the earth with far-seeing eye. Socrates. O ye greatly venerable Clouds, ye have clearly heard me when I called. Turning to Strepsiades. Did you hear the voice, and the thunder which bellowed at the same time, feared as a god? Strepsiades. I too worship you, O ye highly honoured, and am inclined to reply to the thundering, so much do I tremble at them and am alarmed. And whether it be lawful, or be not lawful, I have a desire just now to ease myself. Socrates. Don’t scoff, nor do what these poor-devil-poets do, but use words of good omen, for a great swarm of goddesses is in motion with their songs. Chorus. Ye rain-bringing virgins, let us come to the fruitful land of Pallas, to view the much-loved country of Cecrops, abounding in brave men; where is reverence for sacred rites not to be divulged; where the house that receives the initiated is thrown open in holy mystic rites; and gifts to the celestial gods; and high-roofed temples, and statues; and most sacred processions in honour of the blessed gods; and well-crowned sacrifices to the gods, and feasts, at all seasons; and with the approach of spring the Bacchic festivity, and the rousings of melodious choruses, and the loud-sounding music of flutes. Strepsiades. Tell me, O Socrates, I beseech you, by Jupiter, who are these that have uttered this grand song? Are they some heroines? Socrates. By no means; but heavenly Clouds, great divinities to idle men; who supply us with thought and argument, and intelligence and humbug, and circumlocution, and ability to hoax, and comprehension. Strepsiades. On this account therefore my soul, having heard their voice, flutters, and already seeks to discourse subtilely, and to quibble about smoke, and having pricked a maxim with a little notion, to refute the opposite argument. So that now I eagerly desire, if by any means it be possible, to see them palpably. Socrates. Look, then, hither, toward Mount Parnes; for now I behold them descending gently. Strepsiades. Pray where? Show me. Socrates. See! There they come in great numbers through the hollows and thickets; there, obliquely. Strepsiades. What’s the matter? For I can’t see them. Socrates. By the entrance. Enter Chorus. Strepsiades. Now at length with difficulty I just see them. Socrates. Now at length you assuredly see them, unless you have your eyes running pumpkins. Strepsiades. Yes, by Jupiter! O highly honoured Clouds, for now they cover all things. Socrates. Did you not, however, know, nor yet consider, these to be goddesses? Strepsiades. No, by Jupiter! But I thought them to be mist, and dew, and smoke. Socrates. For you do not know, by Jupiter! that these feed very many sophists, Thurian soothsayers, practisers of medicine, lazy-long-haired-onyx-ring-wearers, song-twisters for the cyclic dances, and meteorological quacks. They feed idle people who do nothing, because such men celebrate them in verse. Strepsiades. For this reason, then, they introduced into their verses the dreadful impetuosity of the moist, whirling-bright clouds ; and the curls of hundred-headed Typho ; and the hard-blowing tempests ; and then aerial, moist ; crooked-clawed birds, floating in air and the showers of rain from dewy Clouds. And then, in return for these, they swallow slices of great, fine mullets, and bird’s-flesh of thrushes. Socrates. Is it not just, however, that they should have their reward, on account of these? Strepsiades. Tell me, pray, if they are really clouds, what ails them, that they resemble mortal women? For they are not such. Socrates. Pray, of what nature are they? Strepsiades. I do not clearly know: at any rate they resemble spread-out fleeces, and not women, by Jupiter! Not a bit; for these have noses. Socrates. Answer, then, whatever I ask you. Strepsiades. Then say quickly what you wish. Socrates. Have you ever, when you; looked up, seen a cloud like to a centaur, or a panther, or a wolf, or a bull?