Strep. Strepsiades, the son of Phidon, of Cicynna.

Dis. You are a stupid fellow, by Jove! who have kicked
against the door so very carelessly, and have caused the
miscarriage of an idea which I had conceived.

Strep. Pardon me; for I dwell afar in the country. But
tell me the thing which has been made to miscarry.

Dis. It is not lawful to mention it, except to
disciples.

Strep. Tell it, then, to me without fear; for I here am
come as a disciple to the thinking-shop.

Dis. I will tell you; but you must regard these as
mysteries. Socrates lately asked Chaerephon about a
flea, how many of its own feet it jumped; for after
having bit the eyebrow of Chaerephon, it leaped away
onto the head of Socrates.

Strep. How then did he measure this?

Dis. Most cleverly. He melted some wax; and then took
the flea and dipped its feet in the wax; and then a pair
of Persian slippers stuck to it when cooled. Having
gently loosened these, he measured back the distance.

Strep. O King Jupiter! What subtlety of thought!