Strep. (beating him). Go! why do you delay? Won't you march, Mr. Blood-horse?

Amyn. Is not this^[2] an insult, pray?

Strep. Will you move quickly? [Pricks him behind with the goad.] I'll lay on you, goading you behind, you outrigger? Do you fly? [Amynias runs off.] I thought I should stir you,^[3] together with your wheels and your two-horse chariots. [Exit Strepsiades.]

Cho. What a thing it is to love evil courses! For this old man, having loved them, wishes to withhold the money which he borrowed. And he will certainly meet with something to-day,^[4] which will perhaps cause this sophist to suddenly receive some misfortune, in return for the knaveries he has begun, For I think that he will presently find what has been long boiling up, that his^[5] son is skilful to speak opinions opposed to justice, so as to overcome all with whomsoever he holds converse, even if he advance most villanous doctrines; and perhaps, perhaps his father will wish that he were even speechless.

Strep. (running out of the house pursued by his son). Hollo! Hollo! O neighbours and kinsfolk and fellow-tribesmen, defend me, by all means, who am being beaten! Ah me, unhappy man, for my head and jaw! Wretch! do you beat your father?

Phid. Yes, father.

Strep. You see him owning that he beats me.

Phid. Certainly.

Strep. O wretch, and parricide, and house-breaker!