You will become a thorough rattle-pate, a
hardened
old stager,
the fine flour of the talkers.
Aristophanes
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. Silence, old man, give heed to the prayers.... Oh! most mighty
king, the boundless air, that keepest the earth suspended in space, thou
bright Aether and ye venerable goddesses, the Clouds, who carry in your
loins the thunder and the lightning, arise, ye sovereign powers and
manifest yourselves in the celestial spheres to the eyes of the sage.
