about the name: for she was for adding hippos to the
name, Xanthippus, or Charippus, or Callipides; but I was
for giving him the name of his grandfather, Phidonides.
For a time therefore we disputed; and then at length we
agreed, and called him Phidippides. She used to take
this son and fondle him, saying, "When you, being grown
up, shall drive your chariot to the city, like Megacles,
with a xystis." But I used to say, "Nay, rather, when
dressed in a leathern jerkin, you shall drive goats from
Phelleus, like your father." He paid no attention to my
words, but poured a horse-fever over my property. Now,
therefore, by meditating the whole night, I have
discovered one path for my course extraordinarily
excellent; to which if I persuade this youth I shall be
saved. But first I wish to awake him. How then can I
awake him in the most agreeable manner? How?
Phidippides, my little Phidippides?

Phid. What, father?

Strep. Kiss me, and give me your right hand!

Phid. There. What's the matter?

Strep. Tell me, do you love me?

Phid. Yes, by this Equestrian Neptune.

Strep. Nay, do not by any means mention this Equestrian
to me, for this god is the author of my misfortunes.
But, if you really love me from your heart, my son, obey
me.

Phid. In what then, pray, shall I obey you?

Strep. Reform your habits as quickly as possible, and go
and learn what I advise.

Phid. Tell me now, what do you prescribe?

Strep. And will you obey me at all?

Phid. By Bacchus, I will obey you.

Strep. Look this way then! Do you see this little door
and little house?

Phid. I see it. What then, pray, is this, father?

Strep. This is a thinking-shop of wise spirits. There
dwell men who in speaking of the heavens persuade people
that it is an oven, and that it encompasses us, and that
we are the embers. These men teach, if one give them
money, to conquer in speaking, right or wrong.

Phid. Who are they?

Strep. I do not know the name accurately. They are
minute philosophers, noble and excellent.

Phid. Bah! They are rogues; I know them. You mean the
quacks, the pale-faced wretches, the bare-footed
fellows, of whose numbers are the miserable Socrates and
Chaerephon.

Strep. Hold! Hold! Be