The Bard, when first he gave his mind to write,

Thought it his only business, that his Plays

Should please the people: but it now falls out,

He finds, much otherwise, and wastes, perforce,

His time in writing Prologues; not to tell

The argument, but to refute the slanders

Broach’d by the malice of an older Bard.

And mark what vices he is charg’d withal!

Menander wrote the Andrian and Perinthian:

Know one, and you know both; in argument

Less diff’rent than in sentiment and style.

What suited with the Andrian he confesses

From the Perinthian he transferr’d, and us’d

For his: and this it is these sland’rers blame,

Proving by deep and learned disputation,

That Fables should not be confounded thus.

That Fables should not be contaminated.

Troth! all the knowledge is they nothing know:

Who, blaming; him, blame Nævius, Plautus, Ennius,

Whose great example is his precedent;

Whose negligence he’d wish to emulate

Rather than their dark diligence. Henceforth,

Let them, I give them warning, be at peace,

And cease to rail, lest they be made to know

Their own misdeeds. Be favorable! sit

With equal mind, and hear our play; that hence

Ye may conclude, what hope to entertain,

The comedies he may hereafter write

Shall merit approbation or contempt.

Simo. Carry those things in: go! (Ex. Servants.

Sosia, come here;

A word with you!

Sosia. I understand: that these

Be ta’en due care of.

Simo. Quite another thing.

Sosia. What can my art do more for you?

Simo. This business

Needs not that art; but those good qualities,

Which I have ever known abide in you,

Fidelity and secrecy.

Sosia. I wait

Your pleasure.

Simo. Since I bought you, from a boy

How just and mild a servitude you’ve pass’d

With me, you’re conscious: from a purchas’d slave

I made you free, because you serv’d me freely:

The greatest recompense I could bestow.

Sosia. I do remember.

Simo. Nor do I repent.

Sosia. If I have ever done, or now do aught

That’s pleasing to you, Simo, I am glad,

And thankful that you hold my service good

And yet this troubles me: for this detail,

Forcing your kindness on my memory,

Seems to reproach me of ingratitude.

Oh tell me then at once, what would you? Sir!

Simo. I will; and this I must advise you first;

The nuptial you suppose preparing now,

Is all unreal.

Sosia. Why pretend it then?

Simo. You shall hear all from first to last: and thus

The conduct of my son, my own intent,

And what part you’re to act, you’ll know at once.

For my son, Sosia, now to manhood grown,

Had freer scope of living: for before

How might you know, or how indeed divine

His disposition, good or ill, while youth,

Fear, and a master, all constrain’d him?

Sosia. True.

Simo. Though most, as is the bent of youth, apply

Their mind to some one object, horses, hounds,

Or to the study of philosophy;

Yet none of these, beyond the rest, did he

Pursue; and yet, in moderation, all.

I was o’erjoy’d.

Sosia. And not without good cause.

For this I hold to be the Golden Rule

Of Life, too much of one thing’s good for nothing.

Sosia. He rul’d his life

By prudent maxims: for, as times go now,

Compliance raises friends, and truth breeds hate.

Simo. Meanwhile, ’tis now about three years ago,

A certain woman from the isle of Andros,

Came o’er to settle in this neighborhood,

By poverty and cruel kindred driv’n:

Handsome and young.

Sosia. Ah! I begin to fear

Some mischief from this Andrian.

Simo. At first

Modest and thriftily, though poor, she liv’d,

With her own hands a homely livelihood

Scarce earning from the distaff and the loom.

But when a lover came, with promis’d gold,

Another, and another, as the mind

Falls easily from labor to delight,

She took their offers, and set up the trade.

They, who were then her chief gallants, by chance

Drew thither, as oft happen with young men

My son to join their company. “So, so!”

Said I within myself, “he’s smit! he has it!”

And in the morning as I saw their servants

Run to and fro, I’d often call, “here, boy!

Prithee now, who had Chrysis yesterday?”

The name of this same Andrian.

Sosia. I take you.

Simo. Phædrus they said, Clinia, or Niceratus,

For all these three then follow’d her.—“Well, well,

But what of Pamphilus?”—“Of Pamphilus!

He supp’d, and paid his reck’ning.”—I was glad.

Another day I made the like inquiry,

But still found nothing touching Pamphilus.

Thus I believ’d his virtue prov’d, and hence

Thought him a miracle of continence:

For he who struggles with such spirits, yet

Holds in that commerce an unshaken mind,

May well be trusted with the governance

Of his own conduct. Nor was I alone

Delighted with his life, but all the world

With one accord said all good things, and prais’d

My happy fortunes, who possess’d a son

So good, so lib’rally disposed.—In short

Chremes, seduc’d by this fine character,

Came of his own accord, to offer me

His only daughter with a handsome portion

In marriage with my son. I lik’d the match;

Betroth’d my son; and this was pitch’d upon,

By joint agreement, for the wedding-day.

Sosia. And what prevents it’s being so?

Simo. I’ll tell you.

In a few days, the treaty still on foot,

This neighbor Chrysis dies.

Sosia. In happy hour:

Happy for you! I was afraid of Chrysis.

Simo. My son, on this event, was often there

With those who were the late gallants of Chrysis;

Assisted to prepare the funeral,

Ever condol’d, and sometimes wept with them.

This pleas’d me then; for in myself I thought,

“Since merely for a small acquaintance-sake

He takes this woman’s death so nearly, what

If he himself had lov’d? What would he feel

For me, his father?” All these things, I thought;

Were but the tokens and the offices

Of a humane and tender disposition.

In short, on his account, e’en I myself

Attend the funeral, suspecting yet

No harm.

Sosia. And what——

Simo. You shall hear all. The Corpse

Borne forth, we follow: when among the women

Attending there, I chanc’d to cast my eyes,

Upon one girl, in form——

Sosia. Not bad, perhaps——

Simo. And look; so modest, and so beauteous, Sosia!

That nothing could exceed it. As she seem’d

To grieve beyond the rest; and as her air

Appear’d more liberal and ingenuous,

I went and ask’d her women who she was.

Sister, they said, to Chrysis: when at once

It struck my mind; “So! so! the secret’s out;

Hence were those tears, and hence all that compassion!”

Sosia. Alas! I fear how this affair will end!

Simo. Meanwhile the funeral proceeds: we follow;

Come to the sepulchre: the body’s plac’d

Upon the pile, lamented: whereupon

This sister I was speaking of, all wild,

Ran to the flames with peril of her life.

Then! there! the frighted Pamphilus betrays

His well-dissembled and long-hidden love:

Runs up, and takes her round the waist, and cries,

“Oh my Glycerium! what is it you do?

Why, why endeavor to destroy yourself?”

Then she, in such a manner, that you thence

Might easily perceive their long, long, love,

Threw herself back into his arms, and wept,

Oh how familiarly!

Sosia. How say you!

Simo. I

Return in anger thence, and hurt at heart,

Yet had no cause sufficient for reproof.

“What have I done? he’d say; or how deserv’d

Reproach? or how offended, Father?—Her

Who meant to cast herself into the flames,

I stopped.” A fair excuse!

Sosia. You’re in the right;

For him, who sav’d a life, if you reprove,

What will you do to him that offers wrong?

Simo. Chremes next day came open-mouth’d to me:

Oh monstrous! he had found that Pamphilus

Was married to this stranger woman. I 

Deny the fact most steadily, and he

As steadily insists. In short we part

On such bad terms, as let me understand

He would refuse his daughter.

Sosia. Did not you

Then take your son to task?

Simo. Not even this

Appear’d sufficient for reproof.

Sosia. How so?

Simo. “Father, (he might have said) You have, you know,

Prescrib’d a term to all these things yourself.

The time is near at hand, when I must live

According to the humor of another.

Meanwhile, permit me now to please my own!”

Sosia. What cause remains to chide him then?

Simo. If he

Refuses, on account of this amour,

To take a wife, such obstinate denial

Must be considered as his first offense.

Wherefore I now, from this mock-nuptial,

Endeavor to draw real cause to chide:

And that same rascal Davus, if he’s plotting,

That he may let his counsel run to waste,

Now, when his knaveries can do no harm:

Who, I believe, with all his might and main

Will strive to cross my purposes; and that

More to plague me, than to oblige my son.

Sosia. Why so?

Simo. Why so! Bad mind, bad heart: But if

I catch him at his tricks!—But what need words?

—If, as I wish it may, it should appear

That Pamphilus objects not to the match,

Chremes remains to be prevail’d upon,

And will, I hope, consent. ’Tis now your place

To counterfeit these nuptials cunningly;

To frighten Davus; and observe my son,

What he’s about, what plots they hatch together.

Sosia. Enough; I’ll take due care. Let’s now go in!

Simo. Go first: I’ll follow you.

Exit Sosia.

Beyond all doubt

My son’s averse to take a wife: I saw

How frighten’d Davus was, but even now,

When he was told a nuptial was preparing.

But here he comes.

Davus. (to himself). I thought ’twere wonderful

If this affair went off so easily;

And dreaded where my master’s great good-humor

Would end at last: who, after he perceiv’d

The Lady was refus’d, ne’er said a word

To any of us, nor e’er took it ill.

Simo. (behind). But now he will; to your cost too, I warrant you!

Simo. What says the rogue?

Davus. My master and I did not see him!

Simo. Davus!

Davus. Well! what now? (Pretending not to see him.)

Simo. Here! this way!

Davus. What can he want? (To himself.)

Simo. (overhearing). What say you?

Davus. Upon what? Sir.

Simo. Upon what!

The world reports that my son keeps a mistress.

Davus. Oh, to be sure, the world cares much for that.

Simo. D’ye mind what I say? Sirrah!

Davus. Nothing more, Sir.

Simo. But for me now to dive into these matters

May seem perhaps like too severe a father:

For all his youthful pranks concern not me.

While ’twas in season, he had my free leave

To take his swing of pleasure. But to-day

Brings on another stage of life, and asks

For other manners: wherefore I desire,

Or, if you please, I do beseech you, Davus,

To set him right again.

Davus. What means all this?

Simo. All, who are fond of mistresses, dislike

The thoughts of matrimony.

Davus. So they say.

Simo. And then, if such a person entertains

An evil counselor in those affairs,

He tampers with the mind, and makes bad worse.

Davus. Troth, I don’t comprehend one word of this.

Simo. No?

Davus. No. I’m Davus, and not Oedipus.

Simo. Then for the rest I have to say to you,

You choose I should speak plainly.

Davus. By all means.

Simo. If I discover then, that in this match

You get to your dog’s tricks to break it off,

Or try to show how shrewd a rogue you are,

I’ll have you beat to mummy, and then thrown

In prison, Sirrah! upon this condition,

That when I take you out again, I swear

To grind there in your stead. D’ye take me now?

Or don’t you understand this neither?

Davus. Clearly.

You have spoke out at last: the very thing!

Quite plain and home; and nothing round about.

Simo. I could excuse your tricks in any thing,

Rather than this.

Davus. Good words! I beg of you.

Simo. You laugh at me: well, well!—I give you warning

That you do nothing rashly, nor pretend

You was not advertis’d of this—take heed!

Exit.

Pam. Is this well done? or like a man?—Is this

The action of a father?

Mysis. What’s the matter?

Pam. Oh all ye pow’rs of heav’n and earth, what’s wrong

If this is not so?—If he was determin’d

That I to-day should marry, should I not

Have had some previous notice?—ought not he

To have inform’d me of it long ago?

Mysis. Alas! what’s this I hear?

Pam. And Chremes too,

Who had refus’d to trust me with his daughter,

Changes his mind, because I change not mine.

Can he then be so obstinately bent

To tear me from Glycerium? To lose her

Is losing life.—Was ever man so cross’d,

So curs’d as I?—Oh pow’rs of heav’n and earth!

Can I by no means fly from this alliance

With Chremes’ family?—so oft contemn’d

And held in scorn!—all done, concluded all!——

Rejected, then recall’d:—and why?—unless,

For so I must suspect, they breed some monster,

Whom as they can obtrude on no one else,

They bring to me.

Mysis. Alas, alas! this speech

Has struck me almost dead with fear.

Pam. And then

My father!—what to say of him?—Oh shame!

A thing of so much consequence to treat

So negligently!—For but even now

Passing me in the forum, “Pamphilus!

To-day’s your wedding-day, said he: prepare;

Go, get you home!”—This sounded in my ears

As if he said, “go, hang yourself!”—I stood

Confounded. Think you I could speak one word?

Or offer an excuse, how weak soe’er?

No, I was dumb:—and had I been aware,

Should any ask what I’d have done, I would,

Rather than this, do any thing.—But now

What to resolve upon?—So many cares

Entangle me at once, and rend my mind,

Pulling it diff’rent ways. My love, compassion,

This urgent match, my rev’rence for my father,

Who yet has ever been so gentle to me,

And held so slack a rein upon my pleasures.

—And I oppose him?—Racking thought!—Ah me!

I know not what to do.

Mysis. Alas, I fear

Where this uncertainty will end. ’Twere best

He should confer with her; or I at least

Speak touching her to him. For while the mind

Hangs in suspense, a trifle turns the scale.

Pam. Who’s there? what, Mysis! Save you!

Mysis. Save you! Sir. (Coming forward.)

Pam. How does she?

Mysis. How! oppress’d with wretchedness.

To-day supremely wretched, as to-day

Was formerly appointed for your wedding.

And then she fears lest you desert her.

Pam. I!

Desert her? Can I think on’t? or deceive

A wretched maid! who trusted to my care

Her life and honor. Her whom I have held

Near to my heart, and cherish’d as my wife?

Or leave her modest and well nurtur’d mind

Through want to be corrupted? Never, never.

Mysis. No doubt, did it depend on you alone;

But if constrain’d——

Mysis. So we trust.

Pam. What make you from her?

Mysis. Going for a midwife.

Pam. Haste then! and hark, be sure take special heed,

You mention not a word about the marriage,

Lest this too give her pain.

Mysis. I understand.

Char. How, Byrrhia? Is she to be married, say you,

To Pamphilus to-day?

Byr. ’Tis even so.

Char. How do you know?

Byr. I had it even now

From Davus at the Forum.

Char. Woe is me!

Then I’m a wretch indeed: till now my mind

Floated ’twixt hope and fear: now, hope remov’d,

Stunn’d, and o’erwhelm’d, it sinks beneath its cares.

Byr. Nay, prithee master, since the thing you wish

Can not be had, e’en wish for that which may!

Char. I wish for nothing but Philumena.

Byr. Ah, how much wiser were it, that you strove

To quench this passion, than, with words like these

To fan the fire, and blow it to a flame?

Char. How readily do men at ease prescribe

To those who’re sick at heart! distress’d like me,

You would not talk thus.

Byr. Well, well, as you please.

Char. Ha! I see Pamphilus. I can resolve

On any thing, e’er give up all for lost.

Byr. What now?

Char. I will entreat him, beg, beseech him,

Tell him our course of love, and thus, perhaps,

At least prevail upon him to defer

His marriage some few days: meanwhile, I hope,

Something may happen.

Byr. Aye, that something’s nothing.

Char. Byrrhia, what think you? Shall I speak to him?

Byr. Why not? for though you don’t obtain your suit,

He will at least imagine you’re prepar’d

To cuckold him, in case he marries her.

Char. Away, you hang-dog, with your base suspicions!

Char. Ah, Pamphilus, if so, this day

You see the last of me.

Pam. How so?

Char. Ah me!

I dare not speak it: prithee tell him, Byrrhia.

Byr. Aye, that I will.

Pam. What is’t?

Byr. He is in love

With your bride, Sir.

Pam. I’ faith so am not I.

Tell me, Charinus, has aught further passed

’Twixt you and her?

Char. Ah, no, no.

Pam. Would there had!

Char. Now by our friendship, by my love I beg

You would not marry her.——

Pam. I will endeavor.

Char. If that’s impossible, or if this match

Be grateful to your heart——

Pam. My heart!

Char. At least

Defer it some few days; while I depart,

That I may not behold it.

Pam. Hear, Charinus;

It is, I think, scarce honesty in him

To look for thanks, who means no favor. I

Abhor this marriage, more than you desire it.

Char. You have reviv’d me.

Pam. Now if you, or he,

Your Byrrhia here, can do or think of aught;

Act, plot, devise, invent, strive all you can

To make her yours; and I’ll do all I can

That she may not be mine.

Char. Enough.

Pam. I see

Davus, and in good time: for he’ll advise

What’s best to do.

Char. But you, you sorry rogue, (To Byrrhia)

Can give me no advice, nor tell me aught,

But what it is impertinent to know.

Hence, Sirrah, get you gone!

Byr. With all my heart.

Exit.

Davus. Good Heav’ns, what news I bring! what joyful news!

But where shall I find Pamphilus, to drive

His fears away, and make him full of joy?

Char. There’s something pleases him.

Pam. No matter what.

He has not heard of our ill fortune yet.

Davus. And he, I warrant, if he has been told

Of his intended wedding——

Char. Do you hear?

Davus. Poor soul, is running all about the town

In quest of me. But whither shall I go?

Or which way run?

Char. Why don’t you speak to him?

Davus. I’ll go.

Pam. Ho! Davus! Stop, come here!

Davus. Who calls?

O, Pamphilus! the very man.—Heyday!

Charinus too!—Both gentlemen, well met!

I’ve news for both.

Pam. I’m ruin’d, Davus.

Davus. Hear me!

Pam. Undone!

Davus. I know your fears.

Char. My life’s at stake.

Davus. Yours I know also.

Pam. Matrimony mine.

Davus. I know it.

Pam. But to-day.

Davus. You stun me; plague!

I tell you I know ev’ry thing: you fear (To Charinus.)

You should not marry her.—You fear you should. (To Pam.)

Char. The very thing.

Pam. The same.

Davus. I’m sure of it. Your Father but just now

Takes me aside, and tells me ’twas his will

That you should wed to-day; with much beside,

Which now I have not leisure to repeat.

I, on the instant, hastening to find you,

Run to the Forum to inform you of it:

There, failing, climb an eminence, look round:

No Pamphilus: I light by chance on Byrrhia;

Inquire; he hadn’t seen you. Vex’d at heart,

What’s to be done? thought I. Returning thence

A doubt arose within me. Ha! bad cheer,

The old man melancholy, and a wedding

Clapp’d up so suddenly! This don’t agree.

Pam. Well, what then?

Davus. I betook me instantly

To Chremes’ house; but thither when I came,

Before the door all hush. This tickled me.

Pam. You’re in the right. Proceed.

Davus. I watch’d a while:

Meantime no soul went in, no soul came out;

No matron; in the house no ornament;

No note of preparation. I approach’d,

Look’d in——

Pam. I understand: a potent sign!

Davus. Does this seem like a nuptial?

Pam. I think not,

Davus.

Davus. Think not, d’ye say? you don’t conceive:

The thing is evident. I met beside,

As I departed thence, with Chremes’ boy,

Bearing some pot-herbs, and a pennyworth

Of little fishes for the old man’s dinner.

Char. I am deliver’d, Davus, by your means,

From all my apprehensions of to-day.

Davus. And yet you are undone.

Char. How so? Since Chremes

Will not consent to give Philumena

To Pamphilus.

Davus. Ridiculous! As if,

Because the daughter is denied to him,

She must of course wed you. Look to it well;

Court the old Gentleman through friends, apply,

Or else——

Char. You’re right: I will about it straight,

Although that hope has often fail’d. Farewell.

Exit.

Pam. What means my father then? Why counterfeit?

Davus. That I’ll explain. If he were angry now,

Merely that Chremes has refus’d his daughter,

He’d think himself in fault; and justly too,

Before the bias of your mind is known.

But granting you refuse her for a wife,

Then all the blame devolves on you, and then

Comes all the storm.

Pam. What course then shall I take?

Shall I submit——

Davus. He is your Father, Sir,

Whom to oppose were difficult; and then

Glycerium’s a lone woman; and he’ll find

Some course, no matter what, to drive her hence.

Pam. To drive her hence?

Davus. Directly.

Pam. Tell me then,

Oh tell me, Davus, what were best to do?

Davus. Say that you’ll marry!

Pam. How!

Davus. And where’s the harm?

Pam. Say that I’ll marry!

Davus. Why not?

Pam. Never, never.

Davus. Do not refuse!

Pam. Persuade not!

Davus. Do but mark

The consequence.

Pam. Divorcement from Glycerium.

And marriage with the other.

Davus. No such thing.

Your father, I suppose, accosts you thus.

I’d have you wed to-day;—I will, quoth you:

What reason has he to reproach you then?

Thus shall you baffle all his settled schemes,

And put him to confusion; all the while

Secure yourself: for ’tis beyond a doubt

That Chremes will refuse his daughter to you;

So obstinately too, you need not pause,

Or change these measures, lest he change his mind;

Say to your father then, that you will wed,

That, with the will, he may want cause to chide.

But if, deluded by fond hopes, you cry,

“No one will wed their daughter to a rake,

A libertine.”—Alas, you’re much deceiv’d.

For know, your father will redeem some wretch

From rags and beggary to be your wife,

Rather than see your ruin with Glycerium.

But if he thinks you bear an easy mind,

He too will grow indiff’rent, and seek out

Another match at leisure; the mean while

Affairs may take a lucky turn.

Pam. D’ye think so?

Davus. Beyond all doubt.

Pam. See, what you lead me to.

Davus. Nay, peace!

Pam. I’ll say so then. But have a care

He knows not of the child, which I’ve agreed

To educate.

Davus. O confidence!

Pam. She drew

This promise from me, as a firm assurance

That I would not forsake her.

Davus. We’ll take care.

But here’s your father: let him not perceive

You’re melancholy.

Simo. I return to see

What they’re about, or what they meditate.

Davus. Now is he sure that you’ll refuse to wed.

From some dark corner brooding o’er black thoughts

He comes, and fancies he has fram’d a speech

To disconcert you. See, you keep your ground.

Pam. If I can, Davus.

Davus. Trust me, Pamphilus,

Your father will not change a single word

In anger with you, do but say you’ll wed.

Byr. To-day my master bade me leave all else

For Pamphilus, and watch how he proceeds,

About his marriage; wherefore I have now

Followed the old man hither: yonder too

Stands Pamphilus himself, and with him Davus.

To business then!

Simo. I see them both together.

Davus. Now mind. (Apart to Pam.)

Simo. Here, Pamphilus!

Simo. It is my pleasure, that to-day,

As I have told you once before, you marry.

Davus. Now on our part, I fear what he’ll reply. (Aside.)

Pam. In that, and all the rest of your commands,

I shall be ready to obey you, Sir!

Byr. How’s that! (Overhearing.)

Davus. Struck dumb. (Aside.)

Byr. What said he? (Listening.)

Simo. You perform

Your duty, when you cheerfully comply

With my desires.

Davus. There! said I not the truth? (Apart to Pam.)

Byr. My master then, so far as I can find,

May whistle for a wife.

Simo. Now then go in

That when you’re wanted you be found.

Pam. I go.

Exit.

Byr. Is there no faith in the affairs of men?

’Tis an old saying and a true one too;

“Of all mankind each loves himself the best.”

I’ve seen the lady; know her beautiful;

And therefore sooner pardon Pamphilus,

If he had rather win her to his arms,

Than yield her to th’ embraces of my master.

I will go bear these tidings, and receive

Much evil treatment for my evil news.

Exit.

Davus. Now he supposes I’ve some trick in hand,

And loiter here to practice it on him!

Simo. Well, what now, Davus?

Davus. Nothing.

Simo. Nothing, say you?

Davus. Nothing at all.

Simo. And yet I look’d for something.

Davus. So, I perceive, you did:—This nettles him. (Aside.)

Simo. Can you speak truth?

Davus. Most easily.

Simo. Say then,

Is not this wedding irksome to my son,

From his adventure with the Andrian?

Davus. No faith; or if at all, ’twill only be

Two or three days’ anxiety, you know;

Then ’twill be over: for he sees the thing

In its true light.

Simo. I praise him for’t.

Simo. Yet, in my eyes, he seem’d a little sad.

Davus. Not upon that account. He has he thinks

Another reason to complain of you.

Simo. For what?

Davus. A trifle.

Simo. Well, what is’t?

Davus. Nay, nothing.

Simo. Tell me, what is’t?

Davus. You are then, he complains,

Somewhat too sparing of expense.

Simo. I?

Davus. You.

A feast of scarce ten Drachms? Does this, says he,

Look like a wedding-supper for his son?

What friends can I invite? especially

At such a time as this?—and, truly, Sir,

You have been very frugal; much too sparing.

I can’t commend you for it.

Simo. Hold your peace.

Davus. I’ve ruffled him. (Aside.)

Simo. I’ll look to that. Away!

Exit Davus.

What now? What means the varlet? Precious rogue,

For if there’s any knavery on foot,

He, I am sure, is the contriver on’t.

Exit.

Mysis. Aye, marry, ’tis as you say, Lesbia:

Women scarce ever find a constant man.

Simo. The Andrian’s maid-servant! Is’t not?

Davus. Aye.

Mysis. But Pamphilus——

Simo. What says she? (Overhearing.)

Mysis. Has been true.

Simo. How’s that? (Overhearing.)

Davus. Would he were deaf, or she were dumb! (Aside.)

Mysis. For the child, boy, or girl, he has resolv’d

To educate.

Simo. O Jupiter! what’s this

I hear? If this be true, I’m lost indeed.

Lesbia. A good young Gentleman!

Mysis. Oh, very good.

But in, in, lest you make her wait.

Lesbia. I follow.

Exeunt Mysis and Lesbia.

Davus. Unfortunate! What remedy! (Aside.)

Simo. How’s this? (To himself.)

And can he be so mad? What! educate

A harlot’s child!—Ah, now I know their drift:

Fool that I was, scarce smelt it out at last.

Davus (listening). What’s this he says he has smelt out?

Simo. Imprimis, (To himself.)

’Tis this rogue’s trick upon me. All a sham:

A counterfeit deliv’ry, and mock labor,

Devis’d to frighten Chremes from the match.

Gly. (within). Juno Lucina, save me! Help, I pray thee.

Simo. Heyday! Already! Oh ridiculous!

Soon as she heard that I was at the door

She hastens to cry out: your incidents

Are ill-tim’d, Davus.

Davus. Mine, Sir?

Simo. Are your players

Unmindful of their cues, and want a prompter?

Davus. I do not comprehend you.

Simo (apart.) If this knave

Had, in the real nuptial of my son,

Come thus upon me unprepar’d, what sport,

What scorn he’d have exposed me to? But now

At his own peril be it. I’m secure.

Lesbia to Archyllis (within). As yet, Archyllis, all the symptoms seem

As good as might be wish’d in her condition:

First, let her make ablution: after that,

Drink what I’ve order’d her, and just so much:

And presently I will be here again. (Coming forward.)

Now, by this good day, Master Pamphilus

Has got a chopping boy: Heav’n grant it live!

For he’s a worthy Gentleman, and scorn’d

To do a wrong to this young innocent.

Exit.

Simo. This too where’s he that knows you would not swear

Was your contrivance?

Davus. My contrivance! what, Sir?

Simo. While in the house, forsooth, the midwife gave

No orders for the Lady in the straw:

But having issued forth into the street,

Bawls out most lustily to those within.

—Oh Davus, am I then so much your scorn?

Seem I so proper to be play’d upon,

With such a shallow, barefac’d, imposition?

You might at least, in reverence, have us’d

Some spice of art, wer’t only to pretend

You fear’d my anger, should I find you out.

Davus. I’ faith now he deceives himself, not I. (Aside.)

Simo. Did not I give you warning? threaten too,

In case you play’d me false? But all in vain:

For what car’d you?—What! think you I believe

This story of a child by Pamphilus?

Davus. I see his error: Now I know my game. (Aside.)

Simo. Why don’t you answer?

Davus. You must have been inform’d:

Or whence this shrewd suspicion?

Simo. Whence! from you:

Because I know you.

Davus. Meaning, this was done

By my advice?

Simo. Beyond all doubt; I know it:

Davus. You do not know me, Simo.——

Simo. I not know you?

Davus. For if I do but speak, immediately

You think yourself impos’d on.——

Simo. Falsely, hey?

Davus. So that I dare not ope my lips before you.

Simo. All that I know is this; that nobody

Has been deliver’d here.

Davus. You’ve found it out?

Yet by-and-by they’ll bring the bantling here,

And lay it at our door. Remember, Sir,

I give you warning that will be the case;

That you may stand prepar’d, nor after say,

’Twas done by Davus’s advice, his tricks!

I would fain cure your ill opinion of me.

Simo. How’s this?

Having discover’d such a plot on foot,

Why did you not directly tell my son?

Davus. Who then has drawn him from her but myself?

For we all know how much he doted on her:

But now he wishes for a wife. In fine,

Leave that affair to me; and you meanwhile

Pursue, as you’ve begun, the nuptials; which

The Gods, I hope, will prosper!

Simo. Get you in.

Wait for me there, and see that you prepare

What’s requisite.

Exit Davus.

He has not wrought upon me

To yield implicit credit to his tale,

Nor do I know if all he said be true.

But, true or false, it matters not: to me

My Son’s own promise is the main concern.

Now to meet Chremes, and to beg his daughter

In marriage with my son. If I succeed,

What can I rather wish, than to behold

Their marriage-rites to-day? For since my son

Has given me his word, I’ve not a doubt,

Should he refuse, but I may force him to it:

And to my wishes see where Chremes comes.

Simo. Chremes, good-day!

Chremes. The very man I look’d for.

Simo. And I for you.

Chremes. Well met.—Some persons came

To tell me you inform’d them, that my daughter

Was to be married to your son to-day:

And therefore came I here, and fain would know

Whether ’tis you or they have lost their wits.

Simo. A moment’s hearing; you shall be inform’d,

What I request, and what you wish to know.

Chremes. I hear: what would you? speak.

Simo. Now by the Gods;

Now by our friendship, Chremes, which begun

In infancy, has still increas’d with age;

Now by your only daughter, and my son,

Whose preservation wholly rests on you;

Let me entreat this boon: and let the match

Which should have been, still be.

Chremes. Why, why entreat?

Knowing you ought not to beseech this of me.

Think you that I am other than I was,

When first I gave my promise? If the match

Be good for both, e’en call them forth to wed.

But if their union promises more harm

Than good to both, you also, I beseech you,

Consult our common interest, as if

You were her father, Pamphilus my son.

Simo. E’en in that spirit, I desire it, Chremes,

Entreat it may be done; nor would entreat,

But that occasion urges.

Chremes. What occasion?

Simo. A diff’rence ’twixt Glycerium and my son.

Chremes. I hear. (Ironically.)

Simo. A breach so wide as gives me hopes

To sep’rate them forever.

Chremes. Idle tales!

Simo. Indeed ’tis thus.

Chremes. Aye marry, thus it is.

Quarrels of lovers but renew their love.

Simo. Prevent we then, I pray, this mischief now;

While time permits, while yet his passion’s sore

From contumelies; ere these women’s wiles,

Their wicked arts, and tears made up of fraud

Shake his weak mind, and melt it to compassion.

Give him a wife: by intercourse with her,

Knit by the bonds of wedlock, soon I hope,

He’ll rise above the guilt that sinks him now.

Chremes. So you believe: for me, I can not think

That he’ll be constant, or that I can bear it.

Simo. How can you know, unless you make the trial?

Chremes. Aye, but to make that trial on a daughter

Is hard indeed.

Simo. The mischief, should he fail,

Is only this: divorce, which Heav’n forbid!

But mark what benefits if he amend!

First, to your friend you will restore a son;

Gain to yourself a son-in-law, and match

Your daughter to an honest husband.

Chremes. Well!

Since you’re so thoroughly convinc’d ’tis right,

I can deny you naught that lies in me.

Simo. I see I ever lov’d you justly, Chremes.

Chremes. But then——

Simo. Davus,

Davus, in all their secrets, told me so;

Advis’d me too, to hasten on the match

As fast as possible. Would he, d’ye think,

Do that, unless he were full well assur’d

My son desir’d it too?—Hear, what he says.

Ho there! call Davus forth.—But here he comes.

Davus. I was about to seek you.

Simo. What’s the matter?

Davus. Why is not the bride sent for? it grows late.

Simo. D’ye hear him?—Davus, I for some time past

Was fearful of you; lest, like other slaves,

As slaves go now, you should put tricks upon me,

And baffle me, to favor my son’s love.

Davus. I, Sir?

Simo. I thought so: and in fear of that

Conceal’d a secret which I’ll now disclose.

Davus. What secret, Sir?

Simo. I’ll tell you: for I now

Almost begin to think you may be trusted.

Davus. You’ve found what sort of man I am at last.

Simo. No marriage was intended.

Davus. How! none!

Simo. None.

All counterfeit, to sound my son and you.

Davus. How say you?

Simo. Even so.

Davus. Alack, alack!

I never could have thought it. Ah, what art! (Archly.)

Simo. Hear me. No sooner had I sent you in.

But opportunely I encountered Chremes.

Davus. How! are we ruin’d then? (Aside.)

Simo. I told him all.

That you had just told me,——

Davus. Confusion! how? (Aside.)

Simo. Begged him to grant his daughter, and at length

With much ado prevail’d.

Davus. Undone! (Aside.)

Simo. How’s that? (Overhearing.)

Davus. Well done! I said.

Simo. My good friend Chremes then

Is now no obstacle.

Chremes. I’ll home a while,

Order due preparations, and return.

Exit.

Simo. Prithee, now, Davus, seeing you alone

Have brought about this match——

Davus. Yes, I alone.

Simo. Endeavor farther to amend my son.

Davus. Most diligently.

Simo. It were easy now,

While his mind’s irritated.

Davus. Be at peace.

Simo. Do then: where is he?

Davus. Probably at home.

Simo. I’ll in, and tell him, what I’ve now told you.

Exit.

Lost and undone! To prison with me straight!

No prayer, no plea: for I have ruin’d all!

Deceiv’d the old man, hamper’d Pamphilus

With marriage; marriage, brought about to-day

By my sole means; beyond the hopes of one;

Against the other’s will.——Oh, cunning fool!

Had I been quiet, all had yet been well.

But see, he’s coming. Would my neck were broken! (Retires.)

Pam. Where is this villain that has ruined me?

Davus. I’m a lost man.

Pam. To my father

What shall I say?—And can I then refuse,

Who have but now consented? with what face?

I know not what to do.

Davus. I’faith, nor I;

And yet it takes up all my thoughts. I’ll tell him

I’ve hit on something to delay the match.

Pam. Oh! (Seeing Davus.)

Davus. I am seen.

Pam. So, good Sir! What say you?

See, how I’m hamper’d with your fine advice.

Davus (coming forward). But I’ll deliver you.

Pam. Deliver me?

Davus. Certainly, Sir.

Pam. What, as you did just now?

Davus. Better, I hope.

Pam. And can you then believe

That I would trust you, rascal? You amend

My broken fortunes, or redeem them lost?

You, who to-day, from the most happy state,

Have thrown me upon marriage.—Did not I

Foretell it would be thus?

Davus. You did indeed.

Pam. And what do you deserve for this?

Davus. The gallows.

—Yet suffer me to take a little breath,

I’ll devise something presently.

Pam. Alas,

I have not leisure for your punishment.

The time demands attention to myself,

Nor will be wasted in revenge on you.

Is this to be believ’d, or to be told?

Can then such inbred malice live in man,

To joy in ill, and from another’s woes

To draw his own delight?—Ah, is’t then so?

—Yes, such there are, the meanest of mankind,

Who, from a sneaking bashfulness, at first

Dare not refuse; but when the time comes on

To make their promise good, then force perforce

Open themselves and fear: yet must deny.

Then too, oh shameless impudence, they cry,

“Who then are you? and what are you to me?

Why should I render up my love to you?

Faith, neighbor, charity begins at home.”

—Speak of their broken faith, they blush not, they,

Now throwing off that shame they ought to wear,

Which they before assum’d without a cause.

—What shall I do? go to him? on my wrongs

Expostulate, and throw reproaches on him?

What will that profit, say you?——very much.

I shall at least imbitter his delight,

And gratify my anger.

Pam. Oh, Charinus,

By my imprudence, unless Heav’n forefend,

I’ve ruin’d both myself and you.

Char. Imprudence!

Paltry evasion! you have broke your faith.

Pam. What now?

Char. And do you think that words like these

Can baffle me again?

Pam. What means all this?

Char. Soon as I told you of my passion for her,

Then she had charms for you.——Ah, senseless fool,

To judge your disposition by my own!

Pam. You are mistaken.

Char. Was your joy no joy,

Without abusing a fond lover’s mind,

Fool’d on with idle hopes?—Well, take her.

Pam. Take her?

Alas, you know not what a wretch I am:

How many cares this slave has brought upon me,

My rascal here.

Char. No wonder if he takes

Example from his master.

Pam. Ah, you know not

Me, or my love, or else you would not talk thus.

Char. Oh yes, I know it all. You had but now

A dreadful altercation with your father:

And therefore he’s enrag’d, nor could prevail

On you, forsooth, to wed. (Ironically.)

Pam. To show you then,

How little you conceive of my distress,

These nuptials were mere semblance, mock’ry all,

Nor was a wife intended me.

Char. I know it:

You are constrain’d, poor man, by inclination.

Pam. Nay, but have patience! you don’t know——

Char. I know

That you’re to marry her.

Pam. Why rack me thus?

Nay hear! he never ceas’d to importune

That I would tell my father, I would wed;

So press’d, and urg’d, that he at length prevail’d.

Char. Who did this?

Pam. Davus.

Char. Davus!

Pam. Davus all.

Char. Wherefore?

Pam. I know not: but I know the Gods

Meant in their anger I should listen to him.

Char. Is it so, Davus?

Davus. Even so.

Char. How, villain?

The Gods confound you for it!—Tell me, wretch

Had all his most inveterate foes desir’d

To throw him on this marriage, what advice

Could they have given else?

Davus. I am deceiv’d,

But not dishearten’d.

Char. True. (Ironically.)

Davus. This way has fail’d;

We’ll try another way: unless you think

Because the business has gone ill at first,

We can not graft advantage on misfortune.

Pam. Oh aye, I warrant you, if you look to ’t,

Out of one wedding you can work me two.

Davus. Pamphilus, ’tis my duty, as your slave,

To strive with might and main, by day and night

With hazard of my life, to do you service:

’Tis yours, if I am cross’d, to pardon me.

My undertakings fail indeed, but then

I spare no pains. Do better, if you can,

And send me packing.

Pam. Aye, with all my heart:

Place me but where you found me first.

Davus. I will.

Pam. But do it instantly.

Davus. Hist! hold a while:

I hear the creaking of Glycerium’s door.

Pam. Nothing to you.

Davus. I’m thinking.

Pam. What, at last?

Davus. Your business shall be done, and presently.

Mysis to Glycerium (within). Be where he will, I’ll find your Pamphilus,

And bring him with me. Meanwhile, you, my soul,

Forbear to vex yourself.

Pam. Mysis!

Mysis. Who’s there?

Oh Pamphilus, well met, Sir!

Pam. What’s the matter?

Mysis. My mistress, by the love you bear her, begs

Your presence instantly. She longs to see you.

Pam. Ah, I’m undone: This sore breaks out afresh.

Unhappy that we are, through your curs’d means,

To be tormented thus. (To Davus.)—She has been told

A nuptial is prepar’d and therefore sends.

Char. From which how safe you were, had he been quiet! (Pointing to Davus.)

Davus. Aye, if he raves not of himself enough,

Do, irritate him. (To Charinus.)

Mysis. Truly that’s the cause;

And therefore ’tis, poor soul, she sorrows thus.

Pam. Mysis, I swear to thee by all the Gods,

I never will desert her: though assur’d

That I for her make all mankind my foes.

I sought her, carried her: our hearts are one,

And farewell they that wish us put asunder!

Death, naught but death shall part us.

Mysis. I revive.

Pam. Apollo’s oracles are not more true.

If that my father may be wrought upon,

To think I hinder’d not the match, ’tis well:

But if that can not be, come what come may,

Why let him know, ’twas I—What think you now? (To Charinus.)

Char. That we are wretches both.

Davus. My brain ’s at work.

Char. O brave!

Pam. I know what you’d attempt.

Davus. Well, well!

I will effect it for you.

Pam. Aye, but now.

Davus. E’en now.

Char. What is’t?

Davus. For him, Sir, not for you.

Be not mistaken.

Char. I am satisfied.

Pam. Say, what do you propose?

Davus. This day, I fear,

Is scarce sufficient for the execution,

So think not I have leisure to relate.

Hence then! you hinder me: hence, hence I say.

Pam. I’ll to Glycerium.

Exit.

Davus. Well, and what mean you?

Whither will you, Sir?

Char. Shall I speak the truth?

Davus. Oh to be sure: now for a tedious tale!

Char. What will become of me?

Davus. How! not content!

Is it not then sufficient, if I give you

The respite of a day, a little day,

By putting off his wedding?

Char. Aye, but Davus,——

Davus. But what?

Char. That I may wed——

Davus. Ridiculous!

Char. If you succeed, come to me.

Davus. Wherefore come?

I can’t assist you.

Char. Should it so fall out——

Davus. Well, well, I’ll come.

Char. If aught, I am at home.

Exit.

Davus. Mysis, wait here till I come forth.

Mysis. For what?

Davus. It must be so.

Mysis. Make haste then.

Davus. In a moment.

Exit to Glycerium’s.

Can we securely then count nothing ours?

Oh all ye Gods! I thought this Pamphilus

The greatest good my mistress could obtain,

Friend, lover, husband, ev’ry way a blessing:

And yet what woe, poor wretch, endures she not

On his account? Alas, more ill than good.

But here comes Davus.

Mysis. Prithee, man, what now?

Where are you carrying the child?

Davus. Oh, Mysis,

Now have I need of all your ready wit,

And all your cunning.

Mysis. What are you about?

Davus. Quick, take the boy, and lay him at our door.

Mysis. What, on the bare ground?

Davus. From the altar then

Take herbs and strew them underneath.

Davus. Nay, but be quick, that you may comprehend

What I propose.— (Mysis lays the child at Simo’s door.)

Oh Jupiter! (Looking out.)

Mysis. What now?

Davus. Here comes the father of the bride!—I change

My first-intended purpose.

Mysis. What you mean

I can’t imagine.

Davus. This way from the right,

I’ll counterfeit to come:—And be’t your care

To throw in aptly now and then a word,

To help out the discourse as need requires.

Mysis. Still what you’re at, I can not comprehend.

But if I can assist, as you know best,

Not to obstruct your purposes, I’ll stay. (Davus retires.)

Chremes. Having provided all things necessary.

I now return to bid them call the bride.

What’s here? (seeing the child) by Hercules, a child! Ha, woman,

Was’t you that laid it here?

Mysis. Where is he gone? (Looking after Davus.)

Chremes. What, won’t you answer me?

Mysis. (Looking about.) Not here: Ah me!

The fellow’s gone, and left me in the lurch.

Davus coming forward and pretending not to see them.

Davus. Good Heavens, what confusion at the Forum!

The people all disputing with each other!

The market-price is so confounded high. (Loud.)

What to say else I know not. (Aside.)

Mysis (to Davus). What d’ye mean,

Chremes retires and listens to their conversation.

By leaving me alone?

Davus. What farce is this?

Ha, Mysis, whence this child? Who brought it here?

Mysis. Have you your wits, to ask me such a question?

Davus. Whom should I ask, when no one else is here?

Chremes (behind). I wonder whence it comes. (To himself.)

Davus. Wilt answer me! (Loud.)

Mysis. Ah! (Confused.)

Davus. This way to the right! (Apart to Mysis.)

Mysis. You’re raving mad.

Was ’t not yourself!

Davus. I charge you not a word,

But what I ask you. (Apart to Mysis.)

Mysis. Do you threaten me?

Davus. Whence comes this child? (Loud.)

Mysis. From our house.

Davus. Ha! ha! ha!

No wonder that a harlot has assurance.

Chremes. This is the Andrian’s servant-maid, I take it.

Davus. Do we then seem to you such proper folks

To play these tricks upon? (Loud to Mysis.)

Chremes. I came in time. (To himself.)

Davus. Make haste, and take your bantling from our door. (Loud.)

Hold! do not stir from where you are, be sure. (Softly.)

Mysis. A plague upon you: you so terrify me!

Davus. Wench, did I speak to you or no? (Loud.)

Mysis. What would you?

Davus. What would I? Say, whose child have you laid here?

Tell me. (Loud.)

Mysis. You don’t know?

Davus. Plague of what I know:

Tell what I ask. (Softly.)

Mysis. Yours.

Davus. Ours? Whose? (Loud.)

Mysis. Pamphilus’s.

Mysis. Why all this noise?

Davus. Did not I see this child convey’d by stealth

Into your house last night?

Mysis. Oh rogue!

Davus. ’Tis true.

I saw old Canthara stuff’d out?

Mysis. Thank Heav’n,

Some free-women were present at her labor?

Davus. Troth, she don’t know the gentleman, for whom

She plays this game. She thinks, should Chremes see

The child laid here, he would not grant his daughter.

Faith, he would grant her the more willingly.

Chremes. Not he indeed. (To himself.)

Davus. But now, one word for all,

Take up the child; or I shall trundle him

Into the middle of the street, and roll

You, madam, in the mire.

Mysis. The fellow’s drunk.

Davus. One piece of knavery begets another:

Now, I am told, ’tis whisper’d all about,

That she’s a citizen of Athens— (Loud.)

Chremes. How!

Davus. And that by law he will be forc’d to wed her.

Mysis. Why prithee is she not a citizen?

Chremes. What a fine scrape was I within a hair

Of being drawn into! (To himself.)

Davus. What voice is that? (Turning about.)

Oh Chremes! you are come in time. Attend!

Chremes. I have heard all already.

Davus. You’ve heard all?

Chremes. Yes all, I say, from first to last.

Davus. Indeed?

Good lack, what knaveries! this lying jade

Should be dragg’d hence to torture.—This is he! (To Mysis.)

Think not ’twas Davus you impos’d upon.

Mysis. Ah me!—Good Sir, I spoke the truth indeed.

Chremes. I know the whole.—Is Simo in the house?

Davus. Yes, Sir.

Exit Chremes.

Mysis. Don’t offer to touch me, you villain!

If I don’t tell my mistress every word——

Davus. Why you don’t know, you fool, what good we’ve done.

Mysis. How should I?

Davus. This is father to the bride:

Nor could it otherwise have been contriv’d

That he should know what we would have him.

Mysis. Well,

You should have given me notice.

Davus. Is there then

No diff’rence, think you, whether all you say

Falls natural from the heart, or comes

From dull premeditation?

Crito. In this street

They say that Chrysis liv’d: who rather chose

To heap up riches here by wanton ways,

Than to live poor and honestly at home:

She dead, her fortune comes by law to me.

But I see persons to inquire of. (Goes up.) Save you!

Mysis. Good now, who’s that I see? is it not Crito,

Chrysis’s kinsman? Aye, the very same.

Crito. O Mysis, save you!

Mysis. Save you, Crito!

Crito. Chrysis

Is then—ha?

Mysis. Aye, she has left us, poor souls!

Crito. And ye; how go ye on here?—pretty well?

Mysis. We?—as we can, as the old saying goes,

When as we would we can not.

Crito. And Glycerium,

Has she found out her parents?

Mysis. Would she had!

Crito. Not yet! an ill wind blew me hither then.

For truly, had I been appris’d of that,

I’d ne’er have set foot here: for this Glycerium

Was always call’d and thought to be her sister.

What Chrysis left, she takes possession of:

And now for me, a stranger, to commence

A lawsuit here, how good and wise it were,

Other examples teach me. She, I warrant,

Has got her some gallant too, some defender:

For she was growing up a jolly girl

When first she journeyed hither. They will cry

That I’m a pettifogger, fortune-hunter,

A beggar.—And besides it were not well

To leave her in distress.

Mysis. Good soul! troth Crito,

You have the good old-fashion’d honesty.

Crito. Well, since I am arriv’d here, bring me to her,

That I may see her.

Mysis. Aye, with all my heart.

Davus. I will in with them: for I would not choose

That our old gentleman should see me now.

Exeunt.

Chremes. Enough already, Simo, and enough

I’ve shown my friendship for you; hazarded

Enough of peril: urge me then no more!

Wishing to please you, I had near destroy’d

My daughter’s peace and happiness forever.

Simo. Ah, Chremes, I must now entreat the more,

More urge you to confirm the promis’d boon.

Chremes. Mark, how unjust you are through willfulness!

So you obtain what you demand, you set

No bounds to my compliance, nor consider

What you request; for if you did consider,

You’d cease to load me with these injuries.

Simo. What injuries?

Chremes. Is that a question now?

Have you not driven me to plight my child

To one possess’d with other love, averse

To marriage; to expose her to divorce,

And crazy nuptials; by her woe and bane

To work a cure for your distemper’d son?

You had prevail’d: I travel’d in the match,

While circumstances would admit; but now

The case is chang’d, content you:—It is said

That she’s a citizen; a child is born:

Prithee excuse us!

Simo. Now, for Heav’n’s sake.

Believe not them, whose interest it is

To make him vile and abject as themselves.

These stories are all feign’d, concerted all,

To break the match: when the occasion’s past

That urges them to this, they will desist.

Chremes. Oh, you mistake: e’en now I saw the maid

Wrangling with Davus.

Simo. Artifice! mere trick.

Chremes. Aye, but in earnest; and when neither knew

That I was there.

Simo. It may be so: and Davus

Told me beforehand they’d attempt all this;

Though I, I know not how, forgot to tell you.

Davus (to himself). He may be easy now, I warrant him——

Chremes. See yonder’s Davus.

Simo. Ha! whence comes the rogue?

Davus. By my assistance, and this stranger’s safe. (To himself.)

Simo. What mischief’s this? (Listening.)

Davus. A more commodious man,

Arriving just in season, at a time

So critical, I never knew. (To himself.)

Simo. A knave!

Who’s that he praises? (Listening.)

Davus. All is now secure. (To himself.)

Simo. Why don’t I speak to him?

Davus. My master here! (Turning about.)

What shall I do? (To himself.)

Simo. Good Sir, your humble Servant! (Sneering.)

Davus. Oh, Simo! and our Chremes!—All is now

Prepar’d within.

Simo. You’ve taken special care. (Ironically.)

Davus. E’en call them when you please.

Simo. Oh, mighty fine!

That to be sure is all that’s wanting now.

—But tell me, Sir! what business had you there? (Pointing to Glycerium’s.)

Davus. I? (Confused.)

Simo. You?

Davus. I—? (Stammering.)

Simo. You, Sir.

Davus. I went in but now. (Disordered.)

Simo. As if I ask’d, how long it was ago.

Davus. With Pamphilus.

Simo. Is Pamphilus within?

—Oh torture.—Did not you assure me, Sirrah,

They were at variance?

Davus. So they are.

Simo. Why then

Is Pamphilus within?

Chremes. Oh, why d’ye think?

He’s gone to quarrel with her. (Sneering.)

Davus. Nay, but Chremes,

There’s more in this, and you shall hear strange news.

There’s an old countryman, I know not who,

Is just arriv’d here; confident and shrewd;

His look bespeaks him of some consequence.

A grave severity is in his face,

And credit in his words.

Simo. What story now?

Davus. Nay, nothing, Sir, but what I heard him say.

Simo. And what says he, then?

Davus. That he’s well assur’d

Glycerium’s an Athenian citizen.

Simo. Ho, Dromo! Dromo!

Davus. What now?

Simo. Dromo!

Davus. Hear me.

Simo. Speak but a word more—Dromo!

Davus. Pray, Sir, hear!

Dromo. Your pleasure, Sir?

Simo. Here, drag him headlong in,

And truss the rascal up immediately.

Dromo. Whom?

Simo. Davus.

Davus. Why!

Simo. Because I’ll have it so.

Take him, I say.

Davus. For what offense?

Simo. Off with him!

Davus. If it appear that I’ve said aught but truth,

Put me to death.

Simo. I will not hear. I’ll trounce you.

Davus. But though it should prove true, Sir!

Simo. True or false.

See that you keep him bound: and do you hear?

Bind the slave hand and foot. Away!

Exeunt Dromo and Davus.

—By Heav’n,

As I do live, I’ll make you know this day

What peril lies in trifling with a master,

And make him know what ’tis to plague a father.

Chremes. Ah, be not in such rage.

Simo. Oh Chremes, Chremes,

Filial unkindness!—Don’t you pity me!

To feel all this for such a thankless son!——

Here, Pamphilus, come forth! ho, Pamphilus!

Have you no shame? (Calling at Glycerium’s door.)

Pam. Who calls?—Undone! my father!

Simo. What say you? Most——

Chremes. Ah, rather speak at once

Your purpose, Simo, and forbear reproach.

Simo. As if ’twere possible to utter aught

Severer than he merits!—Tell me then; (To Pam.)

Glycerium is a citizen?

Pam. They say so.

Simo. They say so!—Oh amazing impudence!——

Does he consider what he says? does he

Repent the deed? or does his color take

The hue of shame?—To be so weak of soul,

Against the custom of our citizens,

Against the law, against his father’s will,

To wed himself to shame and this vile woman.

Pam. Wretch that I am!

Simo. Ah, Pamphilus! d’ye feel

Your wretchedness at last? Then, then, when first

You wrought upon your mind at any rate

To gratify your passion: from that hour

Well might you feel your state of wretchedness.

—But why give in to this? Why torture thus,

Why vex my spirit? Why afflict my age

For his distemp’rature? Why rue his sins?

—No; let him have her, joy in her, live with her.

Pam. My father!——

Simo. How, my father!—can I think

You want this father? You that for yourself

A home, a wife, and children have acquir’d

Against your father’s will? And witnesses

Suborn’d, to prove that she’s a citizen?

—You’ve gain’d your point.

Pam. My father, but one word!

Simo. What would you say?

Chremes. Nay, hear him, Simo.

Simo. Hear him?

What must I hear then, Chremes!

Chremes. Let him speak.

Simo. Well, let him speak: I hear him.

Pam. I confess,

I love Glycerium: if it be a fault,

That too I do confess. To you, my father,

I yield myself: dispose me as you please!

Command me! Say that I shall take a wife;

Leave her; I will endure it, as I may——

This only I beseech you, think not I

Suborn’d this old man hither.—Suffer me

To clear myself, and bring him here before you.

Simo. Bring him here!

Pam. Let me, father!

Chremes. ’Tis but just:

Permit him!

Pam. Grant me this!

Simo. Well, be it so.

Exit Pamphilus.

I could bear all this bravely, Chremes; more,

Much more, to know that he deceiv’d me not.

Chremes. For a great fault a little punishment

Suffices to a father.

Crito. Say no more!

Any of these inducements would prevail:

Or your entreaty, or that it is truth,

Or that I wish it for Glycerium’s sake.

Chremes. Whom do I see? Crito, the Andrian?

Nay certainly ’tis Crito.

Crito. Save you, Chremes!

Chremes. What has brought you to Athens?

Crito. Accident.

But is this Simo?

Chremes. Aye.

Simo. Asks he for me?

So, Sir, you say that this Glycerium

Is an Athenian citizen?

Crito. Do you

Deny it?

Simo. What then are you come prepar’d?

Crito. Prepar’d! for what?

Simo. And dare you ask for what?

Shall you go on thus with impunity?

Lay snares for inexperienc’d, lib’ral youth,

With fraud, temptation, and fair promises

Soothing their minds?——

Crito. Have you your wits?

Simo. —And then

With marriage solder up their harlot loves?

Pam. Alas, I fear the stranger will not bear this. (Aside.)

Chremes. Knew you this person, Simo, you’d not think thus:

He’s a good man.

Simo. A good man he?—To come,

Although at Athens never seen till now,

So opportunely on the wedding-day!——

Is such a fellow to be trusted, Chremes?

Pam. But that I fear my father, I could make

That matter clear to him. (Aside.)

Simo. A Sharper!

Crito. How?

Chremes. It is his humor, Crito: do not heed him.

Crito. Let him look to ’t. If he persists in saying

Whate’er he pleases, I shall make him hear

Something that may displease him.—Do I stir

In these affairs, or make them my concern?

Bear your misfortunes patiently! For me,

If I speak true or false, shall now be known.

—“A man of Athens once upon a time

Was shipwreck’d on the coast of Andros: with him

This very woman, then an infant. He

In this distress applied, it so fell out,

For help to Chrysis’ father—”

Simo. All romance.

Chremes. Let him alone.

Crito. And will he interrupt me?

Chremes. Go on.

Crito. “Now Chrysis’ father, who receiv’d him,

Was my relation. There I’ve often heard

The man himself declare, he was of Athens.

There too he died.”

Chremes. Oh Jupiter!

Crito. These circumstances, Chremes,

Were known to many others, then in Andros.

Chremes. Heav’n grant it may be as I wish!—Inform me,

Whose daughter, said he, was the child? his own?

Crito. No, not his own.

Chremes. Whose then?

Crito. His brother’s daughter.

Chremes. Mine, mine undoubtedly!

Crito. What say you?

Simo. How!

Pam. Hark, Pamphilus!

Simo. But why believe you this?

Chremes. That Phania was my brother.

Simo. True. I knew him.

Chremes. He, to avoid the war, departed hence:

And fearing ’twere unsafe to leave the child,

Embark’d with her in quest of me for Asia:

Since when I’ve heard no news of him till now.

Pam. I’m scarce myself, my mind is so enrapt

With fear, hope, joy, and wonder of so great,

So sudden happiness.

Simo. Indeed, my Chremes,

I heartily rejoice she’s found your daughter.

Pam. I do believe you, father.

Chremes. But one doubt

There still remains, which gives me pain.

Pam. Away

With all your doubts! you puzzle a plain cause. (Aside.)

Crito. What is that doubt?

Chremes. The name does not agree.

Crito. She had another, when a child.

Chremes. What, Crito?

Can you remember?

Crito. I am hunting for it.

Pam. Shall then his memory oppose my bliss,

When I can minister the cure myself?

No, I will not permit it—Hark you, Chremes,

The name is Pasibula.

Crito. True.

Chremes. The same.

Pam. I’ve heard it from herself a thousand times.

Simo. Chremes, I trust you will believe, we all

Rejoice at this.

Chremes. ’Fore Heaven I believe so.

Pam. And now, my father——

Simo. Peace, son! the event

Has reconcil’d me.

Pam. O thou best of fathers!

Does Chremes too confirm Glycerium mine?

Chremes. And with good cause if Simo hinder not.

Pam. Sir! (To Simo.)

Simo. Be it so.

Chremes. My daughter’s portion is

Ten talents, Pamphilus.

Pam. I am content.

Chremes. I’ll to her instantly: and prithee, Crito,

Along with me! for sure she knows me not.

Exeunt Chremes and Crito.

Simo. Why do you not give orders instantly

To bring her to our house?

Pam. Th’ advice is good.

I’ll give that charge to Davus.

Simo. It can’t be.

Pam. Why?

Simo. He has other business of his own,

Of nearer import to himself.

Pam. What business?

Simo. He’s bound.

Pam. Bound! how, Sir!

Simo. How, Sir?—neck and heels.

Pam. Ah, let him be enlarg’d.

Simo. It shall be done.

Pam. But instantly.

Simo. I’ll in, and order it.

Exit.

Pam. Oh what a happy, happy day is this!

Char. I come to see what Pamphilus is doing:

And there he is!

Pam. And is this true?—yes, yes,

I know ’tis true, because I wish it so.

Therefore I think the life of Gods eternal,

For that their joys are permanent: and now,

My soul hath her content so absolute,

That I too am immortal, if no ill

Step in betwixt me and this happiness.

Oh, for a bosom-friend now to pour out

My ecstasies before him!

Char. What’s this rapture? (Listening.)

Pam. Oh, yonder’s Davus: nobody more welcome:

For he, I know, will join in transport with me.

Davus (entering). Where’s Pamphilus?

Pam. Oh Davus!

Davus. Who’s there?

Pam. I.

Davus. Oh Pamphilus!

Pam. You know not my good fortune.

Davus. Do you know my ill fortune?

Pam. To a tittle.

Davus. ’Tis after the old fashion, that my ills

Should reach your ears, before your joys reach mine.

Pam. Glycerium has discover’d her relations.

Davus. O excellent!

Char. How’s that? (Listening.)

Pam. Her father is

Our most near friend.

Davus. Who?

Pam. Chremes.

Davus. Charming news!

Pam. And I’m to marry her immediately.

Char. Is this man talking in his sleep, and dreams

On what he wishes waking? (Listening.)

Pam. And moreover,

For the child, Davus——

Davus. Ah, Sir, say no more.

You’re th’ only favorite of the Gods.

Char. I’m made,

If this be true. I’ll speak to them. (Comes forward.)

Pam. Who’s there?

Charinus! oh, well met.

Char. I give you joy.

Pam. You’ve heard then——

Char. Ev’ry word: and prithee now,

In your good fortune, think upon your friend.

Chremes is now your own; and will perform

Whatever you shall ask.

Pam. I shall remember.

’Twere tedious to expect his coming forth:

Along with me then to Glycerium!

Davus, do you go home, and hasten them

To fetch her hence. Away, away!

Davus. I go.

Exeunt Pamphilus and Charinus.

Davus addressing the audience.

Wait not till they come forth: within

She’ll be betroth’d; within, if aught remains

Undone, ’twill be concluded—Clap your hands!

To please the candid, give offense to none,

This, says the Poet, ever was his care:

Yet if there’s one who thinks he’s hardly censur’d,

Let him remember he was the aggressor:

He, who translating many, but not well,

On good Greek fables fram’d poor Latin plays;

He, who but lately to the public gave

The Phantom of Menander; He, who made,

In the Thesaurus, the Defendant plead

And vouch the question’d treasure to be his,

Before the Plaintiff his own title shows,

Or whence it came into his father’s tomb.

Henceforward, let him not deceive himself,

Or cry, “I’m safe, he can say naught of me.”

I charge him that he err not, and forbear

To urge me farther; for I’ve more, much more,

Which now shall be o’erlook’d, but shall be known,

If he pursue his slanders, as before.

Soon as this play, the Eunuch of Menander,

Which we are now preparing to perform,

Was purchas’d by the Ædiles, he obtain’d

Leave to examine it: and afterward

When ’twas rehears’d before the Magistrates,

“A Thief,” he cried, “no Poet gives this piece.

Yet has he not deceived us: for we know,

The Colax is an ancient comedy

Of Nævius, and of Plautus; and from thence

The Parasite and Soldier both are stolen.”

If that’s the Poet’s crime, it is a crime

Of ignorance, and not a studied theft.

Judge for yourselves! the fact is even thus.

The Colax is a fable of Menander’s;

Wherein is drawn the character of Colax

The parasite, and the vain-glorious soldier;

Which characters, he scruples not to own,

He to his Eunuch from the Greek transferr’d:

But that he knew those pieces were before

Made Latin, that he steadfastly denies.

Yet if to other Poets ’tis not lawful

To draw the characters our fathers drew,

How can it then be lawful to exhibit

Slaves running to and fro; to represent

Good matrons, wanton harlots; or to show

An eating parasite, vain-glorious soldier,

Supposititious children, bubbled dotards,

Or love, or hate, or jealousy?—In short,

Nothing’s said now but has been said before.

Weigh then these things with candor, and forgive

The Moderns, if what Ancients did, they do.

Attend, and list in silence to our play,

That ye may know what ’tis the Eunuch means.

Phæd. And what then shall I do? not go? not now?

When she herself invites me? or were’t best

Fashion my mind no longer to endure

These harlots’ impudence?—Shut out! recall’d!

Shall I return? No, not if she implore me.

Par. Oh brave! oh excellent! if you maintain it!

But if you try, and can’t go through with spirit,

And finding you can’t bear it, uninvited,

Your peace unmade, all of your own accord,

You come and swear you love, and can’t endure it,

Good-night! all’s over! ruin’d and undone

She’ll jilt you, when she sees you in her pow’r.

Phæd. You then, in time consider and advise!

Par. Master! the thing which hath not in itself

Or measure or advice, advice can’t rule.

In love are all these ills: suspicions, quarrels,

Wrongs, reconcilements, war, and peace again:

Things thus uncertain, if by reason’s rules

You’d certain make, it were as wise a task

To try with reason to run mad. And now

What you in anger meditate—I her?

That him?—that me? that would not—pardon me!

I would die rather: No! she shall perceive

How much I am a man.—Big words like these,

She in good faith with one false tiny drop,

Which, after grievous rubbing, from her eyes

Can scarce perforce be squeez’d, shall overcome.

Nay, she shall swear, ’twas you in fault, not she;

You too shall own th’ offense, and pray for pardon.

Phæd. Oh monstrous! monstrous! now indeed I see

How false she is, and what a wretch I am!

Spite of myself I love; and knowing, feeling,

With open eyes run on to my destruction;

And what to do I know not.

Par. What to do?

What should you do, Sir, but redeem yourself

As cheaply as you can?—at easy rates

If possible—if not—at any rate——

And never vex yourself.

Phæd. Is that your counsel?

Par. Aye, if you’re wise; and do not add to love

More troubles than it has, and those it has

Bear bravely! But she comes, our ruin comes;

For she, like storms of hail on fields of corn,

Beats down our hopes, and carries all before her.

Thais. Ah me! I fear lest Phædria take offense

And think I meant it other than I did,

That he was not admitted yesterday. (To herself, not seeing them.)

Phæd. I tremble, Parmeno, and freeze with horror.

Par. Be of good cheer! approach yon fire—she’ll warm you.

Thais. Who’s there? my Phædria? Why did you stand here?

Why not directly enter?

Par. Not one word

Of having shut him out!

Thais. Why don’t you speak?

Phæd. Because, forsooth, these doors will always fly

Open to me, or that because I stand

The first in your good graces. (Ironically.)

Thais. Nay, no more!

Phæd. No more?—O Thais, Thais, would to Heaven

Our loves were parallel, that things like these

Might torture you, as this has tortur’d me:

Or that your actions were indifferent to me!

Thais. Grieve not, I beg, my love, my Phædria!

Not that I lov’d another more, I did this.

But I by circumstance was forc’d to do it.

Par. So then, it seems, for very love, poor soul,

You shut the door in ’s teeth.

Thais. Ah Parmeno!

Is’t thus you deal with me? Go to!—But hear

Why I did call you hither?

Phæd. Be it so.

Thais. But tell me first, can yon slave hold his peace?

Thais. My mother was a Samian, liv’d at Rhodes.

Par. This sleeps in silence. (Archly.)

Thais. There a certain merchant

Made her a present of a little girl,

Stol’n hence from Attica.

Phæd. A citizen?

Thais. I think so, but we can not tell for certain.

Her father’s and her mother’s name she told

Herself; her country and the other marks

Of her original, she neither knew,

Nor, from her age, was ’t possible she should.

The merchant added further, that the pirates,

Of whom he bought her, let him understand,

She had been stol’n from Sunium. My mother

Par. Because nor you with one could be content,

Nor he alone enrich’d you; for my master

Made good and large addition.

Thais. I allow it,

But let me hasten to the point I wish:

Meantime the captain, who was then but young

In his attachment to me, went to Caria.

I, in his absence, was address’d by you;

Since when, full well you know, how very dear

I’ve held you, and have trusted you with all

My nearest counsels.

Phæd. And yet Parmeno

Will not be silent even here.

Par. Oh, Sir,

Is that a doubt?

Thais. Nay, prithee now, attend!

My mother’s lately dead at Rhodes: her brother,

Too much intent on wealth, no sooner saw

This virgin, handsome, well-accomplish’d, skill’d

In music, than, spurr’d on by hopes of gain,

In public market he expos’d and sold her.

It so fell out, my soldier-spark was there,

And bought her, all unknowing these events,

To give to me: but soon as he return’d,

And found how much I was attach’d to you,

He feign’d excuses to keep back the girl;

Pretending, were he thoroughly convinc’d

That I would still prefer him to yourself,

Nor fear’d that when I had receiv’d the girl,

I would abandon him, he’d give her to me;

But that he doubted. For my part, I think

He is grown fond of her himself.

Phæd. Is there

Aught more between them?

Thais. No; for I’ve inquir’d,

And now, my Phædria, there are sundry causes

Wherefore I wish to win the virgin from him.

First, for she’s call’d my sister; and moreover,

That I to her relations may restore her.

I’m a lone woman, have nor friend, nor kin:

Wherefore, my Phædria, I would raise up friends

By some good turn:—And you, I prithee now,

Help me to do it. Let him some few days

Be my gallant in chief. What! no reply?

Phæd. Abandon’d woman! Can I aught reply

To deeds like these?

Par. Oh excellent! well said!

He feels at length; Now, master, you’re a man.

Phæd. I saw your story’s drift.—“A little girl

Stol’n hence—My mother brought her up—was call’d

My sister—I would fain obtain her from him,

That I to her relations might restore her——”

All this preamble comes at last to this.

I am excluded, he’s admitted. Why?

But that you love him more than me, and fear

Lest this young captive win your hero from you.

Thais. Do I fear that?

Phæd. Why, prithee now, what else?

Does he bring gifts alone? didst e’er perceive

My bounty shut against you? Did I not,

Because you told me you’d be glad to have

An Ethiopian servant-maid, all else

Omitted, seek one out? You said besides,

You wish’d to have an Eunuch, ’cause forsooth,

They were for dames of quality; I found one:

For both I yesterday paid twenty minæ,

Yet you contemn me—I forgot not these,

And for these I’m despis’d.

Thais. Why this, my Phædria?

Though I would fain obtain the girl, and though

I think by these means it might well be done;

Yet, rather than make you my enemy,

I’ll do as you command.

Phæd. Oh, had you said

Those words sincerely. “Rather than make you

My enemy!”—Oh, could I think those words

Came from your heart, what is ’t I’d not endure!

Par. Gone! conquer’d with one word! alas, how soon!

Thais. Not speak sincerely? from my very soul?

What did you ever ask, although in sport,

But you obtain’d it of me? yet I can’t

Prevail on you to grant but two short days.

Phæd. Well—for two days—so those two be not twenty.

Thais. No in good faith but two, or——

Phæd. Or? no more.

Thais. It shall not be: but you will grant me those.

Phæd. Your will must be a law.

Thais. Thanks, my sweet Phædria!

Phæd. I’ll to the country: there consume myself

For these two days: it must be so: we must

Give way to Thais. See you, Parmeno,

The slaves brought hither.

Par. Sir, I will.

Phæd. My Thais,

For these two days farewell!

Thais. Farewell, my Phædria!

Would you aught else with me?

Phæd. Aught else, my Thais?

Be with yon soldier present, as if absent:

All night and day love me: still long for me:

Dream, ponder still of me; wish, hope for me:

Delight in me; be all in all with me;

Give your whole heart, for mine’s all yours, to me.

Exeunt.

Ah me! I fear that he believes me not,

And judges of my heart from those of others.

I in my conscience know, that nothing false

I have deliver’d, nor to my true heart

Is any dearer than this Phædria:

And whatsoe’er in this affair I’ve done,

For the girl’s sake I’ve done: for I’m in hopes

I know her brother, a right noble youth.

To-day I wait him, by his own appointment;

Wherefore I’ll in, and tarry for his coming.

Phædria. Carry the slaves according to my order.

Par. I will.

Phæd. But diligently.

Par. Sir, I will.

Phæd. But soon.

Par. I will, Sir!

Phæd. Say, is it sufficient?

Par. Ah! what a question’s that? as if it were

So difficult! I wish, Sir Phædria,

You could gain aught so easy, as lose these.

Phæd. I lose, what’s dearer yet, my comfort with them.

Repine not at my gifts.

Par. Not I: moreover

I will convey them straight. But have you any

Other commands?

Phæd. Oh yes: set off our presents

With words as handsome as you can: and drive,

As much as possible, that rival from her!

Par. Ah, Sir, I should, of course, remember that.

Phæd. I’ll to the country, and stay there.

Par. O, aye! (Ironically.)

Phæd. But hark you!

Par. Sir, your pleasure?

Phæd. Do you think

I can with constancy hold out, and not

Return before my time?

Par. Weary you may be; but you’ll never sleep.

Phæd. Ah, Parmeno, you wrong me. I’ll cast out

This treacherous softness from my soul, nor thus

Indulge my passions. Yes, I could remain,

If need, without her even three whole days.

Par. Hui! three whole livelong days! consider, Sir.

Phæd. I am resolved.

Parmeno alone.

Heav’ns, what a strange disease is this! that love

Should so change men, that one can hardly swear

They are the same!—No mortal liv’d

Less weak, more grave, more temperate than he.

—But who comes yonder?—Gnatho, as I live;

The Captain’s parasite! and brings along

The Virgin for a present: oh rare wench!

How beautiful! I shall come off, I doubt,

But scurvily with my decrepit Eunuch.

This Girl surpasses ev’n Thais herself.

—Ah, how am I reduc’d! my old acquaintance

And friends all shun me.”—Hearing this, how cheap

I held him in comparison with me!

“Why, how now? wretch, said I, most idle wretch!

Have you spent all, nor left ev’n hope behind?

What! have you lost your sense with your estate?

Me!—look on me—come from the same condition!

How sleek! how neat! how clad! in what good case!

I’ve ev’ry thing, though nothing; naught possess,

Yet naught I ever want.”—“Ah, Sir, but I

Have an unhappy temper, and can’t bear

To be the butt of others, or to take

A beating now and then.”—“How then! d’ye think

Those are the means of thriving? No, my friend!

Such formerly indeed might drive a trade:

But mine’s a new profession; I the first

That ever struck into this road. There are

A kind of men, who wish to be the head

Of ev’ry thing; but are not. These I follow;

Not for their sport and laughter, but for gain

To laugh with them, and wonder at their parts:

Whate’er they say, I praise it; if again

They contradict, I praise that too: does any

Deny? I too deny: affirm? I too

Affirm: and in a word, I’ve brought myself

To say, unsay, swear, and forswear, at pleasure:

And that is now the best of all professions.”

Par. A special fellow this! who drives fools mad.

Par. Mark, what ease,

And being kept at other’s cost, produces!

Gnat. But hold, I must convey this girl to Thais,

And bid her forth to sup.—Ha, Parmeno!

Our rival’s slave, standing at Thais’ door!

—How melancholy he appears! All’s safe:

These poor rogues find but a cold welcome here.

I’ll play upon this knave. (Aside.)

Par. These fellows think

This present will make Thais all their own. (Aside.)

Gnat. To Parmeno, his lov’d and honor’d friend,

Gnatho sends greeting. (Ironically.)—What are you upon?

Par. My legs.

Gnat. I see it.—Is there nothing here

Displeasing to you?

Par. You.

Gnat. I do believe it.

But prithee, is there nothing else?

Par. Wherefore?

Gnat. Because you’re melancholy.

Par. Not at all.

Gnat. Well, do not be so!—Pray, now, what d’ye think

Of this young handmaid?

Par. Troth, she’s not amiss.

Gnat. I plague the rascal. (Half aside.)

Par. How the knave’s deceiv’d! (Half aside.)

Gnat. Will not this gift be very acceptable

To Thais, think you?

Par. You’d insinuate

That we’re shut out.—There is, alas, a change

In all things.

Gnat. For these six months, Parmeno,

For six whole months at least, I’ll make you easy;

You sha’n’t run up and down, and watch till daylight;

Come, don’t I make you happy?

Par. Very happy.

Gnat. ’Tis my way with my friends.

Par. You’re very good.

Gnat. But I detain you: you, perhaps, was going

Somewhere else.

Par. Nowhere.

Gnat. May I beg you then

To use your int’rest here, and introduce me

To Thais?

Par. Hence! away! these doors

Fly open now, because you carry her.

Gnat. Would you have any one call’d forth?

Exit.

Par. Well, well!

Pass but two days; and you, so welcome now,

That the doors open with your little finger,

Shall kick against them then, I warrant you,

Till your heels ache again.

Re-enter Gnatho.

Gnat. Ha! Parmeno!

Are you here still? What! are you left a spy,

Lest any go-between should run by stealth

To Thais from the Captain?

Exit.

Par. Very smart!

No wonder such a wit delights the Captain!

But hold! I see my master’s younger son

Coming this way. I wonder much he should

Desert Piræus, where he’s now on guard.

’Tis not for nothing. All in haste he comes,

And seems to look about.

Enter Chærea; Parmeno behind.

Chær. Undone! undone!

The Girl is lost; I know not where she is,

Nor where I am: ah, whither shall I trace?

Where seek? of whom inquire? or which way turn?

I’m all uncertain; but have one hope still:

Where’er she is, she can not long lie hid.

Oh charming face! all others from my memory

Hence I blot out. Away with common beauties!

Par. So, here’s the other! and he mutters too

I know not what of love. Oh what a poor

Unfortunate old man their father is!

As for this stripling, if he once begin,

His brother’s is but jest and children’s play

To his mad fury.

Chær. Twice ten thousand curses

Seize the old wretch, who kept me back to-day;

And me for staying! with a fellow too

I did not care a farthing for!—But see!

Yonder stands Parmeno.—Good-day!

Par. How now?

Wherefore so sad? and why this hurry, Chærea?

Whence come you?

Chær. I? I can not tell, i’faith,

Whence I am come, or whither I am going,

I’ve so entirely lost myself.

Par. And why?

Chær. I am in love.

Par. Oh brave!

Chær. Now, Parmeno,

Now you may show what kind of man you are.

You know you’ve often told me; “Chærea,

Find something out to set your heart upon,

And mark how I will serve you!” yes, you know

You’ve often said so, when I scrap’d together

All the provisions for you at my father’s.

Par. Away, you trifler!

Chær. Nay, in faith, it’s true:

Now make your promise good! and in a cause

Worthy the utmost reachings of your soul:

A girl! my Parmeno, not like our misses;

Whose mothers try to keep their shoulders down,

And bind their bosoms, that their shapes may seem

Genteel and slim. Is a girl rather plump?

They call her nurse, and stint her in her food:

Thus art, in spits of nature, makes them all

Mere bulrushes: and therefore they’re belov’d.

Par. And what’s this girl of yours?

Chær. A miracle.

Par. Oh, to be sure!

Chær. True, natural red and white;

Her body firm, and full of precious stuff!

Par. Her age?

Chær. About sixteen.

Par. The very prime!

Chær. This girl, by force, by stealth, or by entreaty,

Procure me! how I care not, so I have her.

Par. Well, whom does she belong to?

Chær. I don’t know.

Par. Whence comes she?

Chær. I can’t tell.

Par. Where does she live?

Chær. I can’t tell neither.

Par. Where was it you saw her?

Chær. Here in the street.

Par. And how was it you lost her?

Chær. Why it was that, which I so fumed about,

As I came hither! nor was ever man

So jilted by good fortune as myself.

Par. What mischief now?

Chær. Confounded luck.

Par. How so?

Chær. How so! d’ye know one Archidemides,

My father’s kinsman, and about his age?

Par. Full well.

Chær. As I was in pursuit of her

He met me.

Chær. Soon as from far he saw me, instantly,

Bent, trembling, drop-jaw’d, gasping, out of breath,

He hobbled up to me.—“Holo! ho! Chærea!”——

I stopp’d.—“D’ye know what I want with you?”—“What?”

—“I have a cause to-morrow.”—“Well! what then?”——

—“Fail not to tell your father, he remember

To go up with me, as an advocate.”——

His prating took some time. “Aught else?” said I.

“Nothing,” said he:—Away flew I, and saw

The girl that instant turn into this street.

Par. ’Tis the very same;

Away! have done! all’s over.

Chær. What d’ye mean?

Par. The girl I mean.

Chær. D’ye know then who she is?

Tell me!—or have you seen her?

Par. Yes, I’ve seen her;

I know her; and can tell you where she is.

Chær. How! my dear Parmeno, d’ye know her?

Par. Yes.

Chær. And where she is, d’ye know?

Par. Yes,—there she is; (Pointing.)

Carried to Madam Thais for a present.

Chær. What monarch could bestow a gift so precious?

Par. The mighty Captain Thraso, Phædria’s rival.

Chær. Alas, poor brother!

Par. Aye, and if you knew

The gift he sends to be compar’d with this,

You’d cry alas, indeed!

Chær. What is his gift?

Par. An Eunuch.

Chær. What! that old and ugly slave

That he bought yesterday?

Par. The very same.

Par. Yes, faith. 

Chær. But nothing to compare to mine.

Par. Oh, quite another thing.

Chær. But Parmeno!

Contrive that I may have her.

Par. Well, I will.

Depend on my assistance:—have you any

Further commands? (As if going.)

Chær. Where are you going?

Par. Home;

To bring according to your brother’s order,

The slaves to Thais.

Chær. Oh, that happy Eunuch!

To be convey’d into that house!

Chær. How?

Tell me, dear Parmeno!

Par. Assume his dress.

Chær. His dress! what then?

Par. I’ll carry you for him.

Chær. I hear you.

Par. I will say that you are he.

Chær. I understand you.

Par. So shall you enjoy

Those blessings which but now you envied him:

Eat with her, be with her, touch, toy with her,

And sleep by her: since none of Thais’ maids

Know you, or dream of what you are. Besides,

Your figure, and your age are such, that you

May well pass for an Eunuch.

Chær. Oh, well said!

I ne’er heard better counsel. Come, let’s in?

Dress me, and carry me! Away, make haste!

Par. What are you at? I did but jest.

Chær. You trifle.

Par. I’m ruin’d: fool, what have I done? Nay, whither

D’ye push me thus? You’ll throw me down. Nay, stay!

Chær. Away.

Par. Nay, prithee!

Chær. I’m resolv’d.

Par. Consider;

You carry this too far.

Chær. No, not at all.

Give way!

Par. And Parmeno must pay for all.

Ah, we do wrong!

Chær. Is it then wrong for me

To be convey’d into a house of harlots,

And turn those very arts on them, with which

They hamper us, and turn our youth to scorn?

Can it be wrong for me too, in my turn,

To deceive them, by whom we’re all deceiv’d?

No, rather let it be! ’tis just to play

This trick upon them: which, if gray-beards know,

They’ll blame indeed, but all will think well done.

Par. Well, if you must, you must; but do not then,

After all’s over, throw the blame on me.

Chær. No, no!

Par. But do you order me?

Chær. I do:

Order, command, force.

Par. Oh, I’ll not dispute

Your pow’r. So, follow me.

Chær. Heav’n speed the plow.

Gnat. Men of wit, like you,

The glory, got by others’ care and toil,

Often transfer unto themselves.

Thra. You’ve hit it.

Gnat. The king then held you——

Thra. Certainly.

Gnat. Most dear.

Thra. Most near. He trusted his whole army to me,

His counsels.——

Gnat. Wonderful!

Thra. And then whene’er

Satiety of company, or hate

Of business seiz’d him—when he would repose——

As if——you understand me.

Gnat. Perfectly.

When he would—in a manner—clear his stomach

Of all uneasiness.

Gnat. Oh, finely said! and shrewdly! excellent!

Too hard upon him!—what said he to’t?

Thra. Nothing.

Gnat. And how the devil should he?

Par. Gracious Heav’n!

The stupid coxcomb!—and that rascal too! (Aside.)

Thra. Aye! but the story of the Rhodian, Gnatho!

How smart I was upon him at a feast——

Did I ne’er tell you?

Gnat. Never: but pray do!

—I’ve heard it o’er and o’er a thousand times. (Aside.)

Thra. We were by chance together at a feast——

This Rhodian, that I told you of and I.——

I, as it happen’d, had a wench: the spark

Began to toy with her, and laugh at me.

“Why how now, Impudence! (said I,) are you

A hare yourself, and yet would hunt for game?”

Gnat. Ha! ha! ha!

Thra. What’s the matter?

Gnat. Ha! ha! ha!

Witty! smart! excellent! incomparable!

Is it your own? I swear I thought ’twas old.

Thra. Why, did you ever hear it?

Gnat. Very often;

And reckon’d admirable.

Thra. ’Tis my own.

Gnat. And yet ’twas pity to be so severe

On a young fellow, and a gentleman.

Par. Ah! devil take you! (Aside.)

Gnat. What became of him?

Thra. It did for him. The company were all

Ready to die with laughing:—in a word,

They dreaded me.

Gnat. No wonder.

Thra. Harkye, Gnatho!

Thais, you know, suspects I love this girl.

Shall I acquit myself?

Gnat. On no account.

Rather increase her jealousy.

Thra. And why?

Gnat. Why?—do you ask?—as if you didn’t know!——

Whene’er she mentions Phædria, or whene’er

She praises him, to vex you——

Thra. I perceive.

Gnat. To hinder that, you’ve only this resource.

When she names Phædria, name you Pamphila.

If she should say, “come! let’s have Phædria

To dinner with us!”—“aye, and Pamphila

To sing to us!”—if she praise Phædria’s person,

Praise you the girl’s! so give her tit for tat,

And gall her in her turn.

Thra. Suppose she lov’d me,

This might avail me, Gnatho!

Gnat. While she loves

The presents which you give, expecting more,

So long she loves you; and so long you may

Have pow’r to vex her. She will always fear

To make you angry, lest some other reap

The harvest, which she now enjoys alone.

Thra. You’re right: and yet I never thought of it.

Gnat. Ridiculous! because you did not turn

Your thoughts that way; or with how much more ease

Would you have hit on this device yourself!

Thais. I thought I heard the Captain’s voice: and see!

Good-day, my Thraso!

Thra. Oh my Thais, welcome!

How does my sweeting?—are you fond of me

For sending you that music-girl?

Par. Oh brave!

He sets out nobly!

Thais. For your worth I love you.

Gnat. Come, let’s to supper? why do you delay?

Par. Mark t’other! he’s a chip of the old block.

Thais. I’m ready when you please.

Par. I’ll up to her,

And seem as if but now come forth.—Ha! Thais,

Where are you gadding?

Thais. Well met, Parmeno!

I was just going——

Par. Whither?

Thais. Don’t you see

The Captain?

Par. Yes, I see him—to my sorrow.

The presents from my master wait your pleasure.

Thra. Why do we stop thus? wherefore go not hence? (Angrily.)

Par. Beseech you, Captain, let us, with your leave,

Produce our presents, treat, and parley with her!

Par. Ho! where are you, Dorus?—Oh, come hither!

Enter Chærea in the Eunuch’s habit.

An Eunuch, Madam! of a lib’ral air,

And in his prime!

Thais. Now as I live, he’s handsome!

Par. What say you, Gnatho? Is he despicable?

Or, Captain, what say you?—Dumb?—Praise sufficient;

Try him in letters, exercises, music:

In all the arts, a gentleman should know,

I’ll warrant him accomplish’d.

Thra. Troth, that Eunuch

Is well enough.

Par. And he, who sends these presents,

Requires you not to live for him alone,

And for his sake to shut out all mankind:

Nor does he tell his battles, show his wounds,

Or shackle your free will, as some folks do.

Looking at Thraso.

But when ’twill not be troublesome, or when

You’ve leisure, in due season, he’s content

If then he is admitted.

Thra. This poor fellow

Seems to belong to a poor wretched master.

Gnat. Beyond all doubt; for who that could obtain

Another, would endure a slave like this?

Par. Peace, wretch, that art below the meanest slave!

You that could bring your mind so very low,

As to cry aye and no at yon fool’s bidding,

I’m sure, might get your bread out o’the fire.

Par. It ill beseems

The dignity of a renown’d commander,

T’ escort his mistress in the street.

Thra. Away,

Slave! you’re beneath my notice—like your master.

Exit Parmeno.

Thra. Go run,

And see that ev’ry thing’s prepar’d at home!

Gnat. It shall be done.

Exit.

Thais (entering with Pythias). Take care now, Pythias,

Great care, if Chremes come, to press him stay;

Or, if that’s inconvenient, to return:

If that’s impossible, then bring him to me!

Pyth. I’ll do so.

Thais. Hold! what else had I to say?

Take care, be sure, of yonder virgin! see,

You keep at home.

Thra. Let’s go.

Thais. Girls, follow me!

Exit, attended by Servants and Thraso.

Pyth. Oh, sweet, charming, Sir!

Chre. A coaxing hussy!

Pyth. Thais begs and prays

You’d come again to-morrow.

Chre. I am going

Into the country.

Pyth. Nay, now prithee come?

Chre. I can’t, I tell you.

Pyth. Walk in, then, and stay

Till she returns herself.

Chre. Not I.

Pyth. And why,

Dear Chremes?

Chre. Off, you saucy slut!

Chre. Go, and hang yourself!

Pyth. Well, Sir,

Since you’re so positive, shall I entreat you

To go to her?

Chre. I will.

Pyth. Here, Dorias! (A maid-servant enters.)

Conduct this gentleman to Captain Thraso’s.

Pythias re-enters.—Chremes goes out another way with Dorias.

Anti. And what was that?

Chær. Peace, and I’ll tell you.—To change dresses with him,

And order Parmeno to carry me

Instead of him.

Anti. How? for an Eunuch, you?

Chær. E’en so.

Anti. What good could you derive from that?

Chær. What good!—why, see, and hear, and be with her

I languish’d for, my Antipho!—was that

An idle reason, or a trivial good?

—To Thais I’m deliver’d; she receives me,

And carries me with joy into her house;

Commits the charming girl——

Anti. To whom?——to you?

Chær. To me.

Anti. In special hands, I must confess.

Chær.—Enjoins me to permit no man come near her;

Nor to depart, myself, one instant from her;

But in an inner chamber to remain

Alone with her alone. I nod, and look

Bashfully on the ground.

Anti. Poor simple soul!

Chær. I am bid forth, says she; and carries off

All her maid-servants with her, save some few

Raw novices, who straight prepar’d the bath.

I bade them haste; and while it was preparing,

In a retiring-room the Virgin sat;

Viewing a picture, where the tale was drawn

Of Jove’s descending in a golden show’r

To Danaë’s bosom.——I beheld it too,

And because he of old the like game play’d,

I felt my mind exult the more within me,

That Jove should change himself into a man,

And steal in secret through a stranger-roof,

With a mere woman to intrigue.—Great Jove,

Who shakes the highest heav’ns with his thunder!

And I, poor mortal man, not do the same!——

I did it, and with all my heart I did it.

—While thoughts, like these, possess’d my soul, they call’d

The girl to bathe. She goes, bathes, then returns:

Which done, the servants put her into bed.

I stand to wait their orders. Up comes one,

“Here, harkye, Dorus! take this fan and mark

You cool her gently thus, while we go bathe.

When we have bath’d, you, if you please, bathe too,”

I, with a sober air, receive the fan.

Anti. Then would I fain have seen your simple face!

I should have been delighted to behold

How like an ass you look’d, and held the fan.

Chær. Scarce had she spoke, when all rush’d out o’ doors;

Away they go to bathe; grow full of noise,

As servants use, when masters are abroad.

Meanwhile sleep seiz’d the virgin: I, by stealth,

Peep’d through the fan-sticks thus; then looking round,

And seeing all was safe, made fast the door.

Anti. What then?

Chær. What then, fool!

Anti. I confess.

Chær. D’ye think,

Bless’d with an opportunity like this,

So short, so wish’d for, yet so unexpected,

I’d let it slip? No. Then I’d been, indeed,

The thing I counterfeited.

Anti. Very true.

But what’s become of our club-supper?

Chær. Ready.

Anti. An honest fellow! where? at your own house?

Chær. At Freeman Discus’s.

Anti. A great way off.

Chær. Then we must make more haste.

Anti. But change your dress.

Anti. Be it so.

Phæd. Going into the country, I began

(As happens when the mind is ill at ease)

To ponder with myself upon the road,

Tossing from thought to thought, and viewing all

In the worst light. While thus I ruminate,

I pass unconsciously my country-house,

And had got far beyond, ere I perceiv’d it.

I turn’d about, but with a heavy heart;

And soon as to the very spot I came

Where the roads part, I stop. Then paus’d a while:

“Alas! thought I, and must I here remain

Two days? alone: without her?—Well! what then?

That’s nothing.—What, is’t nothing?—If I’ve not

The privilege to touch her, shall I not

Behold her neither?—If one may not be,

At least the other shall.—And certainly

Love, in its last degree, is something still.”

—Then I, on purpose, pass’d the house.—But see!

Pythias breaks forth affrighted.—What means this?

Pyth. Where shall I find, unhappy that I am,

Where seek this rascal-slave?—this slave, that durst

To do a deed like this?—Undone! undone!

Phæd. What this may be, I dread.

Pyth. And then the villain,

After he had abused the virgin, tore

The poor girl’s clothes, and dragg’d her by the hair.

Phæd. How’s this!

Pyth. Who, were he now within my reach,

How could I fly upon the vagabond,

And tear the villain’s eyes out with my nails?

Phæd. What tumult’s this, arisen in my absence?

I’ll go and ask her.— (Going up.) What’s the matter, Pythias?

Why thus disturb’d? and whom is it you seek?

Pyth. Whom do I seek? Away, Sir Phædria!

You and your gifts together!

Phæd. What’s the matter?

Pyth. The matter, Sir! the Eunuch, that you sent us,

Has made fine work here! the young virgin, whom

The Captain gave my mistress, he has ravish’d.

Phæd. Ravish’d? How say you?

Pyth. Ruin’d, and undone!

Phæd. You’re drunk.

Pyth. Would those who wish me ill were so!

Dori. Ah Pythias! what strange prodigy is this?

Phæd. You’re mad: how could an Eunuch——

Pyth. I don’t know

Or who, or what he was.—What he has done,

The thing itself declares.——The virgin weeps,

Nor, when you ask what ails her, dare she tell.

But he, good man, is nowhere to be found:

And I fear too, that when he stole away,

He carried something off.

Phæd. I can’t conceive

Whither the rascal can have flown, unless

He to our house, perhaps, slunk back again.

Pyth. See now, I pray you, if he has.

Phæd. I will.

Exit.

Dori. Good lack! so strange a thing I never heard.

Pyth. I’ve heard, that they lov’d women mightily

But could do nothing; yet I never thought on’t:

For if I had, I’d have confin’d him close

In some by-place, nor trusted the girl to him.

Phæd. Out, rascal, out!—What are you resty, Sirrah?

Out, thou vile bargain!

Dor. Dear Sir! (Crying.)

Phæd. See the wretch!

What a wry mouth he makes!—Come, what’s the meaning

Of your returning? and your change of dress?

What answer, Sirrah!—If I had delay’d

A minute longer, Pythias, I had miss’d him,

He was equipp’d so bravely for his flight.

Pyth. What, have you got the rogue?

Phæd. I warrant you.

Pyth. Well done! well done!

Dori. Aye, marry, very well.

Pyth. Where is he?

Phæd. Don’t you see him?

Pyth. See him? whom?

Phæd. This fellow, to be sure.

Pyth. This man! who is he?

Phæd. He that was carried to your house to-day.

Pyth. None of our people ever laid their eyes

Upon this fellow, Phædria!

Phæd. Never saw him?

Pyth. Why, did you think this fellow had been brought

To us?

Phæd. Yes, surely; for I had no other.

Pyth. Oh dear! this fellow’s not to be compar’d

To t’other.—He was elegant, and handsome.

Phæd. Aye, so he might appear a while ago,

Because he had gay clothes on: now he seems

Ugly, because he’s stripped.

Pyth. Nay, prithee, peace!

As if the diff’rence was so very small!——

The youth conducted to our house to-day,

’Twould do you good to cast your eyes on, Phædria:

This is a drowsy, wither’d, weasel-fac’d,

Old fellow.

Phæd. How?——you drive me to that pass,

That I scarce know what I have done myself.

—Did not I buy you, rascal? (To Dorus.)

Dor. Yes, Sir.

Pyth. Order him

To answer me.

Phæd. Well, question him.

Pyth. (to Dorus). Was you

Brought here to-day? (Shakes his head.) See there! Not he. It was

Another, a young lad, about sixteen,

Whom Parmeno brought with him.

Phæd. (to Dorus). Speak to me!

First tell me, whence had you that coat? What, dumb?

I’ll make you speak, you villain? (Beating him.)

Dor. Chærea came—— (Crying.)

Phæd. My brother?

Dor. Yes, Sir!

Phæd. When?

Dor. To-day.

Phæd. How long since?

Dor. Just now.

Phæd. With whom?

Dor. With Parmeno.

Phæd. Did you

Know him before?

Dor. Put on mine;

And then they both went out o’ doors together.

Pyth. Now, Sir, do you believe that I am sober?

Now do you think, I’ve told no lie? And now

Are you convinc’d the girl has been abus’d!

Phæd. Away, fool! d’ye believe what this wretch says?

Pyth. What signifies belief?—It speaks itself.

Phæd. (apart to Dorus). Come this way—hark ye!——further still.——Enough.

Tell me once more.——Did Chærea strip you?

Dor. Yes.

Phæd. And put your clothes on?

Dor. Yes, Sir!

Phæd. And was brought

In your stead hither?

Dor. Yes.

Phæd. Great Jupiter! (Pretending to be in a passion with him.)

What a most wicked scoundrel’s this?

Pyth. Alas!

Don’t you believe, then, we’ve been vilely us’d?

Phæd. No wonder if you credit what he says.

I don’t know what to do. (Aside.)—Here, harkye, Sirrah!

Deny it all again. (Apart to Dorus.)—What! can’t I beat

The truth out of you, rascal?—have you seen

My brother Chærea? (Aloud, and beating him.)

Dor. No, Sir! (Crying.)

Phæd. So! I see

He won’t confess without a beating.—This way! (Apart.) Now

He owns it; now denies it.—Ask my pardon! (Apart.)

Dor. Beseech you, Sir, forgive me!

Phæd. Get you gone. (Kicking him.)

Oh me! oh dear!

Exit, howling.

Phæd. (aside). I had no other way

To come off handsomely.—We’re all undone.

—D’ye think to play your tricks on me, you rascal?

Aloud, and Exit after Dorus.

Pyth. As sure as I’m alive, this is a trick

Of Parmeno’s.

Dori. No doubt on’t.

Pyth. I’ll devise

Some means to-day to fit him for’t.—But now

What would you have me do?

Dori. About the girl!

Pyth. Aye; shall I tell; or keep the matter secret?

Dori. Troth, if you’re wise you know not what you know,

Nor of the Eunuch, nor the ravishment:

So shall you clear yourself of all this trouble,

And do a kindness to our mistress too.

Say nothing, but that Dorus is gone off.

Pyth. I’ll do so.

Dori. Prithee is not Chremes yonder?

Thais will soon be here.

Pyth. How so?

Dori. Because

When I came thence, a quarrel was abroach

Among them.

Pyth. Carry in the jewels, Dorias.

Meanwhile I’ll learn of Chremes what has happen’d.

Exit Dorias.

Chrem. So! so!—I’m in for’t—and the wine I’ve drank

Has made me reel again.—Yet while I sat,

How sober I suppos’d myself!—But I

No sooner rose, than neither foot, nor head,

Knew their own business!

Pyth. Chremes!

Chrem. Who’s that?—Ha!

Pythias!—How much more handsome you seem now,

Than you appear’d a little while ago!

Pyth. I’m sure you seem a good deal merrier.

Chrem. I’faith it’s an old saying, and a true one,

“Ceres and Bacchus are warm friends of Venus.”

—But, pray, has Thais been here long before me?

Pyth. Has she yet left the Captain’s?

Chrem. Long time since:

An age ago. They’ve had a bloody quarrel.

Pyth. Did not she bid you follow her?

Thais. I am apt to think,

The Captain will soon follow me, to take

The virgin from me: Well then, let him come!

But if he does but lay a finger on her,

We’ll tear his eyes out.—His impertinence.

And big words, while mere words, I can endure;

But if he comes to action, woe be to him!

Chrem. Thais, I have been here some time.

Thais. My Chremes!

The very man I wanted!—Do you know

That you have been th’ occasion of this quarrel?

And that this whole affair relates to you?

Chrem. To me! how so?

Thais. Because, while I endeavor,

And study to restore your sister to you,

This and much more I’ve suffer’d.

Chrem. Where’s my sister?

Thais. Within, at my house.

Chrem. Ha! (With concern.)

Thais. Be not alarm’d:

She has been well brought up, and in a manner

Worthy herself and you.

Chrem. Indeed?

Thais. ’Tis true:

And now most freely I restore her to you,

Demanding nothing of you in return.

Chrem. I feel your goodness, Thais, and shall ever

Remain much bounden to you.

Thais. Aye, but now

Take heed, my Chremes, lest ere you receive

The maid from me, you lose her! for ’tis she,

Whom now the Captain comes to take by storm.

—Pythias, go, fetch the casket with the proofs!

Thais. Consider,

He, whom you’ve now to cope with, is a stranger

Less powerful than you, less known, and less

Befriended here than you!

Chrem. I know all that:

But why, like fools, admit what we may shun?

Better prevent a wrong, than afterward

Revenge it, when receiv’d——Do you step in,

And bolt the door, while I run to the Forum,

And call some officers to our assistance. (Going.)

Thais. Stay! (Holding him.)

Chrem. ’Twill be better.

Thais. Hold!

Chrem. Nay, let me go!

I’ll soon be back.

Thais. We do not want them, Chremes.

Say, only, that this maiden is your sister,

And that you lost her when a child, and now

Know her again for yours.

Enter Pythias.

Thais (to Pyth.) Produce the proofs!

Pyth. Here they are.

Thais. Take them, Chremes!—If the Captain

Attempts to do you any violence,

Lead him before a magistrate. D’ye mark me?

Chrem. I do.

Thraso. Shall I put up with an affront so gross,

So monstrous, Gnatho?—No, I’d rather die.

Simalio, Donax, Syrus, follow me!

First, I will storm their castle.

Gnat. Excellent!

Thra. Next carry off the Virgin.

Gnat. Admirable!

Thra. Then punish Thais herself.

Gnat. Incomparable!

Thra. Here, in the centre, Donax, with your club!

Do you, Simalio, charge on the left wing!

You, Syrus, on the right!—Bring up the rest!

Where’s the Centurion Sanga, and his band

Of rascal runaways?

San. Here, Sir!

Thra. How now?

Think’st thou to combat with a dish-clout, slave!

That thus thou bring’st it here?

San. Ah, Sir! I knew

The valor of the gen’ral and his troops;

And seeing this affair must end in blood,

I brought a clout, to wipe the wounds withal.

Thra. Where are the rest?

San. Rest! Plague, whom d’ye mean?

There’s nobody, but Sannio, left at home.

Thra. Lead you the van (to Gnatho); and I’ll bring up the rear:

Thence give the word to all.

Gnat. What wisdom is!

Now he has drawn up these in rank and file,

His post behind secures him a retreat.

Thra. Just so his line of battle Pyrrhus form’d.

Chremes and Thais appear above at a window.

Chrem. D’ye see, my Thais, what he is about?

To bar and bolt the doors was good advice.

Thais. Tut, man! you fool, that seems so mighty brave,

Is a mere coward. Do not be afraid!

Thra. What were best? (To Gnatho.)

Gnat. Troth, I wish you had a sling:

That you from far in ambush might attack them!

They’d soon fly then, I warrant you.

Thra. But see!

Thais appears.

Gnat. Let’s charge them then! Come on!

Thra. Halt!—’Tis the part of a wise general

To try all methods, ere he come to arms.

How do you know, but Thais may obey

My orders without force?

Gnat. Oh, gracious Heavens!

Of what advantage is it to be wise!

I ne’er approach but I go wiser from you.

Gnat. Ah, beware!

Peace, peace, young gentleman!

Thra. (to Chrem.) What is’t you mean?

Shall I not touch my own?

Chrem. Your own, you scoundrel?

Gnat. Take heed! you know not whom you rail at thus.

Chrem. Won’t you be gone?—here, hark ye, Sir! d’ye know

How matters stand with you?—if you attempt

To raise a riot in this place to-day,

I’ll answer for it, that you shall remember

This place, to-day, and me, your whole life-long.

Gnat. I pity you: to make so great a man

Your enemy!

Chrem. Hence! or I’ll break your head.

Gnat. How’s that, you hang-dog? Are you for that sport?

Thra. Who are you, fellow?—what d’ye mean?—and what

Have you to do with Pamphila?

Chrem. I’ll tell you,

First, I declare, that she’s a free-born woman!

Thra. How?

Chrem. And a citizen of Athens.

Thra. Hui!

Chrem. My sister.

Thra. Impudence!

Chrem. So, Captain, now

I give you warning, offer her no force!

—Thais, I’ll now to Sophrona, the Nurse,

And bring her here with me to see the proofs.

Thra. And you prohibit me to touch my own?

Chrem. Yes, I prohibit you.

Gnat. D’ye hear? he owns

The robbery himself. Isn’t that sufficient?

Thra. And, Thais, you maintain the same?

Thais. Ask those

Who care to answer. (Shuts down the window.)

Manent Thraso and Gnatho, etc.

Thra. What shall we do now?

Gnat. Why—e’en go back again!—This harlot here

Will soon be with you to request forgiveness.

Thra. D’ye think so?

Gnat. Aye, most certainly. I know

The ways of women.—When you will, they won’t;

And when you won’t, they’re dying for you.

Thra. True.

Gnat. Shall I disband the army?

Thra. When you will.

Gnat. Sanga, as well becomes a brave militia,

Take to your houses and firesides again.

San. My mind was like a sop i’ th’ pan, long since.

Gnat. Good fellow!

San. To the right about there! march!

Exit, with Gnatho and Thraso at the head of the troops.

Thais. Still, still, you, baggage, will you shuffle with me?

—“I know—I don’t know—he’s gone off—I’ve heard——

I was not present”—Be it what it may,

Can’t you inform me openly?—The Virgin,

Her clothes all torn, in sullen silence weeps.

The Eunuch’s fled.—What means all this? and what

Has happen’d?—Won’t you answer me?

Pyth. Alas!

What can I answer you?—He was, they say,

No Eunuch.

Thais. What then?

Pyth. Chærea.

Thais. Chærea!

What Chærea?

Pyth. Phædria’s younger brother.

Thais. How!

What’s that, hag?

Pyth. I’ve discover’d it: I’m sure on’t.

Thais. Why, what had he to do with us? or why

Was he brought hither?

Pyth. That I can not tell;

Unless, as I suppose, for love of Pamphila.

Thais. Alas! I am undone; undone, indeed,

If that, which you have told me now, be true.

Is’t that the girl bemoans thus?

Pyth. I believe so.

Thais. How, careless wretch! was that the charge I gave you

At my departure?

Pyth. What could I do? She

Was trusted, as you bade, to him alone.

Thais. Oh, jade, you set the wolf to keep the sheep

—I’m quite asham’d to ’ve been so poorly bubbled.

Pyth. Who comes here?—Hist! peace, madam, I beseech you!

We’re safe: we have the very man.

Seeing Chærea at a distance.

Thais. Where is he?

Pyth. Here, on the left; d’ye see him, ma’am?

Thais. I see him.

Pyth. Let him be seiz’d immediately!

Thais. And what

Can we do to him, fool?

Pyth. Do to him, say you?

—See, what a saucy face the rogue has got!

Ha’nt he?—and then how settled an assurance?

Pyth. What can I think of? what can I devise?

Some trick now to be even with that rogue

Who palm’d this young spark on us.

Chrem. (leading the nurse). Nay, but stir

Your stumps a little faster, nurse!

Soph. I come.

Chrem. Aye, marry; but you don’t come on a jot.

Pyth. Well! have you shown the tokens to the nurse?

Chrem. I have.

Pyth. And pray what says she? Did she know them?

Chrem. At first sight.

Pyth. Oh brave news! I’m glad to hear it;

For I’ve a kindness for the girl. Go in;

My mistress is impatient for your coming.

Exeunt Chremes and Sophrona.

See, yonder’s my good master Parmeno,

Marching this way: How unconcern’d, forsooth,

He stalks along!—But I’ve devis’d, I hope,

The means to vex him sorely.—First I’ll in,

To know the truth of this discovery,

And then return to terrify this rascal.

Exit.

Par. I’m come to see what Chærea has been doing:

Who, if he has but manag’d matters well,

Good Heav’ns, how much, and what sincere applause

Shall Parmeno acquire!—For not to mention,

In an intrigue so difficult as this,

Of so much probable expense at least,

Since with a griping harlot he’d have bargain’d,

That I’ve procur’d for him the girl he lov’d,

Without cost, charge, or trouble; t’other point,

That, that I hold my master-piece, there think

I’ve gain’d the prize, in showing a young spark

The dispositions and the ways of harlots:

Which having early learn’d, he’ll ever shun.

Enter Pythias behind.

When they’re abroad, forsooth, there’s none so clean,

Nothing so trim, so elegant, as they;

Nor, when they sup with a gallant, so nice!

To see these very creatures’ gluttony,

Filth, poverty, and meanness, when at home;

So eager after food, that they devour

From yesterday’s stale broth the coarse black bread:—

All this to know is safety to young men.

Pyth. (behind). ’Faith, Sirrah, I’ll be handsomely revenged

For all you’ve done and said. You shall not boast

Your tricks on us without due punishment.

Aloud, coming forward.

Oh Heav’ns! oh dreadful deed! oh hapless youth!

Oh wicked Parmeno, that brought him here!

Par. What now?

Pyth. It mov’d me so. I could not bear

To see it: therefore I flew out o’ doors.

What an example will they make of him!

Par. Oh Jupiter! What tumult can this be?

Am I undone, or no?—I’ll e’en inquire.

Pythias! (going up.) What now? what is’t you rave about?

Who’s to be made this terrible example?

Pyth. Who? most audacious monster! while you meant

To play your tricks on us, you have destroyed

The youth whom you brought hither for the Eunuch.

Par. How so? and what has happen’d? Prithee tell me!

Pyth. Tell you? D’ye know the virgin, that was sent

To-day to Thais, is a citizen?

Her brother too a man of the first rank?

Par. I did not know it.

Pyth. Aye, but so it seems.

The poor young spark abus’d the girl; a thing

No sooner known, than he, the furious brother——

Par. Did what?

Pyth. First bound him hand and foot——

Par. How! bound him!

Pyth. And now, though Thais begged him not to do it——

Par. How! what!

Enter Pythias; Parmeno at a distance.

Pyth. Well! I was ne’er more pleas’d in all my life

Than when I saw th’ old man come blund’ring in.

I had the jest alone; for I alone

Knew what he was afraid of.

Par. Hey! what now?

Pyth. I’m now come forth t’ encounter Parmeno.

Where is he?

Par. She seeks me.

Pyth. Oh, there he is.

I’ll go up to him.

Par. Well, fool, what’s the matter? (Pythias laughs.)

What would you? what d’ye laugh at? Hey! what still?

Par. What’s this, impertinence?

Was it a lie you told me? D’ye laugh still?

Is’t such a jest to make fools of us, hag?

Pyth. Delightful! (Laughing.)

Par. If you don’t pay dearly for it!——

Pyth. Perhaps so. (Laughing.)

Par. I’ll return it.

Pyth. Oh, no doubt on’t. (Laughing.)

But what you threaten, Parmeno, is distant:

You’ll be truss’d up to-day; who first draw in

A raw young man to sin, and then betray him.

They’ll both conspire to make you an example. (Laughing.)

Par. I’m done for.

Pyth. Take this, slave, as a reward

For the fine gift you sent us; so, farewell!

Exit Pythias.

Par. I’ve been a fool indeed; and like a rat,

Betray’d myself to-day by my own squeaking.

Gnat. What now? in what hope, or with what design

Advance we hither? what adventure, Thraso?

Thraso. What do I mean?—To Thais to surrender

On her own terms?

Gnat. Indeed?

Thraso. Indeed! why not,

As well as Hercules to Omphale?

Gnat. A fit example.—Would I might behold

Your head broke with her slipper. (Aside.) But her doors

Creak, and fly open.

Thraso. Death! what mischief now?

Thraso. ’Sdeath! what mischief now?

I ne’er so much as saw this face before.

Why bursts he forth with such alacrity?

Chær. Lives there, my countrymen, a happier man

To-day than I?—Not one.—For on my head

The gods have plainly emptied all their store,

On whom they’ve pour’d a flood of bliss at once.

Par. What’s he so pleas’d at?

Chær. (seeing him.) Oh my Parmeno

Inventor, undertaker, perfecter

Of all my pleasures, know’st thou my good fortunes?

Know’st thou my Pamphila’s a citizen?

Par. I’ve heard so.

Chær. Know’st thou she’s betroth’d my wife?

Par. Good news, by heaven!

Par. Oh brave, by Heav’n!

Gnat. Hear you what he says? (To Thraso.)

Chær. Then I rejoice, my brother Phædria’s love

Is quietly secur’d to him forever:

We’re now one family: and Thais has

Found favor with my father, and resign’d

Herself to us for patronage and care.

Par. She’s then entirely Phædria’s!

Chær. Aye, entirely.

Par. Another cause of joy: the Captain routed!

Chær. See, Parmeno, my brother (wheresoe’er

He be) know this, as soon as possible!

Par. I’ll see if he’s at home.

Exit.

Thraso. Hast any doubt,

Gnatho, but I’m entirely ruin’d?

Gnat. None at all.

Chær. What shall I mention first? whom praise the most!

Him that advis’d this action? or myself

That durst to undertake it?—or extol

Fortune, the governess of all, who deign’d,

Events so many, of such moment too,

So happily to close within one day?

Or shall I praise my father’s frank good-humor,

And gay festivity?——Oh, Jupiter,

Make but these blessings permanent!

Make but these blessings sure!

Thraso. Accomplish this;

By pray’r, by purchase, that I still may have

Some little share in Thais.

Gnat. A hard task!

Thraso. Do but incline to do’t, you can, I know.

Effect it, and demand whatever gift,

Whate’er reward you please, it shall be yours.

Gnat. Indeed?

Thraso. Indeed!

Gnat. If I accomplish this,

I claim, that you agree to throw your doors,

Present or absent, always open to me;

A welcome, uninvited guest forever.

Thraso. I pawn my honor as the pledge.

Gnat. I’ll try.

Phæd. What voice is that? Oh, Thraso!

Thraso. Gentlemen,

Good-day!

Phæd. Perhaps you’re not acquainted yet

With what has happen’d here?

Thraso. I am.

Phæd. Why then

Do I behold you in these territories?

Thraso. Depending on——

Phæd. Depend on naught but this!

Captain, I give you warning, if, henceforth,

I ever find you in this street, although

You tell me, “I was looking for another,

I was but passing through,” expect no quarter.

Gnat. Oh fie! that is not handsome.

Phæd. I have said it.

Gnat. You can not be so rude.

Phæd. It shall be so.

Gnat. First grant me a short hearing: if you like

What I propose, agree to’t.

Phæd. Let us hear!

Gnat. Retire then.—Ye, (to the audience,) farewell, and clap your hands!

Lest any of you wonder, why the Bard

To an old actor hath assign’d the part

Sustain’d of old by young performers; that

I’ll first explain: then say what brings

To-day, a whole play, wholly from the Greek,

We mean to represent:—The Self-Tormentor:

Wrought from a single to a double plot.

Now therefore that our comedy is new,

And what it is, I’ve shown: who wrote it too,

And whose in Greek it is, were I not sure

Most of you knew already, would I tell.

But, wherefore I have ta’en this part upon me,

In brief I will deliver: for the Bard

Has sent me here as pleader, not as Prologue;

You he declares his judges, me his counsel:

And yet as counsel nothing can I speak

More than the Author teaches me to say,

Who wrote th’ oration which I now recite.

As to reports, which envious men have spread,

That he has ransack’d many Grecian plays,

While he composes some few Latin ones,

That he denies not, he has done; nor does

Repent he did it; means to do it still;

Safe in the warrant and authority

Of greater bards, who did long since the same.

Then for the charge, that his arch-enemy

Maliciously reproaches him withal,

That he but lately hath applied himself

To music, with the genius of his friends,

Rather than natural talents, fraught; how true,

Your judgment, your opinion, must decide.

I would entreat you, therefore, not to lean

To tales of slander, rather than of candor.

Be favorable; nurse with growing hopes

The bards, who give you pleasing novelties;

Pleasing I say, not such as His I mean,

Who lately introduc’d a breathless slave,

Making the crowd give way—But wherefore trace

A dunce’s faults? which shall be shown at large,

When more he writes, unless he cease to rail.

Attend impartially! and let me once

Without annoyance act an easy part;

Lest your old servant be o’er-labor’d still

With toilsome characters, the running slave,

The eating parasite, enrag’d old man,

The bold-fac’d sharper, covetous procurer;

Parts, that ask pow’rs of voice, and iron sides.

Deign then, for my sake, to accept this plea,

And grant me some remission from my labor.

For they, who now produce new comedies,

Spare not my age! If there is aught laborious,

They run to me; but if of little weight,

Away to others. In our piece to-day

The style is pure: now try my talents then

In either character. If I for gain,

Never o’er-rated my abilities;

If I have held it still my chief reward

To be subservient to your pleasure; fix

In me a fair example, that our youth

May seek to please you, rather than themselves.

Chrem. Though our acquaintance is as yet but young,

Since you have bought this farm that neighbors mine,

Mene. Have you such leisure from your own affairs

To think of those, that don’t concern you, Chremes?

Chrem. I am a man, and feel for all mankind.

Think, I advise, or ask for information:

If right, that I may do the same; if wrong,

To turn you from it.

Mene. I have need to do thus.

Do you as you think fit.

Chrem. Need any man

Torment himself?

Chrem. Nay, weep not; but inform me.

Be not reserv’d; fear nothing: prithee, trust me:

By consolation, counsel, or assistance,

I possibly may serve you.

Mene. Would you know it?

Chrem. Aye, for the very reason I have mention’d.

Mene. I will inform you.

Chrem. But meanwhile lay down

Those rakes: don’t tire yourself.

Mene. It must not be.

Chrem. What mean you?

Mene. Give me leave: that I may take

No respite from my toil.

Chrem. I’ll not allow it. (Taking away the rakes.)

Mene. Ah, you do wrong.

Chrem. What, and so heavy too! (Weighing them in his hand.)

Mene. Such my desert.

Chrem. Now speak. (Laying down the rakes.)

Mene. One only son

I have.—Have, did I say?—Had I mean, Chremes.

Have I or no, is now uncertain.

Chrem. Wherefore?

Mene. That you shall know. An old Corinthian woman

Now sojourns here, a stranger in these parts,

And very poor. It happen’d, of her daughter

My son became distractedly enamor’d;——

E’en to the brink of marriage; and all this

Unknown to me: which I no sooner learn’d

Than I began to deal severely with him,

Not as a young and love-sick mind requir’d,

But in the rough and usual way of fathers.

Daily I chid him; crying, “How now, Sir!

Think you that you shall hold these courses long,

And I your father living?—Keep a mistress,

As if she were your wife!—You are deceiv’d,

If you think that, and do not know me, Clinia.

While you act worthily, you’re mine; if not,

I shall act toward you worthy of myself.

All this arises from mere idleness.

I, at your age, ne’er thought of love; but went

To seek my fortune in the wars in Asia,

And there acquir’d in arms both wealth and glory.”

—In short, things came to such a pass, the youth,

O’ercome with hearing still the self-same thing,

And wearied out with my reproaches; thinking,

Age and experience had enabled me

To judge his interest better than himself,

Went off to serve the king in Asia, Chremes.

Chrem. How say you?

Mene. Stole away three months ago,

Without my knowledge.

Chrem. Both have been to blame:

And yet this enterprise bespeaks a mind,

Modest and manly.

Mene. Having heard of this

From some of his familiars, home I came

Mournful, half-mad, and almost wild with grief.

I sit me down; my servants run to me;

Some draw my sandals off; while others haste

To spread the couches, and prepare the supper:

Each in his way, I mark, does all he can

To mitigate my sorrow. Noting this,

“How,” said I to myself, “so many then

Anxious for me alone? to pleasure me?

So many slaves to dress me? All this cost

For me alone?—Meanwhile, my only son,

For whom all these were fit, as well as me,

Nay rather more, since he is of an age

More proper for their use; him, him, poor boy,

Has my unkindness driven forth to sorrow.

Oh I were worthy of the heaviest curse,

Could I brook that!—No; long as he shall lead

A life of penury abroad, an exile

Through my unjust severity, so long

Will I revenge his wrongs upon myself,

Laboring, scraping, sparing, slaving for him.”

—In short, I did so; in the house I left

Nor clothes, nor movables: I scrap’d up all.

My slaves, both male and female, except those

Who more than earn’d their bread in country-work,

I sold: Then set my house to sale: In all

I got together about fifteen talents;

Purchas’d this farm; and here fatigue myself;

Thinking I do my son less injury,

While I’m in misery too; nor is it just

For me, I think, to taste of pleasure here,

Till he return in safety to partake on’t.

Chrem. You I believe a tender parent, him

A duteous son, if govern’d prudently.

But you was unacquainted with his nature,

And he with yours: sad life, where things are so!

You ne’er betray’d your tenderness to him;

Nor durst he place that confidence in you,

Which well becomes the bosom of a father.

Had that been done, this had not happen’d to you.

Mene. True, I confess; but I was most in fault.

Chrem. All, Menedemus, will, I hope, be well,

And trust, your son will soon return in safety.

Mene. Grant it, good Gods!

Chrem. They will. Now, therefore, since

The Dionysia are held here to-day,

If ’tis convenient, come, and feast with me.

Mene. Impossible.

Chrem. Why so?—Nay, prithee now,

Indulge yourself a while: your absent son,

I’m sure, would have it so.

Mene. It is not meet,

That I, who drove him forth to misery,

Should fly it now myself.

Chrem. You are resolv’d?

Mene. Most constantly.

Chrem. Farewell then!

Mene. Fare you well!

Exit.

As yet, my Clinia, you’ve no cause to fear:

They are not long: and she, I’m confident,

Will be here shortly with the messenger.

Prithee, away then with these idle cares,

Which thus torment you!

Chrem. (behind.) Whom does my son speak to?

Clit. My father as I wish’d—Good Sir, well met.

Chrem. What now?

Clit. D’ye know our neighbor Menedemus?

Chrem. Aye, very well.

Clit. D’ye know he has a son?

Chrem. I’ve heard he is in Asia.

Clit. No such thing.

He’s at our house, Sir.

Chrem. How!

Clit. But just arriv’d:

Ev’n at his landing I fell in with him,

And brought him here to supper: for, from boys,

We have been friends and intimates.

Clit. Because the youth is yet in doubt:

Newly arriv’d; in fear of ev’ry thing;

He dreads his father’s anger, and suspects

The disposition of his mistress tow’rds him;

Her, whom he dotes upon; on whose account,

This diff’rence and departure came about.

Chrem. I know it.

Clit. He has just dispatch’d his boy

Into the city to her, and our Syrus

I sent along with him.

Chrem. What says the son?

Clit. Says? that he’s miserable.

Chrem. Miserable!

Who needs be less so? for what earthly good

Can man possess which he may not enjoy?

Parents, a prosp’rous country, friends, birth, riches.

Yet these all take their value from the mind

Of the possessor: he that knows their use,

To him they’re blessings; he that knows it not,

To him misuse converts them into curses.

Clit. Nay, but he ever was a cross old man:

And now there’s nothing that I dread so much,

As lest he be transported in his rage

To some gross outrages against his son.

Chrem. He!—He!—But I’ll contain myself. ’Tis good

For Menedemus that his son should fear. (Aside.)

Clit. What say you, Sir, within yourself! (Overhearing.)

Chrem. I say,

Be’t as it might, the son should have remain’d.

Grant that the father bore too strict a hand

Upon his loose desires; he should have borne it.

Whom would he bear withal, if not a parent?

Was’t fitting that the father should conform

To the son’s humor, or the son to his?

And for the rigor that he murmurs at,

’Tis nothing: the severities of fathers,

Unless perchance a hard one here and there,

Are much the same: they reprimand their sons

For riotous excesses, wenching, drinking;

And starve their pleasures by a scant allowance.

Yet this all tends to good: but when the mind

Is once enslav’d to vicious appetites,

It needs must follow vicious measures too.

Remember then this maxim, Clitipho,

A wise one ’tis to draw from others’ faults

A profitable lesson for yourself.

Clit. I do believe it.

Chrem. Well, I’ll in, and see

What is provided for our supper: you,

As the day wears, see that you’re not far hence.

Exit.

What partial judges of all sons are fathers!

Who ask gray wisdom from our greener years,

And think our minds should bear no touch of youth;

Governing by their passions, now kill’d in them,

And not by those that formerly rebell’d.

If ever I’ve a son, I promise him

He shall find me an easy father; fit

To know, and apt to pardon his offenses!

Not such as mine, who, speaking of another,

Shows how he’d act in such a case himself:

Yet when he takes a cup or two too much,

Oh, what mad pranks he tells me of his own:

But warns me now “to draw from others’ faults

A profitable lesson for myself.”

Cunning old gentleman! he little knows,

He pours his proverbs in a deaf man’s ear.

The words of Bacchis, Give me, Bring me, now

Have greater weight with me: to whose commands,

Alas! I’ve nothing to reply withal;

Nor is there man more wretched than myself.

For Clinia here (though he, I must confess,

Has cares enough) has got a mistress, modest,

Well-bred, and stranger to all harlot arts:

Mine is a self-will’d, wanton, haughty madam,

Gay, and extravagant; and let her ask

Whate’er she will, she must not be denied;

Since poverty I durst not make my plea.

This is a plague I have but newly found,

Nor is my father yet appris’d of it.

Clin. Had my affairs in love been prosperous,

They had, I know, been here long since: but, ah,

I fear she’s fall’n from virtue in my absence:

So many things concur to prove it so,

My mind misgives me; opportunity,

The place, her age, an infamous old mother,

Under whose governance she lives, to whom

’Naught but gain’s precious.

To him Clitipho.

Clit. Clinia!

Clin. Woe is me! (To himself.)

Clit. Take heed, lest some one issue from your father’s,

And chance to see you here.

Clin. I will: but yet

My mind forebodes I know not what of ill.

Clit. What, still foreboding, ere you know the truth?

Clin. Had there been no untoward circumstance,

They had return’d already

Clit. Patience, Clinia!

They’ll be here presently.

Clin. Presently! but when?

Clit. Consider, ’tis a long way off: and then

You know the ways of women; to set off,

And trick their persons out, requires an age.

Clin. Oh Clitipho, I fear——

Clit. Take courage; see,

Dromo and Syrus!

Syrus. Say you?

Dromo. Even so.

Syrus. But while we chat, the girls are left behind.

Clit. (listening.) Girls, Clinia! do you hear?

Clin. I hear, I see,

And now, at last, I’m happy, Clitipho.

Dromo (to Syrus). Left behind! troth, no wonder: so encumber’d;

A troop of waiting-women at her heels!

Clin. (listening). Confusion! Whence should she have waiting-women?

Clit. How can I tell?

Syrus (to Dromo). We ought not to have dropp’d them.

They bring a world of baggage!

Clit. What’s the matter?

What is it troubles you?

Clin. What troubles me?

D’ye hear? She waiting-women, gold, and clothes!

She, whom I left with one poor servant-girl!

Whence come they, think you?

Clit. Oh, I take you now.

Syrus (to himself). Gods, what a crowd! our house will hardly hold them.

What eating, and what drinking will there be!

How miserable our old gentleman!

But here are those I wish’d to see!

Seeing Clit. and Clin.

Clin. Oh Jove!

Where then are truth, and faith, and honor fled?

While I a fugitive, for love of you,

Quit my dear country, you, Antiphila,

For sordid gain desert me in distress!

You, for whose sake I courted infamy,

And cast off my obedience to my father.

He, I remember now with grief and shame,

Oft warn’d me of these women’s ways; oft tried

In vain by sage advice to wean me from her.

But now I bid farewell to her forever;

Though, when ’twere good and wholesome, I was froward.

No wretch more curs’d than I!

Syrus. He has misconstrued

All our discourse, I find—You fancy, Clinia,

Your mistress other than she is. Her life,

As far as we from circumstance could learn,

Her disposition tow’rd you, are the same.

Clin. How! tell me all: for there is naught on earth

I’d rather know than that my fears are false.

Syrus. First then, that you may be appris’d of all,

Th’ old woman, thought her mother, was not so:

That beldam also is deceas’d; for this

I overheard her, as we came along,

Telling the other.

Clit. Other! who? what other?

Syrus. Let me but finish what I have begun,

And I shall come to that.

Clit. Dispatch then.

Syrus. First,

Having arriv’d, Dromo knocks at the door:

Which an old woman had no sooner open’d,

But in goes Dromo, and I after him.

Th’ old woman bolts the door, and spins again,

And now, or never, Clinia, might be known,

Coming thus unexpectedly upon her,

Antiphila’s employments in your absence:

For such, as then we saw, we might presume

Her daily practice, which of all things else,

Betrays the mind and disposition most.

Busily plying of the web we found her,

Decently clad in mourning,—I suppose,

For the deceas’d old woman.—She had on

No gold or trinkets, but was plain and neat,

And dress’d like those who dress but for themselves.

No female varnish to set off her beauty:

Her hair dishevel’d, long, and flowing loose

About her shoulders.—Peace! (To Clinia.)

Clin. Nay, prithee, Syrus,

Do not transport me thus without a cause.

Syrus. Th’ old woman spun the woof; one servant-girl,

A tatter’d dirty dowdy, weaving by her.

Clit. Clinia, if this be true, as sure it is,

Who is more fortunate than you? D’ye mark

The ragged dirty girl that he describ’d?

A sign the mistress leads a blameless life,

When she maintains no flaunting go-between:

For ’tis a rule with those gallants, who wish

To win the mistress, first to bribe the maid.

Clin. Go on, I beg you, Syrus; and take heed

You fill me not with idle joy.—What said she

When you nam’d me?

Syrus. As soon as we inform’d her

You was return’d, and begg’d her to come to you,

She left her work immediately, and burst

Into a flood of tears, which one might see

Were shed for love of you.

Clin. By all the Gods,

I know not where I am for very joy.

Oh, how I trembled!

Clit. Without cause, I knew.

But come; now, Syrus, tell us, who’s that other?

Clit. Oh monstrous impudence!

Syrus. Consider, Sir;

More danger, the more honor.

Clit. Look ye, Sirrah,

You mean to purchase praise at my expense,

Where the least slip of yours would ruin me.

What is’t you drive at?

Syrus. But——

Clit. But what?

Syrus. I’ll tell you,

Give me but leave!

Clin. Permit him.

Clit. Well, I do.

Syrus. This business—now—is just as if— (Drawling.)

Clit. Confusion!

What a long roundabout beginning!

Clin. True.

To the point, Syrus!

Syrus. I’ve no patience with you.

You use me ill, Sir, and I can’t endure it.

Clin. Hear him: peace, Clitipho! (To Clitipho.)

Syrus. You’d be in love;

Possess your mistress; and have wherewithal

To make her presents: but to gain all this

You’d risk no danger. By my troth, you’re wise,

If it be wise to wish for what can’t be.

Take good and bad together; both, or none;

Choose which you will; no mistress, or no danger.

And yet, the scheme I’ve laid is fair and safe;

Your mistress may be with you at your father’s

Without detection; by the self-same means

I shall procure the sum you’ve promis’d her,

Which you have rung so often in my ears,

You’ve almost deafen’d them.—What would you more?

Clit. If it may be so——

Syrus. If! the proof shall show.

Clit. Well, well then, what’s this scheme?

Syrus. We will pretend

That Bacchis is his mistress.

Clit. Mighty fine!

What shall become then of his own? Shall she

Pass for his too, because one’s not enough

To answer for?

Syrus. No. She shall to your mother.

Clit. How so?

Syrus. ’Twere tedious, Clitipho, to tell:

Let it suffice, I’ve reason for it.

Clit. Nonsense!

I see no ground to make me hazard this.

Syrus. Well; if you dread this, I’ve another way,

Which you shall both own has no danger in’t.

Clit. Aye, prithee, find that out.

Syrus. With all my heart.

I’ll run and meet the woman on the road,

And order them to go straight home again.

Clit. How! what!

Syrus. I mean to ease you of your fear,

That you may sleep in peace on either side. (Going.)

Clit. What shall I do?

Clin. E’en profit of his scheme.

Clit. But, Syrus, tell me then——

Syrus. Away, away!

This day too late you’ll wish for her in vain. (Going.)

Clin. This is your time: enjoy it, while you may:

Who knows if you may have the like again?

Clit. Syrus, I say.

Syrus. Call as you please, I’ll on.

Clit. Clinia, you’re right.—Ho, Syrus! Syrus, ho!

Syrus, I say.

Syrus. So, he grows hot at last. (To himself.)

What would you, Sir? (Turning about.)

Clit. Come back, come back!

Syrus. I’m here. (Returns.)

You’re pleasure, Sir!—What, will not this content you?

Clit. Yes, Syrus; me, my passion, and my fame

I render up to you: dispose of all;

But see you’re not to blame.

Syrus. Ridiculous!

Spare your advice, good Clitipho! you know

Success is my concern still more than yours:

For if perchance we fail in our attempt,

You shall have words; but I, alas! dry blows.

Be sure then of my diligence; and beg

Your friend to join, and countenance our scheme.

Syrus. I came just in time,

Time, that in most affairs is all in all:

For there I found a certain wretched captain,

Begging her favors. She, an artful baggage,

Denied him, to inflame his mind the more,

And make her court to you.—But hark ye, Sir,

Be cautious of your conduct! no imprudence!

You know how shrewd and keen your father is;

And I know your intemperance too well.

No double-meanings, glances, leers, sighs, hems,

Coughing, or titt’ring, I beseech you, Sir!

Clit. I’ll play my part——

Syrus. Look to’t!

Clit. To your content.

Syrus. But see, the women! they’re soon after us. (Looking out.)

Clit. Where are they?— (Syrus stops him.) Why d’ye hold me?

Syrus. She is not

Your mistress now.

Clit. True: not before my father.

But now, meanwhile——

Syrus. Nor now, meanwhile,

Clit. Allow me!

Syrus. No.

Clit. But a moment!