No More Learning

. . . and to converse with the clouds, who are our genii?

STREPSIADES. Without a doubt.

SOCRATES. Then be seated on this sacred couch.

STREPSIADES. I am seated.

SOCRATES. Now take this chaplet.

STREPSIADES. Why a chaplet? Alas!
Socrates, would you sacrifice me, like
Athamas? [499]

SOCRATES. No, these are the rites of initiation.

STREPSIADES. And what is it I am to gain?

SOCRATES. You will become a thorough rattle-pate, a hardened old stager,
the fine flour of the talkers. . . . But come, keep quiet.

STREPSIADES. By Zeus! You lie not! Soon I shall be nothing but
wheat-flour, if you powder me in this fashion. [500]

SOCRATES.