PISTHETAERUS. Enough of that sort of ditty. Tell me what you want.
CINESIAS. Give me wings and I will fly into the topmost airs to gather
fresh songs in the clouds, in the midst of the vapours and the fleecy
snow.
PISTHETAERUS. Gather songs in the clouds?
CINESIAS. 'Tis on them the whole of our latter-day art depends. The most
brilliant dithyrambs are those that flap their wings in void space and
are clothed in mist and dense obscurity. To appreciate this, just listen.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! no, no, no!
CINESIAS. By Hermes! but indeed you shall. "I shall travel through thine
ethereal empire like a winged bird, who cleaveth space with his long
neck...."