[Re-enter Socrates]

Soc. Ho you! What are you about? Are you not meditating?

Strep. I? Yea, by Neptune!

Soc. And what, pray, have you thought?

Strep. Whether any bit of me will be left by the bugs.

Soc. You will perish most wretchedly.

Strep. But, my good friend, I have already perished.

Soc. You must not give in, but must wrap yourself up;
for you have to discover a device for abstracting, and a
means of cheating.

[Walks up and down while Strepsiades wraps himself up in
the blankets.]

Strep. Ah me! Would, pray, some one would throw over me
a swindling contrivance from the sheep-skins.

Soc. Come now; I will first see this fellow, what he is
about. Ho you! Are you asleep?

Strep. No, by Apollo, I am not!

Soc. Have you got anything?