Aren’t you thinking something?

Me? Yes I am, by Poseidon.

What about?

Whether there’s going to be any of me left once these bugs have finished.

You imbecile, why don’t you drop dead!

But my dear man, I’m dying right now.

Don’t get soft. Cover up— get your whole body underneath the blanket. You need to find a good idea for fraud, a sexy way to cheat.

Damn it all— instead of these lambskins here, why won’t someone throw over me a lovely larcenous scheme?

First, I’d better check on what he’s doing.

You in there, are you asleep?

No, I’m not.

Have you grasped anything?

No, by god, I haven’t.

Nothing at all?

I haven’t grasped a thing— except my right hand’s wrapped around my cock.

Then cover your head and think up something— get a move on!

What should I think about? Tell me that, Socrates.

First you must formulate what it is you want. Then tell me.

You’ve heard what I want a thousand times—I want to know about interest, so I’ll not have to pay

a single creditor.

Come along now, cover up.

Now, carve your slender thinking

into tiny bits, and think the matter through, with proper probing and analysis.

Ahhh . . . bloody hell!

Don’t shift around. If one of your ideas is going nowhere, let it go, leave it alone. Later on, start it again and weigh it one more time.

My dear little Socrates . . .

Yes, old man, what is it?

I’ve got a lovely scheme to avoid paying interest.

Lay it out.

All right. Tell me now . . .

What is it?

What if I purchased a Thessalian witch and in the night had her haul down the moon—

then shut it up in a circular box, just like a mirror, and kept watch on it.

How would that provide you any help?

Well, if no moon ever rose up anywhere, I’d pay no interest.

And why is that?

Because they lend out money by the month.

That’s good. I’ll give you another problem— it’s tricky. If in court someone sued you to pay five talents, what would you do to get the case discharged.

How? I don’t know. I’ll have to think.

These ideas of yours— don’t keep them wound up all the time inside you. Let your thinking loose—out into the air— with thread around its foot, just like a bug.

Hey, I’ve devised a really clever way to make that lawsuit disappear—it’s so good,

you’ll agree with me.

What’s your way?

At the drug seller’s shop have you seen that beautiful stone you can see right through, the one they use to start a fire?

You mean glass?

Yes.

So what?

What if I took that glass, and when the scribe was writing out the charge,

I stood between him and the sun—like this— some distance off, and made his writing melt, just the part about my case?

By the Graces, that’s a smart idea!

Hey, I’m happy—

I’ve erased my law suit for five talents.

So hurry up and tackle this next problem.

What is it?

How would you evade a charge and launch a counter-suit in a hearing you’re about to lose without a witness?

No problem there—it’s easy.

So tell me.

I will. If there was a case still pending, another one before my case was called, I’d run off and hang myself.

I stood between him and the sun—like this— some distance off, and made his writing melt, just the part about my case?

By the Graces, that’s a smart idea!

Hey, I’m happy—

I’ve erased my law suit for five talents.

So hurry up and tackle this next problem.

What is it?

How would you evade a charge and launch a counter-suit in a hearing you’re about to lose without a witness?

No problem there—it’s easy.

So tell me.

I will. If there was a case still pending, another one before my case was called, I’d run off and hang myself.

That’s nonsense.

No, by the gods, it’s not. If I were dead,

no one could bring a suit against me.

That’s rubbish. Just get away from here. I’ll not instruct you any more.

Why not? Come on, Socrates, in god’s name.

There’s no point— as soon as you learn anything, it’s gone, you forget it right away. Look, just now, what was the very first thing you were taught?

Well, let’s see . . . The first thing—what was it? What was that thing we knead the flour in? Damn it all, what was it?

To hell with you!

You’re the most forgetful, stupidest old man . . .

Get lost!

Oh dear! Now I’m in for it. What going to happen to me? I’m done for, if I don’t learn to twist my words around. Come on, Clouds, give me some good advice.

Old man, here’s our advice: if you’ve a son and he’s full grown, send him in there to learn— he’ll take your place.

Well, I do have a son— a really good and fine one, too—trouble is he doesn’t want to learn. What should I do?

You just let him do that?

He’s a big lad— and strong and proud—his mother’s family are all high-flying women like Coesyra.

But I’ll take him in hand. If he says no, then I’ll evict him from my house for sure.

Go inside and wait for me a while.

Don’t you see you’ll quickly get from us all sorts of lovely things since we’re your only god? This man here is now all set

to follow you in anything, you simply have to prod.

You know the man is in a daze. He’s clearly keen his son should learn. So lap it up—make haste— get everything that you can raise.

Such chances tend to change and turn into a very different case.

By the foggy air, you can’t stay here— not one moment longer! Off with you—

go eat Megacles out of house and home!

Hey, father—you poor man, what’s wrong with you? By Olympian Zeus, you’re not thinking straight.

See that—“Olympian Zeus”! Ridiculous— to believe in Zeus—and at your age!

Why laugh at that?

To think you’re such a child— and your views so out of date. Still, come here, so you can learn a bit. I’ll tell you things. When you understand all this, you’ll be a man. But you mustn’t mention this to anyone.

All right, what is it?

You just swore by Zeus.

That’s right. I did.

You see how useful learning is? Pheidippides, there’s no such thing as Zeus.

Then what is there?

Vortex now is king— he’s pushed out Zeus.

Bah, that’s nonsense!

You should know that’s how things are right now.

Who says that?

Socrates of Melos

and Chaerephon—they know about fleas’ footprints.

Have you become so crazy you believe these fellows? They’re disgusting!

Watch your tongue.

Don’t say nasty things about such clever men— men with brains, who like to save their money. That’s why not one of them has ever shaved, or oiled his skin, or visited the baths to wash himself. You, on the other hand, keep on bathing in my livelihood, as if I’d died. So now get over there, as quickly as you can. Take my place and learn.

But what could anyone learn from those men that’s any use at all?

and Chaerephon—they know about fleas’ footprints.

Have you become so crazy you believe these fellows? They’re disgusting!

Watch your tongue.

Don’t say nasty things about such clever men— men with brains, who like to save their money. That’s why not one of them has ever shaved, or oiled his skin, or visited the baths to wash himself. You, on the other hand, keep on bathing in my livelihood, as if I’d died. So now get over there, as quickly as you can. Take my place and learn.

But what could anyone learn from those men that’s any use at all?

You have to ask?

Why, wise things—the full extent of human thought. You’ll see how thick you are, how stupid. Just wait a moment here for me.

O dear, What will I do? My father’s lost his wits. Do I haul him off to get committed, on the ground that he’s a lunatic, or tell the coffin-makers he’s gone nuts.

Come on now, what do you call this? Tell me.

It’s a fowl.

That’s good. What’s this?

That’s a fowl.

They’re both the same? You’re being ridiculous.

From now on, don’t do that. Call this one “fowl,”

and this one here “fowlette.”

“Fowlette”? That’s it? That’s the sort of clever stuff you learned in there, by going in with these Sons of Earth?

Yes, it is— and lots more, too. But everything I learned, I right away forgot, because I’m old.

That why you lost your cloak?

I didn’t lose it— I gave it to knowledge—a donation.

And your sandals—what you do with them, you deluded man?

Just like Pericles,

I lost them as a “necessary expense.” But come on, let’s go. Move it. If your dad

asks you to do wrong, you must obey him. I know I did just what you wanted long ago, when you were six years old and had a lisp— with the first obol I got for jury work, at the feast of Zeus I got you a toy cart.

You’re going to regret this one fine day.

Good—you’re doing what I ask.

Socrates, come out here . . .

Here—I’ve brought my son to you.

He wasn’t keen, but I persuaded him.

He’s still a child—he doesn’t know the ropes.

Go hang yourself up on some rope,

and get beaten like a worn-out cloak.

Damn you! Why insult your teacher?

Look how he says “hang yourself”—it sounds like baby talk. No crispness in his speech. With such a feeble tone how will he learn to answer to a charge or summons or speak persuasively? And yet it’s true

Hyperbolos could learn to master that— it cost him one talent.

Don’t be concerned. Teach him. He’s naturally intelligent. When he was a little boy—just that tall— even then at home he built small houses, carved out ships, made chariots from leather,

and fashioned frogs from pomegranate peel. You can’t imagine! Get him to learn those two forms of argument—the Better, whatever that may be, and the Worse.

If not both, then at least the unjust one— every trick you’ve got.

He’ll learn on his own from the two styles of reasoning. I’ll be gone.

But remember this—he must be able to speak against all just arguments.

Come on. Show yourself to the people here— I guess you’re bold enough for that.