O foolish youth, you have rolled me out of my possessions; since I have been cast in suits, and others say that they will have surety given them for the interest. (Phid: Pray, father, why are you peevish, and toss about the whole night?) A bailiff out of the bedclothes is biting me. (Phid: Suffer me, good sir, to sleep a little.) Then, do you sleep on; but know that all these debts will turn on your head. (Phidippides falls asleep again.) Alas! Would that the match-maker had perished miserably, who induced me to marry your mother. For a country life used to be most agreeable to me, dirty, untrimmed, reclining at random, abounding in bees, and sheep, and oil-cake. Then I, a rustic, married a niece of Megacles, the son of Megacles, from the city, haughty, luxurious, and Coesyrafied. When I married her, I lay with her redolent of new wine, of the cheese-crate, and abundance of wool; but she, on the contrary, of ointment, saffron, wanton-kisses, extravagance, gluttony, and of Colias and Genetyllis. I will not indeed say that she was idle; but she wove. And I used to show her this cloak by way of a pretext and say "Wife, you weave at a great rate." Servant re-enters. Servant. We have no oil in the lamp.

Strep Monologue from The Clouds

Rehearse Strep's monologue