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Str. Athens! nay, go to—

It cannot be—I see no law-courts sitting.

Stud. 'Tis Attica, I assure you, none the less.

Str. And where's my parish, then—and my fellow-townsmen?

Stud. Oh, they're all there.—And here's Eubœa, you see,

That long strip there, stretched out along the coast.

Str. Ay—we and Pericles stretched that—pretty tight.

But where's Lacedæmon, now?

Stud. Why, there, of course.

Str. How close to Athens! Pray, with all your thinking,

Can't ye contrive to get it further off?

Stud. (shaking his head). That we can't do, by Jove!

Str. Then worse luck for ye.—

But who hangs dangling in the basket yonder?

Stud. .

Str. And who's Himself?

Stud. Why, Socrates.

Str. Ho, Socrates!—Call him, you fellow—call loud.

Stud. Call him yourself—I've got no time for calling.

(Exit indoors.) Str. Ho, Socrates! sweet, darling Socrates!

Soc. Why callest thou me, poor creature of a day?

Str. First tell me, pray, what are you doing up there?

Soc. I walk in air, and contemplate the sun.

Str. Oh, that's the way that you despise the gods—

You get so near them on your perch there—eh?

Soc. I never could have found out things divine,

Had I not hung my mind up thus, and mixed

My subtle intellect with its kindred air.

Had I regarded such things from below,