CHORUS. Whither does the passion of evil lead! here is a perverse old man, who wants to cheat his creditors; but some mishap, which will speedily punish this rogue for his shameful schemings, cannot fail to overtake him from to-day. For a long time he has been burning to have his son know how to fight against all justice and right and to gain even the most iniquitous causes against his adversaries every one. I think this wish is going to be fulfilled. But mayhap, mayhap, he will soon wish his son were dumb rather!
STREPSIADES. Oh! oh! neighbours, kinsmen, fellow-citizens, help! help! to the rescue, I am being beaten! Oh! my head! oh! my jaw! Scoundrel! do you beat your own father!
PHIDIPPIDES. Yes, father, I do.
STREPSIADES. See! he admits he is beating me.
PHIDIPPIDES. Undoubtedly I do.
STREPSIADES. You villain, you parricide, you gallows-bird!
PHIDIPPIDES. Go on, repeat your epithets, call me a thousand other names, an it please you. The more you curse, the greater my amusement!
STREPSIADES. Oh! you infamous cynic!
PHIDIPPIDES. How fragrant the perfume breathed forth in your words.
STREPSIADES. Do you beat your own father?