_Str._ (_yawning in his bed_). O--h! Great Jove, how terribly long the nights are now! Interminable! will it never be day, I wonder? I’m sure I heard the cock crow long ago. These slaves are snoring still, the rascals. Ah! It was not so in the old times of peace. Curse the war, I say, both for other reasons, And specially that I daren’t punish my own slaves.[28] And there’s that hopeful son of mine can sleep Sound as a top, the whole night long, rolled up Like a great sausage there, in five thick blankets. Well--I suppose I’d as well put my head Under the clothes, and try to get a snooze.-- I can’t--I _can’t_ get to sleep! There are things biting me-- I mean the bills, the stable expenses, and the debts Run up for me by that precious son of mine. And he--oh, he lives like a gentleman, Keeps his fine horses, drives his curricle-- Is dreaming of them now, no doubt--while I lie vexing, Knowing next month those notes of hand come due, With interest mounting up. (_Calls to his slave without._) Boy! light a lamp; Bring me my pocket-book, that I may see How my accounts stand, and just cast them up. (_Slave brings a lamp, and holds it while Strepsiades sits up and looks over his account-book._) Let’s see now. First, here’s Prasias, fifty pounds. Now, what’s that for? When did I borrow that? Ah! when I bought that grey. Oh dear, oh dear! I shall grow grey enough, if this goes on. _Ph._ (_talking in his sleep_). That’s not fair, Philo! keep your own side of the course! _Str._ Ay, there he goes! that’s what is ruining me; He’s always racing, even in his dreams. _Ph._ (_still asleep_). How many times round do the war-chariots go? _Str._ You make your old father’s head go round, you do. But let me see--what stands here next to Prasias?-- Twelve pounds to Amynias,--for a car and wheels. _Ph._ There--give that horse a roll, and take him home. _Str._ You’ll roll me out of house and home, young man! I’ve judgment debts against me, and the rest of them Swear they’ll proceed. _Ph._ (_awaking_). Good heavens! my dear father, What makes you groan and toss so all night long? _Str._ There’s a sheriff’s officer at me--in the bed-clothes. _Ph._ Lie quiet, sir, do pray, and let me sleep.