STREPSIADES. Hail, sovereign goddesses, and if ever you have let your celestial voice be heard by mortal ears, speak to me, oh! speak to me, ye all-powerful queens.
CHORUS. Hail! veteran of the ancient times, you who burn to instruct yourself in fine language. And you, great high-priest of subtle nonsense, tell us your desire. To you and Prodicus[509] alone of all the hollow orationers of to-day have we lent an ear—to Prodicus, because of his knowledge and his great wisdom, and to you, because you walk with head erect, a confident look, barefooted, resigned to everything and proud of our protection.
STREPSIADES. Oh! Earth! What august utterances! how sacred! how wondrous!
SOCRATES. That is because these are the only goddesses; all the rest are pure myth.
STREPSIADES. But by the Earth! is our Father, Zeus, the Olympian, not a god?
SOCRATES. Zeus! what Zeus? Are you mad? There is no Zeus.
STREPSIADES. What are you saying now? Who causes the rain to fall? Answer me that!
SOCRATES. Why, 'tis these, and I will prove it. Have you ever seen it raining without clouds? Let Zeus then cause rain with a clear sky and without their presence!
STREPSIADES. By Apollo! that is powerfully argued! For my own part, I always thought it was Zeus pissing into a sieve. But tell me, who is it makes the thunder, which I so much dread?
SOCRATES. 'Tis these, when they roll one over the other.