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SOCR. Ay: for when to the brim filled with water they swim, by Necessity carried along, They are hung up on high in the vault of the sky, and so by Necessity strong In the midst of their course, they clash with great force, and thunder away without end. STREPS. But is it not He who compels this to be? does not Zeus this Necessity send? SOCR. No Zeus have we there, but a vortex of air.
They never forswore I should say. STREPS. Can't say that they do: your words appear true. Whence comes then the thunderbolt, pray?
STREPS. What! Vortex? that's something I own. I knew not before, that Zeus was no more, but Vortex was placed on his throne! But I have not yet heard to what cause you referred the thunder's majestical roar. SOCR. Yes, 'tis they, when on high full of water they fly, and then, as I told you before, By compression impelled, as they clash, are compelled a terrible clatter to make.
Aristophanes, in the Clouds, puts on the stage a coarse personage named Strepsiades, who points out to Socrates how he must manage so as not to pay his debts: "Streps. Hast thou seen among druggists that beautiful transparent stone that they employ for lighting a fire? "Socr. Thou meanest glass. "Streps. Yes. "Socr. Well! what wouldst thou do with it? "Streps.
Let us shake off this close-clinging dew From our members eternally new, And sail upward the wide world to view, Come away! Come away! Socr. O goddesses mine, great Clouds and divine, ye have heeded and answered my prayer. Heard ye their sound, and the thunder around, as it thrilled through the petrified air? Streps.
STREPS. That's exactly the thing, that I suffered one spring, at the great feast of Zeus, I admit: I'd a paunch in the pot, but I wholly forgot about making the safety-valve slit. "Clouds" 358.
STREPS. Well, it must be confessed, that chimes in with the rest: your words I am forced to believe. Yet before I had dreamed that the rain-water streamed from Zeus and his chamber-pot sieve. But whence then, my friend, does the thunder descend? that does make us quake with affright! SOCR. Why, 'tis they, I declare, as they roll through the air. STREPS. What the clouds? did I hear you aright?
STREPS. Come, how can that be? I really don't see. SOCR. Yourself as my proof I will take. Have you never then ate the broth puddings you get when the Panathenaea come round, And felt with what might your bowels all night in turbulent tumult resound
STREPS. Well, but tell me from whom comes the bolt through the gloom, with its awful and terrible flashes; And wherever it turns, some it singes and burns, and some it reduces to ashes: For this 'tis quite plain, let who will send the rain, that Zeus against perjurers dashes
STREPS. By Apollo, 'tis true, there's a mighty to do, and my belly keeps rumbling about; And the puddings begin to clatter within and to kick up a wonderful rout: Quite gently at first, papapax, papapax, but soon papappappax away, Till at last, I'll be bound, I can thunder as loud papapappappappappax as they.
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