Soc. There is no other way.

[Exit Socrates.]

Strep. Unfortunate man that I am! What a penalty shall I
this day pay to the bugs!

Cho. Now meditate and examine closely; and roll yourself
about in every way, having wrapped yourself up; and
quickly, when you fall into a difficulty, spring to
another mental contrivance. But let delightful sleep be
absent from your eyes.

Strep. Attatai! Attatai!

Cho. What ails you? Why are you distressed?

Strep. Wretched man, I am perishing! The Corinthians,
coming out from the bed, are biting me, and devouring my
sides, and drinking up my life-blood, and tearing away
my flesh, and digging through my vitals, and will
annihilate me.

Cho. Do not now be very grievously distressed.

Strep. Why, how, when my money is gone, my complexion
gone, my life gone, and my slipper gone? And furthermore
in addition to these evils, with singing the
night-watches, I am almost gone myself.