Strepsiades.
By Jupiter! You will not deceive me; for if I am besprinkled, I shall become fine flour.
Socrates.
It becomes the old man to speak words of good omen, and to hearken to my prayer. O sovereign King, immeasurable Air, who keepest the earth suspended, and through bright Aether, and ye august goddesses, the Clouds, sending thunder and lightning, arise, appear in the air, O mistresses, to your deep thinker!
Strepsiades.
Not yet, not yet, till I wrap this around me lest I be wet through. To think of my having come from home without even a cap, unlucky man!
Socrates.
Come then, ye highly honoured Clouds, for a display to this man.
Whether ye are sitting upon the sacred snow-covered summits of
Olympus
, or in the gardens of Father Ocean form a sacred dance with the Nymphs, or draw in golden pitchers the streams of the waters of the
Nile
, or inhabit the Maeotic lake, or the snowy rock of Mimas, hearken to our prayer, and receive the sacrifice, and be propitious to the sacred rites.
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Clouds. Aristophanes. William James Hickie (Translator). London. 1853.
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