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Title: The Comedies of Terence

Author: Terence

Translator: Henry T. Riley

Release date: July 31, 2007 [eBook #22188]
Most recently updated: July 28, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Louise Hope, David Starner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMEDIES OF TERENCE ***

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This translation was published as part of a volume also containing the 1765 George Colman text. These are available as a separate e-text. For details on the Riley translation and its publishing history, including the source of the frontispiece, see the end of this file.

Italics in the translation indicate text added by the translator, not present in the Latin original.

Frontispiece: Two men with bust of Terence

THE
COMEDIES
OF
TERENCE.

LITERALLY TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE,
WITH NOTES.

By HENRY THOMAS RILEY, B.A.,

LATE SCHOLAR OF CLARE HALL, CAMBRIDGE.

TO WHICH IS ADDED

THE BLANK VERSE TRANSLATION OF

GEORGE COLMAN.

NEW YORK:

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

FRANKLIN SQUARE.

1896.

HARPER’S

NEW CLASSICAL LIBRARY.

COMPRISING LITERAL TRANSLATIONS OF

CÆSAR.
VIRGIL.
SALLUST.
HORACE.
TERENCE.
TACITUS. 2 Vols.
LIVY. 2 Vols.
CICERO’S ORATIONS.

CICERO’S OFFICES, LÆLIUS, CATO MAJOR, PARADOXES, SCIPIO’S DREAM, LETTER TO QUINTUS.

CICERO ON ORATORY AND ORATORS.

CICERO’S TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS, THE NATURE OF THE GODS, AND THE COMMONWEALTH.

JUVENAL.
XENOPHON.
HOMER’S ILIAD.
HOMER’S ODYSSEY.
HERODOTUS.
DEMOSTHENES. 2 Vols.
THUCYDIDES.
ÆSCHYLUS.
SOPHOCLES.
EURIPIDES. 2 Vols.

PLATO (SELECT DIALOGUES).

12mo, Cloth, $1.00 per Volume.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

pointing finger The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or they will be sent by Harper & Brothers to any address on receipt of price as quoted. If ordered sent by mail, 10 per cent. should be added to the price to cover cost of postage.

PREFACE.

In this Version of the Plays of Terence the Text of Volbehr, 1846, has been followed, with the few exceptions mentioned in the Notes.

The Translator has endeavored to convey faithfully the meaning of the author, and although not rigorously literal, he has, he trusts, avoided such wild departures from the text as are found in the versions of Echard, Cooke, Patrick, and Gordon.

CONTENTS.

COMEDIES OF TERENCE: IN PROSE.

Andria; or, the Fair Andrian

1

Eunuchus; or, the Eunuch

63

Heautontimorumenos; or, the Self-Tormentor

132

Adelphi; or, the Brothers

197

Hecyra; the Mother-in-law

254

Phormio; or, the Scheming Parasite

301

About this Translation

The comedies of Terence, translated by Henry Thomas Riley (1816-1878, B.A. 1840, M.A. 1859), were originally published in 1853 as part of Bohn’s Classical Library.

The series was later sold to Bell & Daldy, which became George Bell & sons; it is almost certain that the 1887 edition shown here was set from the original 1853 plates. The text appeared in an omnibus volume also containing two translations of the fables of Phaedrus: Riley’s own, and those of Christopher Smart (1765).

The 1859 Harper’s edition—issued during Riley’s lifetime—omitted the Phaedrus translations. Instead it added George Colman’s translation of Terence, coincidentally also from 1765. Only the translations themselves were included, not the notes and commentary quoted by Riley in his own notes.

The Harper’s edition differs from Bell/Bohn in a few minor points of spelling and punctuation, but it is very nearly a typographic facsimile of the London original. Readers who are familiar with the American edition of Riley’s translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses should be reassured to learn that the present text seems to have been much more carefully composed and typeset.

London 1853/1887

New York 1859

Both title pages were wholly capitalized. In the transcription, lines printed in smaller type are shown as lower case.

The
COMEDIES
of
TERENCE.

And
THE FABLES OF PHÆDRUS.

The
COMEDIES
of
TERENCE.

Literally Translated into English Prose, with Notes.

By HENRY THOMAS RILEY, B.A.,
Late Scholar of Clare Hall, Cambridge.

Literally Translated into English Prose, with Notes.

By HENRY THOMAS RILEY, B.A.,
Late Scholar of Clare Hall, Cambridge.

To Which is Added
A METRICAL TRANSLATION OF PHÆDRUS,
By Christopher Smart, A.M.

To Which is Added
the Blank Verse Translation of
GEORGE COLMAN.

London: George Bell & Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden.
1887.

New York:
Harper & Brothers, Publishers,
Franklin Square.
1859.

Bell/Bohn sample page
Harper sample page

This page from late in the volume shows how closely the New York edition followed the physical format of the London original.

The Frontispiece

The frontispiece shown at the beginning of this e-text is taken from the Bell/Bohn edition; it is absent from the New York edition. The New York edition also omitted all illustrations—including a similar frontispiece—from the Colman text.

ANDRIA;
THE FAIR ANDRIAN.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Simo,1 an aged Athenian.

Pamphilus,2 son of Simo.

Sosia,3 freedman of Simo.

Chremes,4 an aged Athenian.

Charinus,5 a young Athenian, in love with Philumena.

Crito,6 a native of Andros.

Davus,7 servant of Simo.

Dromo,8 servant of Simo.

Byrrhia,9 servant of Charinus.

Glycerium,10 a young woman beloved by Pamphilus.

Mysis,11 her maid-servant.

Lesbia,12 a midwife.

Scene.—Athens; before the houses of Simo and Glycerium.

THE SUBJECT.

Chremes and Phania were brothers, citizens of Athens. Chremes going to Asia, leaves his daughter, Pasibula, in the care of his brother Phania, who, afterward setting sail with Pasibula for Asia, is wrecked off the Isle of Andros. Escaping with their lives, they are kindly received by a native of the island; and Phania soon afterward dies there. The Andrian changes the name of the girl to Glycerium, and brings her up, as his own child, with his daughter Chrysis. On his death, Chrysis and Glycerium sail for Athens to seek their fortune there. Chrysis being admired by several Athenian youths, Pamphilus, the son of Simo, an opulent citizen, chances to see Glycerium, and falls violently in love with her. She afterward becomes pregnant by him, on which he makes her a promise of marriage. In the mean time, Chremes, who is now living at Athens, and is ignorant of the fate of Pasibula, agrees with Simo, the father of Pamphilus, to give Philumena, another daughter, in marriage to Pamphilus. While these arrangements are being made, Chrysis dies; on which Simo accidentally discovers his son’s connection with Glycerium. Chremes, also coming to hear of it, declines the match, having no idea that Glycerium is really his own daughter. Simo, however, in order to test his son’s feelings, resolves to pretend that the marriage-day is fixed. Meeting Pamphilus in the town, he desires him to go home and prepare for the wedding, which is to take place immediately. In his perplexity, the youth has recourse to his servant Davus, who, having heard of the refusal of Chremes, suspects the design of Simo. At this conjuncture, Charinus, a friend of Pamphilus, who is enamored of Philumena, but has been rejected by her father, entreats Pamphilus to put off the marriage, for at least a few days. Disclosing his own aversion to the match, Pamphilus readily engages to do this. In order the more effectually to break it off, Davus advises Pamphilus to pretend a readiness to comply with his father’s wishes, supposing that of course Chremes will steadily persist in his refusal. Pamphilus does as he is advised, on which Simo again applies to Chremes, who, after some entreaty, gives his consent. Just at this conjuncture, Glycerium is delivered of a son; and by the advice of Davus, it is laid before the door of Simo’s house. Chremes happening to see it there, and ascertaining that Pamphilus is its father, again refuses to give him his daughter. At this moment, Crito, a native of Andros, arrives, who, being a relative of Chrysis, has come to Athens to look after her property. Through him, Chremes discovers that Glycerium is no other than his long-lost daughter, Pasibula; on which he consents to her immediate marriage with Pamphilus, who promises Charinus that he will use his best endeavors to obtain for him the hand of Philumena.

THE TITLE OF THE PLAY.

Performed at the Megalensian Games;13 M. Fulvius and M. Glabrio being Curule Æediles.14 Ambivius Turpio and Lucius Atilius Prænestinus15 performed it. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius,16 composed the music, to a pair of treble flutes and bass flutes17 alternately. And it is entirely Grecian.18 Published—M. Marcellus and Cneius Sulpicius being Consuls.19

ANDRIA;
THE FAIR ANDRIAN.

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

Pamphilus seduces Glycerium, wrongfully supposed to be a sister of a Courtesan, an Andrian by birth; and she having become pregnant, he gives his word that she shall be his wife; but his father has engaged for him another, the daughter of Chremes; and when he discovers the intrigue he pretends that the nuptials are about to take place, desiring to learn what intentions his son may have. By the advice of Davus, Pamphilus does not resist; but Chremes, as soon as he has seen the little child born of Glycerium, breaks off the match, and declines him for a son-in-law. Afterward, this Glycerium, unexpectedly discovered to be his own daughter, he bestows as a wife on Pamphilus, the other on Charinus.

THE PROLOGUE.

The poet, when first he applied his mind to writing, thought that the only duty which devolved on him was, that the Plays he should compose might please the public. But he perceives that it has fallen out entirely otherwise; for he is wasting his labor in writing Prologues, not for the purpose of relating the plot, but to answer the slanders of a malevolent old Poet.20 Now I beseech you, give your attention to the thing which they impute as a fault. Menander composed the Andrian21 and the Perinthian.22 He who knows either of them well, will know them both; they are in plot not very different, and yet they have been composed in different language and style. What suited, he confesses he has transferred into the Andrian from the Perinthian, and has employed them as his own. These parties censure this proceeding; and on this point they differ from him, that Plays ought not to be mixed up together. By being thus knowing, do they not show that they know nothing at all? For while they are censuring him, they are censuring Nævius, Plautus, and Ennius,23 whom our Poet has for his precedents; whose carelessness he prefers to emulate, rather than the mystifying carefulness24 of those parties. Therefore, I advise them to be quiet in future, and to cease to slander; that they may not be made acquainted with their own misdeeds. Be well disposed, then; attend with unbiased mind, and consider the matter, that you may determine what hope is left; whether the Plays which he shall in future compose anew, are to be witnessed, or are rather to be driven off the stage.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Simo and Sosia, followed by Servants carrying provisions.

Simo (to the Servants.) Do you carry those things away in-doors; begone. (Beckoning to Sosia.) Sosia, just step here; I want a few words with you.

Sosia. Consider it as said; that these things are to be taken care of, I suppose.25

Sim. No, it’s another matter.

Sos. What is there that my ability can effect for you more than this?

Sim. There’s no need of that ability in the matter which I have in hand; but of those qualities which I have ever known as existing in you, fidelity and secrecy.

Sos. I await your will.

Sim. Since I purchased you, you know that, from a little child, your servitude with me has always been easy and light. From a slave I made you my freedman;26 for this reason, because you served me with readiness. The greatest recompense that I possessed, I bestowed upon you.

Sos. I bear it in mind.

Sim. I am not changed.

Sos. If I have done or am doing aught that is pleasing to you, Simo, I am glad that it has been done; and that the same has been gratifying to you, I consider sufficient thanks. But this is a cause of uneasiness to me; for the recital is, as it were, a censure27 to one forgetful of a kindness. But tell me, in one word, what it is that you want with me.

Sim. I’ll do so. In the first place, in this affair I give you notice: this, which you suppose to be such, is not a real marriage.

Sos. Why do you pretend it then?

Sim. You shall hear all the matter from the beginning; by that means you’ll be acquainted with both my son’s mode of life and my own design, and what I want you to do in this affair. For after he had passed youthfulness,28 Sosia, and had obtained free scope of living, (for before, how could you know or understand his disposition, while youthful age, fear, and a master29 were checking him?)—

Sos. That’s true.

Sim. What all young men, for the most part, do,—devote their attention to some particular pursuit, either to training horses or dogs for hunting, or to the philosophers;30 in not one of these did he engage in particular beyond the rest, and yet in all of them in a moderate degree. I was pleased.

Sos. Not without reason; for this I deem in life to be especially advantageous; that one do nothing to excess.31

Sim. Such was his mode of life; readily to bear and to comply with all; with whomsoever he was in company, to them to resign himself; to devote himself to their pursuits; at variance with no one; never preferring himself to them. Thus most readily you may acquire praise without envy, and gain friends.

Sos. He has wisely laid down his rule of life; for in these days obsequiousness begets friends; sincerity, dislike.

Sim. Meanwhile, three years ago,32 a certain woman from Andros removed hither into this neighborhood, driven by poverty and the neglect of her relations, of surpassing beauty and in the bloom of youth.

Sos. Ah! I’m afraid that this Andrian will bring some mischief.

Sim. At first, in a modest way, she passed her life with thriftiness and in hardship, seeking a livelihood with her wool and loom. But after an admirer made advances, promising her a recompense, first one and then another; as the disposition of all mankind has a downward tendency from industry toward pleasure, she accepted their proposals, and then began to trade upon her beauty. Those who then were her admirers, by chance, as it often happens, took my son thither that he might be in their company. Forthwith I said to myself, “He is surely caught; he is smitten.”33 In the morning I used to observe their servant-boys coming or going away; I used to make inquiry, “Here, my lad, tell me, will you, who had Chrysis yesterday?” for that was the name of the Andrian (touching Sosia on the arm).

Sos. I understand.

Sim. Phædrus, or Clinias, or Niceratus, they used to say; for these three then loved her at the same time. “Well now, what did Pamphilus do?” “What? He gave his contribution;34 he took part in the dinner.” Just so on another day I made inquiry, but I discovered nothing whatever that affected Pamphilus. In fact, I thought him sufficiently proved, and a great pattern of continence; for he who is brought into contact with dispositions of that sort, and his feelings are not aroused even under such circumstances, you may be sure that he is already capable of undertaking the governance of his own life. This pleased me, and every body with one voice began to say all kinds of flattering things, and to extol my good fortune, in having a son endowed with such a disposition. What need is there of talking? Chremes, influenced by this report, came to me of his own accord, to offer his only daughter as a wife to my son, with a very large portion. It pleased me; I betrothed him; this was the day appointed for the nuptials.

Sos. What then stands in the way? Why should they not take place?

Sim. You shall hear. In about a few days after these things had been agreed on, Chrysis, this neighbor, dies.

Sos. Bravo! You’ve made me happy. I was afraid for him on account of Chrysis.

Sim. Then my son was often there, with those who had admired Chrysis; with them he took charge of the funeral; sorrowful, in the mean time, he sometimes wept with them in condolence. Then that pleased me. Thus I reflected: “He by reason of this slight intimacy takes her death so much to heart; what if he himself had wooed her? What will he do for me his father?” All these things I took to be the duties of a humane disposition and of tender feelings. Why do I detain you with many words? Even I myself,35 for his sake, went forth to the funeral, as yet suspecting no harm.

Sos. Ha! what is this?

Sim. You shall know. She is brought out; we proceed. In the mean time, among the females who were there present, I saw by chance one young woman of beauteous form.

Sos. Very likely.

Sim. And of countenance, Sosia, so modest, so charming, that nothing could surpass. As she appeared to me to lament beyond the rest, and as she was of a figure handsome and genteel beyond the other women, I approached the female attendants;36 I inquired who she was. They said that she was the sister of Chrysis. It instantly struck my mind: “Ay, ay, this is it; hence those tears, hence that sympathy.”

Sos. How I dread what you are coming to!

Sim. The funeral procession meanwhile advances; we follow; we come to the burying-place.37 She is placed upon the pile; they weep. In the mean time, this sister, whom I mentioned, approached the flames too incautiously, with considerable danger. There, at that moment, Pamphilus, in his extreme alarm, discovers his well-dissembled and long-hidden passion; he runs up, clasps the damsel by the waist. “My Glycerium,” says he, “what are you doing? Why are you going to destroy yourself?” Then she, so that you might easily recognize their habitual attachment, weeping, threw herself back upon him—how affectionately!

Sos. What do you say?

Sim. I returned thence in anger, and hurt at heart: and yet there was not sufficient ground for reproving him. He might say; “What have I done? How have I deserved this, or offended, father? She who wished to throw herself into the flames, I prevented; I saved her.” The defense is a reasonable one.

Sos. You judge aright; for if you censure him who has assisted to preserve life, what are you to do to him who causes loss or misfortune to it?

Sim. Chremes comes to me next day, exclaiming: “Disgraceful conduct!”—that he had ascertained that Pamphilus was keeping this foreign woman as a wife. I steadfastly denied that to be the fact. He insisted that it was the fact. In short, I then left him refusing to bestow his daughter.

Sos. Did not you then reprove your son?

Sim. Not even this was a cause sufficiently strong for censuring him.

Sos. How so? Tell me.

Sim. “You yourself, father,” he might say, “have prescribed a limit to these proceedings. The time is near, when I must live according to the humor of another; meanwhile, for the present allow me to live according to my own.”

Sos. What room for reproving him, then, is there left?

Sim. If on account of his amour he shall decline to take a wife, that, in the first place, is an offense on his part to be censured. And now for this am I using my endeavors, that, by means of the pretended marriage, there may be real ground for rebuking him, if he should refuse; at the same time, that if that rascal Davus has any scheme, he may exhaust it now, while his knaveries can do no harm: who, I do believe, with hands, feet, and all his might, will do every thing; and more for this, no doubt, that he may do me an ill turn, than to oblige my son.

Sos. For what reason?

Sim. Do you ask? Bad heart, bad disposition. Whom, however, if I do detect—But what need is there of talking? If it should turn out, as I wish, that there is no delay on the part of Pamphilus, Chremes remains to be prevailed upon by me; and I do hope that all will go well. Now it’s your duty to pretend these nuptials cleverly, to terrify Davus; and watch my son, what he’s about, what schemes he is planning with him.

Sos. ’Tis enough; I’ll take care; now let’s go in-doors.

Sim. You go first; I’ll follow.

Sosia goes into the house of Simo.

Sim. (to himself.) There’s no doubt but that my son doesn’t wish for a wife; so alarmed did I perceive Davus to be just now, when he heard that there was going to be a marriage. But the very man is coming out of the house.

Stands aside.

Scene II.

Enter Davus from the house of Simo.

Dav. (aloud to himself.) I was wondering if this matter was to go off thus; and was continually dreading where my master’s good humor would end; for, after he had heard that a wife would not be given to his son, he never uttered a word to any one of us, or took it amiss.

Sim. (apart, overhearing him.) But now he’ll do so: and that, I fancy, not without heavy cost to you.

Dav. (to himself.) He meant this, that we, thus unsuspecting, should be led away by delusive joy; that now in hope, all fear being removed, we might during our supineness be surprised, so that there might be no time for planning a rupture of the marriage. How clever!

Sim. (apart.) The villain! what does he say?

Dav. (overhearing him, to himself.) It’s my master, and I didn’t see him.

Sim. Davus.

Dav. Well, what is it?

Sim. Just step this way to me.

Dav. (to himself.) What does he want?

Sim. What are you saying?

Dav. About what?

Sim. Do you ask the question? There’s a report that my son’s in love.

Dav. The public troubles itself about that,38 of course.

Sim. Will you attend to this, or not?

Dav. Certainly, I will, to that.

Sim. But for me to inquire now into these matters, were the part of a severe father. For what he has done hitherto, doesn’t concern me at all. So long as his time of life prompted to that course, I allowed him to indulge his inclination: now this day brings on another mode of life, demands other habits. From this time forward, I do request, or if it is reasonable, I do entreat you, Davus, that he may now return to the right path.

Dav. (aside.) What can this mean?

Sim. All who are intriguing take it ill to have a wife given them.

Dav. So they say.

Sim. And if any one has adopted a bad instructor in that course, he generally urges the enfeebled mind to pursuits still more unbecoming.

Dav. I’faith, I do not comprehend.

Sim. No? Ha——

Dav. No—I am Davus, not Œdipus.39

Sim. Of course then, you wish me to speak plainly in what further I have to say.

Dav. Certainly, by all means.

Sim. If I this day find out that you are attempting any trickery about this marriage, to the end that it may not take place; or are desirous that in this matter it should be proved how knowing you are; I’ll hand you over, Davus, beaten with stripes, to the mill,40 even to your dying day, upon this condition and pledge, that if ever I release you, I shall grind in your place. Now, do you understand this? Or not yet even this?

Dav. Yes, perfectly: you have now spoken so plainly upon the subject, you have not used the least circumlocution.

Sim. In any thing would I more willingly allow myself to be imposed upon than in this matter.

Dav. Fair words, I entreat.

Sim. You are ridiculing me: you don’t at all deceive me. I give you warning, don’t act rashly, and don’t say you were not warned. Take care.

Shaking his stick, goes into the house.

Scene III.

Davus alone.

Dav. (to himself.) Assuredly, Davus, there’s no room for slothfulness or inactivity, so far as I’ve just now ascertained the old man’s mind about the marriage; which if it is not provided against by cunning, will be bringing either myself or my master to ruin. What to do, I am not determined; whether I should assist Pamphilus or obey the old man. If I desert the former, I fear for his life; if I assist him, I dread the other’s threats, on whom it will be a difficult matter to impose. In the first place, he has now found out about this amour; with hostile feelings he watches me, lest I should be devising some trickery against the marriage. If he discovers it, I’m undone; or even if he chooses to allege any pretext, whether rightfully or wrongfully, he will consign me headlong to the mill. To these evils this one is besides added for me. This Andrian, whether she is his wife, or whether his mistress, is pregnant by Pamphilus. It is worth while to hear their effrontery; for it is an undertaking worthy of those in their dotage, not of those who dote in love;41 whatever she shall bring forth, they have resolved to rear;42 and they are now contriving among themselves a certain scheme, that she is a citizen of Attica. There was formerly a certain old man of this place, a merchant; he was shipwrecked off the Isle of Andros; he died. They say that there, the father of Chrysis, on that occasion, sheltered this girl, thrown on shore, an orphan, a little child. What nonsense! To myself at least it isn’t very probable; the fiction pleases them, however. But Mysis is coming out of the house. Now I’ll betake myself hence to the Forum,43 that I may meet with Pamphilus, lest his father should take him by surprise about this matter.

Exit.

Scene IV.

Enter Mysis from the house of Glycerium.

Mys. (speaking at the door to Archylis within.) I’ve heard you already, Archylis; you request Lesbia to be fetched. Really, upon my faith, she is a wine-bibbing44 and a rash woman, and not sufficiently trustworthy for you to commit to her care a female at her first delivery; is she still to be brought? (She receives an answer from within, and comes forward.) Do look at the inconsiderateness of the old woman; because she is her pot-companion. Ye Gods, I do entreat you, give her ease in her delivery, and to that woman an opportunity of making her mistakes elsewhere in preference. But why do I see Pamphilus so out of spirits? I fear what it may be. I’ll wait, that I may know whether this sorrow portends any disaster.

Stands apart.

Scene V.

Enter Pamphilus, wringing his hands.

Pam. (to himself.) Is it humane to do or to devise this? Is this the duty of a father?

Mys. (apart.) What does this mean?

Pam. (to himself.) O, by our faith in the Gods! what is, if this is not, an indignity? He had resolved that he himself would give me a wife to-day; ought I not to have known this beforehand? Ought it not to have been mentioned previously?

Mys. (apart.) Wretched me! What language do I hear?

Pam. (to himself.) What does Chremes do? He who had declared that he would not intrust his daughter to me as a wife; because he himself sees me unchanged he has changed. Thus perversely does he lend his aid, that he may withdraw wretched me from Glycerium. If this is effected, I am utterly undone. That any man should be so unhappy in love, or so unfortunate as I am! Oh, faith of Gods and men! shall I by no device be able to escape this alliance with Chremes? In how many ways am I contemned, and held in scorn? Every thing done, and concluded! Alas! once rejected I am sought again; for what reason? Unless perhaps it is this, which I suspect it is: they are rearing some monster,45 and as she can not be pushed off upon any one else, they have recourse to me.

Mys. (apart.) This language has terrified wretched me with apprehension.

Pam. (to himself.) But what am I to say about my father? Alas! that he should so thoughtlessly conclude an affair of such importance! Passing me in the Forum just now, he said, “Pamphilus, you must be married to-day: get ready; be off home.” He seemed to me to say this: “Be off this instant, and go hang yourself.” I was amazed; think you that I was able to utter a single word, or any excuse, even a frivolous, false, or lame one? I was speechless. But if any one were to ask me now what I would have done, if I had known this sooner, why, I would have done any thing rather than do this. But now, what course shall I first adopt? So many cares beset me, which rend my mind to pieces; love, sympathy for her, the worry of this marriage; then, respect for my father, who has ever, until now, with such an indulgent disposition, allowed me to do whatever was agreeable to my feelings. Ought I to oppose him? Ah me! I am in uncertainty what to do.

Mys. (apart.) I’m wretchedly afraid how this uncertainty is to terminate. But now there’s an absolute necessity, either for him to speak to her, or for me to speak to him about her. While the mind is in suspense, it is swayed by a slight impulse one way or the other.

Pam. (overhearing her.) Who is it speaking here? (Seeing her.) Mysis? Good-morrow to you.

Mys. Oh! Good-morrow to you, Pamphilus.

Pam. How is she?

Mys. Do you ask? She is oppressed with grief,46 and on this account the poor thing is anxious, because some time ago the marriage was arranged for this day. Then, too, she fears this, that you may forsake her.

Pam. Ha! could I attempt that? Could I suffer her, poor thing, to be deceived on my account? She, who has confided to me her affection, and her entire existence? She, whom I have held especially dear to my feelings as my wife? Shall I suffer her mind, well and chastely trained and tutored, to be overcome by poverty and corrupted? I will not do it.

Mys. I should have no fear if it rested with yourself alone; but whether you may be able to withstand compulsion—

Pam. Do you deem me so cowardly, so utterly ungrateful, inhuman, and so brutish, that neither intimacy, nor affection, nor shame, can move or admonish me to keep faith?

Mys. This one thing I know, that she is deserving that you should not forget her.

Pam. Forget her? Oh Mysis, Mysis, at this moment are those words of Chrysis concerning Glycerium written on my mind. Now at the point of death, she called me; I went to her; you had withdrawn; we were alone; she began: “My dear Pamphilus, you see her beauty and her youth; and it is not unknown to you to what extent both of these are now of use to her, in protecting both her chastity and her interests. By this right hand I do entreat you, and by your good Genius,47 by your own fidelity, and by her bereft condition, do not withdraw yourself from her, or forsake her; if I have loved you as my own brother, or if she has always prized you above all others, or has been obedient to you in all things. You do I give to her as a husband, friend, protector, father. This property of mine do I intrust to you, and commit to your care.” She placed her in my hands; that instant, death came upon her. I accepted her; having accepted, I will protect her.

Mys. So indeed I hope. (Moving.)

Pam. But why are you leaving her?

Mys. I’m going to fetch the midwife.48

Pam. Make all haste. And—do you hear?—take care, and not one word about the marriage, lest that too should add to her illness.

Mys. I understand.

Exeunt severally.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.

Enter Charinus and Byrrhia.49

Char. How say you, Byrrhia? Is she to be given in marriage to Pamphilus to-day?

Byr. It is so.

Char. How do you know?

Byr. I heard it just now from Davus at the Forum.

Char. Woe unto wretched me! As, hitherto, until now, my mind has been racked amid hope and fear; so, since hope has been withdrawn, wearied with care, it sinks overwhelmed.

Byr. By my troth, Charinus, since that which you wish can not come to pass, prithee, do wish that which can.

Char. I wish for nothing else but Philumena.

Byr. Alas! How much better were it for you to endeavor to expel that passion from your mind, than to be saying that by which your desire is to no purpose still more inflamed.

Char. We all, when we are well, with ease give good advice to the sick. If you were in my situation, you would think otherwise.

Byr. Well, well, just as you like.

Char. (looking down the side scene.) But I see Pamphilus; I’m determined I’ll try every thing before I despair.

Byr. (aside) What does he mean?

Char. I will entreat his own self; I will supplicate him; I will disclose to him my love. I think that I shall prevail upon him to put off the marriage for some days at least; in the mean time, something will turn up, I trust.

Byr. That something is nothing.

Char. Byrrhia, how seems it to you? Shall I accost him?

Byr. Why not? Should you not prevail, that at least he may look upon you as a gallant ready provided for him, if he marries her.

Char. Away with you to perdition with that vile suggestion, you rascal!

Scene II.

Enter Pamphilus.

Pam. I espy Charinus. (Accosting him.) Good-morrow!

Char. O, good-morrow. Pamphilus, I’m come to you, seeking hope, safety, counsel, and assistance.

Pam. I’faith, I have neither time for counsel, nor resources for assistance. But what’s the matter now?

Char. To-day you are going to take a wife?

Pam. So they say.

Char. Pamphilus, if you do that, you behold me this day for the last time.

Pam. Why so?

Char. Ah me! I dread to tell it; prithee, do you tell it, Bvrrhia.

Byr. I’ll tell it.

Pam. What is it?

Byr. He’s in love with your betrothed.

Pam. Assuredly he’s not of my way of thinking. Come now, tell me, have you had any more to do with her, Charinus?

Char. Oh Pamphilus, nothing.

Pam. How much I wish you had.

Char. Now, by our friendship and by my affection, I do beseech you, in the first place, not to marry her.

Pam. For my own part I’ll use my endeavors.

Char. But if that can not be, or if this marriage is agreeable to you—

Pam. Agreeable to me?

Char. Put it off for some days at least, while I go elsewhere, that I may not be witness.

Pam. Now listen, once for all: I think it, Charinus, to be by no means the part of an ingenuous man, when he confers nothing, to expect that it should be considered as an obligation on his part. I am more desirous to avoid this match, than you to gain it.

Char. You have restored me to life.

Pam. Now, if you can do any thing, either you yourself, or Byrrhia here, manage, fabricate, invent, contrive some means, whereby she may be given to you; this I shall aim at, how she may not be given to me.

Char. I am satisfied.

Pam. Most opportunely I perceive Davus, on whose advice I have depended.

Char. (turning to Byrrhia.) But you, i’faith, tell me nothing,50 except those things which there is no need for knowing. (Pushing him away.) Get you gone from here.

Byr. Certainly I will, and with all my heart.

Exit.

Scene III.

Enter Davus in haste.

Dav. (not seeing Pamphilus and Charinus.) Ye gracious Gods, what good news I bring! But where shall I find Pamphilus, that I may remove the apprehension in which he now is, and fill his mind with joy—?

Char. (apart to Pamphilus.) He’s rejoiced about something, I don’t know what.

Pam. (apart.) It’s of no consequence; he hasn’t yet heard of these misfortunes.

Dav. (to himself.) For I do believe now, if he has already heard that a marriage is prepared for him—

Char. (apart.) Don’t you hear him?

Dav. (to himself.) He is seeking me distractedly all the city over. But where shall I look for him? Or in which direction now first to betake me—

Char. (apart to Pamphilus.) Do you hesitate to accost him?

Dav. (to himself.) I have it. (Moving on.)

Pam. Davus, come here! Stop!

Dav. Who’s the person that’s—(Turning round.) O Pamphilus, you are the very man I’m looking for. Well done, Charinus! both in the nick of time: I want you both.

Char. Davus, I’m undone!

Dav. Nay but, do hear this.

Pam. I’m utterly ruined!

Dav. I know what you are afraid of.

Char. I’faith, my life indeed is really in danger.

Dav. (to Charinus.) And what you are afraid of, I know.

Pam. My marriage—

Dav. As if I did not know it?

Pam. This day—

Dav. Why keep dinning me with it, when I know it all? (To Pamphilus.) This are you afraid of, lest you should marry her; and you (to Charinus,) lest you should not marry her.

Char. You understand the matter.

Pam. That’s the very thing.

Dav. And that very thing is in no danger; trust me for that.

Pam. I do entreat you, release wretched me as soon as possible from this apprehension.

Dav. Well, then, I will release you; Chremes is not going to give you his daughter at present.

Pam. How do you know?

Dav. You shall know. Your father just now laid hold of me; he said that a wife was to be given you to-day, and many other things as well, which just now I haven’t time to relate. Hastening to you immediately, I ran on to the Forum that I might tell you these things. When I didn’t find you, I ascended there to a high place.51 I looked around; you were nowhere. There by chance I saw Byrrhia, his servant (pointing to Charinus). I inquired of him; he said he hadn’t seen you. This puzzled me. I considered what I was to do. As I was returning in the mean time, a surmise from the circumstances themselves occurred to me: “How now,—a very small amount of good cheer; he out of spirits; a marriage all of a sudden; these things don’t agree.”

Pam. But to what purpose this?

Dav. I forthwith betook myself to the house of Chremes. When I arrived there—stillness before the door;52 then I was pleased at that.

Char. You say well.

Pam. Proceed.

Dav. I stopped there. In the mean time I saw no one going in, no one going out; no matron at the house,53 no preparation, no bustle. I drew near; looked in—

Pam. I understand; a considerable indication.

Dav. Do these things seem to accord with a wedding?

Pam. I think not, Davus.

Dav. Think, do you say? You don’t view it rightly; the thing is certain. Besides, coming away from there I saw the servant-boy of Chremes carrying some vegetables and little fishes, an obol’s worth,54 for the old man’s dinner.

Char. This day, Davus, have I been delivered by your means.

Dav. And yet not at all.

Char. Why so? Surely he will not give her to him, after all this. (Pointing to Pamphilus.)

Dav. You silly fellow! as though it were a necessary consequence that if he doesn’t give her to him you should marry her: unless, indeed, you look about you; unless you entreat and make court to the old man’s friends.

Char. You advise well. I’ll go; although, upon my faith, this hope has often eluded me already. Farewell!

Exit.

Scene IV.

Pamphilus and Davus.

Pam. What then does my father mean? Why does he thus make pretense?

Dav. I’ll tell you. If now he were angry with you, because Chremes will not give you a wife, he would seem to himself to be unjust, and that not without reason, before he has ascertained your feelings as to the marriage, how they are disposed. But if you refuse to marry her, in that case he will transfer the blame to you; then such disturbances will arise.

Pam. I will submit to any thing from him.

Dav. He is your father, Pamphilus. It is a difficult matter. Besides, this woman is defenseless. No sooner said than done; he will find some pretext for driving her away from the city.

Pam. Driving her away?

Dav. Aye, and quickly too.

Pam. Tell me then, Davus, what am I to do?

Dav. Say that you will marry her.

Pam. (starting.) Ha!

Dav. What’s the matter?

Pam. What, am I to say so?

Dav. Why not?

Pam. Never will I do it.

Dav. Don’t say so.

Pam. Don’t attempt to persuade me.

Dav. Consider what will be the result of it.

Pam. That I shall be deprived of the one, and fixed with the other.

Dav. Not so. In fact, I think it will be thus: Your father will say: “I wish you to marry a wife to-day.” You reply: “I’ll marry her.” Tell me, how can he raise a quarrel with you? Thus you will cause all the plans which are now arranged by him to be disarranged, without any danger; for this is not to be doubted, that Chremes will not give you his daughter. Therefore do not hesitate in those measures which you are taking, on this account, lest he should change his sentiments. Tell your father that you consent; so that although he may desire it, he may not be able to be angry at you with reason. For that which you rely on, I will easily refute; “No one,” you think, “will give a wife to a person of these habits.” But he will find a beggar for you, rather than allow you to be corrupted by a mistress. If, however, he shall believe that you bear it with a contented mind, you will render him indifferent; at his leisure he will look out for another wife for you; in the mean time something lucky may turn up.

Pam. Do you think so?

Dav. It really is not a matter of doubt.

Pam. Consider to what you are persuading me.

Dav. Nay, but do be quiet.

Pam. Well, I’ll say it; but, that he mayn’t come to know that she has had a child by me, is a thing to be guarded against; for I have promised to bring it up.

Dav. Oh, piece of effrontery.

Pam. She entreated me that I would give her this pledge, by which she might be sure she should not be deserted.

Dav. It shall be attended to; but your father’s coming. Take care that he doesn’t perceive that you are out of spirits.

Scene V.

Enter Simo, at a distance.

Sim. (apart to himself.) I’ve come back to see what they are about, or what scheme they are hatching.

Dav. (to Pamphilus.) He has no doubt at present but that you’ll refuse to marry. Having considered his course, he’s come from a retired spot somewhere or other; he hopes that he has framed a speech by which to disconcert you; do you take care, then, to be yourself.

Pam. If I am only able, Davus.

Dav. Trust me for that, Pamphilus, I tell you; your father will never this day exchange a single word with you, if you say that you will marry.

Scene VI.

Enter Byrrhia, unperceived, at a distance behind Simo.

Byr. (apart to himself.) My master has ordered me, leaving my business, to keep an eye on Pamphilus to-day, what he is doing with regard to the marriage. I was to learn it; for that reason, I have now followed him55 (pointing to Simo) as he came hither. Himself, as well, I see standing with Davus close at hand; I’ll note this.

Sim. (apart to himself.) I see that both of them are here.

Dav. (in a low voice to Pamphilus.) Now then, be on your guard.

Sim. Pamphilus!

Dav. (in a low voice.) Look round at him as though taken unawares.

Pam. (turning round sharply.) What, my father!

Dav. (in a low voice.) Capital!

Sim. I wish you to marry a wife to-day, as I was saying.

Byr. (apart.) Now I’m in dread for our side, as to what he will answer.

Pam. Neither in that nor in any thing else shall you ever find any hesitation in me.

Byr. (apart.) Hah!

Dav. (in a low voice to Pamphilus.) He is struck dumb.

Byr. (apart.) What a speech!

Sim. You act as becomes you, when that which I ask I obtain with a good grace.

Dav. (aside to Pamphilus.) Am I right?

Byr. My master, so far as I learn, has missed his wife.

Sim. Now, then, go in-doors, that you mayn’t be causing delay when you are wanted.

Pam. I’ll go.

Goes into the house.

Byr. (apart.) Is there, in no case, putting trust in any man? That is a true proverb which is wont to be commonly quoted, that “all had rather it to be well for themselves than for another.” I remember noticing, when I saw her, that she was a young woman of handsome figure; wherefore I am the more disposed to excuse Pamphilus, if he has preferred that he himself, rather than the other, should embrace her in his slumbers. I’ll carry back these tidings, that, in return for this evil he may inflict evil upon me.56

Exit.

Scene VII.

Simo and Davus.

Dav. (aside, coming away from the door of the house.) He now supposes that I’m bringing some trick to bear against him, and that on that account I’ve remained here.

Sim. What does he say, Davus?57

Dav. Just as much as nothing.58

Sim. What, nothing? Eh?

Dav. Nothing at all.

Sim. And yet I certainly was expecting something.

Dav. It has turned out contrary to your expectations. (Aside.) I perceive it; this vexes the man.

Sim. Are you able to tell me the truth?

Dav. I? Nothing more easy.

Sim. Is this marriage at all disagreeable to him, on account of his intimacy with this foreign woman?

Dav. No, faith; or if at all, it is a two or three days’ annoyance this—you understand. It will then cease. Moreover, he himself has thought over this matter in a proper way.

Sim. I commend him.

Dav. While it was allowed him, and while his years prompted him, he intrigued; even then it was secretly. He took precaution that that circumstance should never be a cause of disgrace to him, as behooves a man of principle; now that he must have a wife, he has set his mind upon a wife.

Sim. He seemed to me to be somewhat melancholy in a slight degree.

Dav. Not at all on account of her, but there’s something he blames you for.

Sim. What is it, pray?

Dav. It’s a childish thing.

Sim. What is it?

Dav. Nothing at all.

Sim. Nay but, tell me what it is.

Dav. He says that you are making too sparing preparations.

Sim. What, I?

Dav. You.—He says that there has hardly been fare provided to the amount of ten drachmæ.59—“Does he seem to be bestowing a wife on his son? Which one now, in preference, of my companions shall I invite to the dinner?” And, it must be owned, you really are providing too parsimoniously—I do not commend you.

Sim. Hold your tongue.

Dav. (aside.) I’ve touched him up.

Sim. I’ll see that these things are properly done. (Davus goes into the house.) What’s the meaning of this? What does this old rogue mean? But if there’s any knavery here, why, he’s sure to be the source of the mischief.

Goes into his house.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Simo and Davus from the house of the former. Mysis and Lesbia are coming toward the house of Glycerium.

Mys. (not seeing Simo and Davus.) Upon my faith, the fact is really as you mentioned, Lesbia, you can hardly find a man constant to a woman.

Sim. (apart to Davus.) This maid-servant comes from the Andrian.

Dav. (apart to Simo.) What do you say?

Sim. (apart to Davus.) It is so.

Mys. But this Pamphilas——

Sim. (apart to Davus.) What is she saying?

Mys. Has proved his constancy.

Sim. (apart.) Hah!

Dav. (apart to himself.) I wish that either he were deaf, or she struck dumb.

Mys. For the child she brings forth, he has ordered to be brought up.

Sim. (apart.) O Jupiter! What do I hear! It’s all over, if indeed this woman speaks the truth.

Les. You mention a good disposition on the part of the young man.

Mys. A most excellent one. But follow me in-doors, that you mayn’t keep her waiting.

Les. I’ll follow.

Mysis and Lesbia go into Glycerium’s house.

Scene II.

Simo and Davus.

Dav. (aside.) What remedy now shall I find for this mishap?

Sim. (to himself aloud.) What does this mean? Is he so infatuated? The child of a foreign woman? Now I understand; ah! scarcely even at last, in my stupidity, have I found it out.

Dav. (aside to himself.) What does he say he has found out?

Sim. (aside.) This piece of knavery is being now for the first time palmed upon me by this fellow; they are pretending that she’s in labor, in order that they may alarm Chremes.

Gly. (exclaiming from within her house.) Juno Lucina,60 grant me thine aid, save me, I do entreat thee!

Sim. Whew! so sudden? What nonsense! As soon as she has heard that I’m standing before the door, she makes all haste. These incidents, Davus, have not been quite happily adapted by you as to the points of time.

Dav. By me?

Sim. Are your scholars forgetful?61

Dav. I don’t know what you are talking about.

Sim. (aside.) If he at the real marriage of my son had taken me off my guard, what sport he would have made of me. Now it is at his own risk; I’m sailing in harbor.

Scene III.

Re-enter Lesbia from the house of Glycerium.

Les. (speaking to Archylis at the door, and not seeing Simo and Davus.) As yet, Archylis, all the customary symptoms which ought to exist toward recovery, I perceive in her. Now, in the first place, take care and let her bathe;62 then, after that, what I ordered to be given her to drink, and as much as I prescribed, do you administer: presently I will return hither. (To herself aloud.) By all that’s holy, a fine boy has been born to Pamphilus. I pray the Gods that he may survive, since the father himself is of a good disposition, and since he has hesitated to do an injustice to this most excellent young woman.

Exit.

Scene IV.

Simo and Davus.

Sim. Even this, who is there that knows you that would not believe that it originated in you?

Dav. Why, what is this?

Sim. She didn’t order in their presence what was requisite to be done for the woman lying in; but after she has come out, she bawls from the street to those who are in the house. O Davus, am I thus trifled with by you? Or pray, do I seem to you so very well suited to be thus openly imposed upon by your tricks? At all events it should have been with precaution; that at least I might have seemed to be feared if I should detect it.

Dav. (aside.) Assuredly, upon my faith, it’s he that’s now deceiving himself, not I.

Sim. I gave you warning, I forbade you with threats to do it. Have you been awed? What has it availed? Am I to believe you now in this, that this woman has had a child by Pamphilus?

Dav. (aside.) I understand where he’s mistaken; and I see what I must do.

Sim. Why are you silent?

Dav. What would you believe? As though word had not been brought you that thus it would happen.

Sim. Any word brought to me?

Dav. Come now, did you of your own accord perceive that this was counterfeited?

Sim. I am being trifled with.

Dav. Word has been brought you; for otherwise how could this suspicion have occurred to you?

Sim. How? Because I knew you.

Dav. As though you meant to say that this has been done by my contrivance.

Sim. Why, I’m sure of it, to a certainty.

Dav. Not yet even do you know me sufficiently, Simo, what sort of person I am.

Sim. I, not know you!

Dav. But if I begin to tell you any thing, at once you think that deceit is being practiced upon you in guile; therefore, upon my faith, I don’t dare now even to whisper.

Sim. This one thing I am sure of, that no person has been delivered here. (Pointing to Glycerium’s house.)

Dav. You have discovered that? Still, not a bit the less will they presently be laying the child63 here before the door. Of this, then, I now warn you, master, that it will happen, that you may be aware of it. Don’t you hereafter be saying that this was done through the advice or artifices of Davus. I wish this suspicion of yours to be entirely removed from myself.

Sim. How do you know that?

Dav. I’ve heard so, and I believe it: many things combine for me to form this conjecture. In the first place then, she declared that she was pregnant by Pamphilus; that has been proved to be false.64 Now, when she sees that preparations are being made for the wedding at our house, the maid-servant is directly sent to fetch the midwife to her, and to bring a child at the same time.65 Unless it is managed for you to see the child, the marriage will not be at all impeded.

Sim. What do you say to this? When you perceived that they were adopting this plan, why didn’t you tell Pamphilus immediately?

Dav. Why, who has induced him to leave her, but myself? For, indeed, we all know how desperately he loved her. Now he wishes for a wife. In fine, do you intrust me with that affair; proceed however, as before, to celebrate these nuptials, just as you are doing, and I trust that the Gods will prosper this matter.

Sim. Very well; be off in-doors; wait for me there, and get ready what’s necessary to be prepared. (Davus goes into the house.) He hasn’t prevailed upon me even now altogether to believe these things, and I don’t know whether what he has said is all true; but I deem it of little moment; this is of far greater importance to me—that my son himself has promised me. Now I’ll go and find Chremes; I’ll ask him for a wife for my son; if I obtain my request, at what other time rather than to-day should I prefer these nuptials taking place? For as my son has promised, I have no doubt but that if he should prove unwilling, I can fairly compel him. And look! here’s Chremes himself, just at the very time.

Scene V.

Enter Chremes.

Sim. I greet you, Chremes.

Chrem. O, you are the very person I was looking for.

Sim. And I for you.

Chrem. You meet me at a welcome moment. Some persons have been to me, to say that they had heard from you, that my daughter was to be married to your son to-day; I’ve come to see whether they are out of their senses or you.

Sim. Listen; in a few words you shall learn both what I want of you, and what you seek to know.

Chrem. I am listening; say what you wish.

Sim. By the Gods, I do entreat you, Chremes, and by our friendship, which, commencing with our infancy, has grown up with our years, and by your only daughter and by my own son (of preserving whom the entire power lies with you), that you will assist me in this matter; and that, just as this marriage was about to be celebrated, it may be celebrated.

Chrem. O, don’t importune me; as though you needed to obtain this of me by entreaty. Do you suppose I am different now from what I was formerly, when I promised her? If it is for the advantage of them both that it should take place, order her to be sent for. But if from this course there would result more harm than advantage for each, this I do beg of you, that you will consult for their common good, as though she were your own daughter, and I the father of Pamphilus.

Sim. Nay, so I intend, and so I wish it to be, Chremes; and I would not ask it of you, did not the occasion itself require it.

Chrem. What is the matter?

Sim. There is a quarrel between Glycerium and my son.

Chrem. (ironically) I hear you.

Sim. So much so, that I’m in hopes they may be separated.

Chrem. Nonsense!

Sim. It really is so.

Chrem. After this fashion, i’faith, I tell you, “the quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love.”

Sim. Well—this I beg of you, that we may prevent it. While an opportunity offers, and while his passion is cooled by affronts, before the wiles of these women and their tears, craftily feigned, bring back his love-sick mind to compassion, let us give him a wife. I trust, Chremes, that, when attached by intimacy and a respectable marriage, he will easily extricate himself from these evils.

Chrem. So it appears to you; but I do not think66 that either he can possibly hold to her with constancy, or that I can put up with it if he does not.

Sim. How then can you be sure of that, unless you make the experiment?

Chrem. But for that experiment to be made upon a daughter is a serious thing——

Sim. Why look, all the inconvenience in fine amounts to this—possibly, which may the Gods forfend, a separation may take place. But if he is reformed, see how many are the advantages: in the first place, you will have restored a son to your friend; you will obtain a sure son-in-law67 for yourself, and a husband for your daughter.

Chrem. What is one to say to all this? If you feel persuaded that this is beneficial, I don’t wish that any advantage should be denied you.

Sim. With good reason, Chremes, have I always considered you a most valuable friend.

Chrem. But how say you——?

Sim. What?

Chrem. How do you know that they are now at variance?

Sim. Davus himself, who is privy to all their plans, has told me so; and he advises me to expedite the match as fast as I can. Do you think he would do so, unless he was aware that my son desired it? You yourself as well shall presently hear what he says. (Goes to the door of his house and calls.) Halloo there! Call Davus out here. Look, here he is; I see him just coming out.

Scene VI.

Enter Davus from the house.

Dav. I was coming to you.

Sim. Why, what’s the matter?

Dav. Why isn’t the bride sent for?68 It’s now growing late in the day.

Sim. Do you hear me? I’ve been for some time not a little apprehensive of you, Davus, lest you should do that which the common class of servants is in the habit of doing, namely, impose upon me by your artifices; because my son is engaged in an amour.

Dav. What, I do that?

Sim. I fancied so; and therefore, fearing that, I concealed from you what I shall now mention.

Dav. What?

Sim. You shall know; for now I almost feel confidence in you.

Dav. Have you found out at last what sort of a person I am?

Sim. The marriage was not to have taken place.

Dav. How? Not to have taken place?

Sim. But I was making pretense, that I might test you all.

Dav. (affecting surprise.) What is it you tell me?

Sim. Such is the fact.

Dav. Only see! I was not able to discover that. Dear me! what a cunning contrivance!

Sim. Listen to this. Just as I ordered you to go from here into the house, he (pointing to Chremes) most opportunely met me.

Dav. (aside.) Ha! Are we undone, then?

Sim. I told him what you just now told me.

Dav. (aside.) Why, what am I to hear?

Sim. I begged him to give his daughter, and with difficulty I prevailed upon him.

Dav. (aside.) Utterly ruined!

Sim. (overhearing him speaking.) Eh—What was it you said?

Dav. Extremely well done, I say.

Sim. There’s no delay on his part now.

Chrem. I’ll go home at once; I’ll tell her to make due preparation, and bring back word here.

Exit.

Sim. Now I do entreat you, Davus, since you by yourself have brought about this marriage for me——

Dav. I myself, indeed!69

Sim. Do your best still to reform my son.

Dav. Troth, I’ll do it with all due care.

Sim. Do it now, while his mind is agitated.

Dav. You may be at ease.

Sim. Come then; where is he just now?

Dav. A wonder if he isn’t at home.

Sim. I’ll go to him; and what I’ve been telling you, I’ll tell him as well.

Goes into his house.

Scene VII.

Davus alone.

Dav. (to himself.) I’m a lost man! What reason is there why I shouldn’t take my departure straightway hence for the mill? There’s no room left for supplicating; I’ve upset every thing now; I’ve deceived my master; I’ve plunged my master’s son into a marriage; I’ve been the cause of its taking place this very day, without his hoping for it, and against the wish of Pamphilus. Here’s cleverness for you! But, if I had kept myself quiet, no mischief would have happened. (Starting.) But see, I espy him; I’m utterly undone! Would that there were some spot here for me, from which I might this instant pitch myself headlong!

Stands apart.

Scene VIII.

Enter Pamphilus in haste from Simo’s house.

Pam. Where is he? The villain, who this day—I’m ruined; and I confess that this has justly befallen me, for being such a dolt, so devoid of sense; that I should have intrusted my fortunes to a frivolous slave!70 I am suffering the reward of my folly; still he shall never get off from me unpunished for this.

Dav. (apart.) I’m quite sure that I shall be safe in future, if for the present I get clear of this mishap.

Pam. But what now am I to say to my father? Am I to deny that I am ready, who have just promised to marry? With what effrontery could I presume to do that? I know not what to do with myself.

Dav. (apart.) Nor I with myself, and yet I’m giving all due attention to it. I’ll tell him that I will devise something, in order that I may procure some respite in this dilemma.

Pam. (Catching sight of him.) Oho!

Dav. (apart.) I’m seen.

Pam. (sneeringly.) How now, good sir, what are you about? Do you see how dreadfully I am hampered by your devices?

Dav. Still, I’ll soon extricate you.

Pam. You, extricate me?

Dav. Assuredly, Pamphilus.

Pam. As you have just done, I suppose.

Dav. Why no, better, I trust.

Pam. What, am I to believe you, you scoundrel?71 You, indeed, make good a matter that’s all embarrassment and ruin! Just see, in whom I’ve been placing reliance—you who this day from a most happy state have been and plunged me into a marriage. Didn’t I say that this would be the case?

Dav. You did say so.

Pam. What do you deserve?72

Dav. The cross.73 But allow me a little time to recover myself; I’ll soon hit upon something.

Pam. Ah me! not to have the leisure to inflict punishment upon you as I desire! for the present conjuncture warns me to take precautions for myself, not to be taking vengeance on you.

Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Charinus, wringing his hands.

Char. (to himself.) Is this to be believed or spoken of; that malice so great could be inborn in any one as to exult at misfortunes, and to derive advantage from the distresses of another! Oh, is this true? Assuredly, that is the most dangerous class of men, in whom there is only a slight degree of hesitation at refusing; afterward, when the time arrives for fulfilling their promises, then, obliged, of necessity they discover themselves. They are afraid, and yet the circumstances74 compel them to refuse. Then, in that case, their very insolent remark is, “Who are you? What are you to me? What should I give up to you what’s my own? Look you, I am the most concerned in my own interests.”75 But if you inquire where is honor, they are not ashamed.76 Here, where there is occasion, they are not afraid; there, where there is no occasion, they are afraid. But what am I to do? Ought I not to go to him, and reason with him upon this outrage, and heap many an invective upon him? Yet some one may say, “you will avail nothing.” Nothing? At least I shall have vexed him, and have given vent to my own feelings.

Scene II.

Enter Pamphilus and Davus.

Pam. Charinus, unintentionally I have ruined both myself and you, unless the Gods in some way befriend us.

Char. Unintentionally, is it! An excuse has been discovered at last. You have broken your word.

Pam. How so, pray?

Char. Do you expect to deceive me a second time by these speeches?

Pam. What does this mean?

Char. Since I told you that I loved her, she has become quite pleasing to you. Ah wretched me! to have judged of your disposition from my own.

Pam. You are mistaken.

Char. Did this pleasure appear to you not to be quite complete, unless you tantalized me in my passion, and lured me on by groundless hopes?—You may take her.

Pam. I, take her? Alas! you know not in what perplexities, to my sorrow, I am involved, and what vast anxieties this executioner of mine (pointing to Davus) has contrived for me by his devices.

Char. What is it so wonderful, if he takes example from yourself?

Pam. You would not say that if you understood either myself or my affection.

Char. I’m quite aware (ironically); you have just now had a dispute with your father, and he is now angry with you in consequence, and has not been able to-day to prevail upon you to marry her.

Pam. No, not at all,—as you are not acquainted with my sorrows, these nuptials were not in preparation for me; and no one was thinking at present of giving me a wife.

Char. I am aware; you have been influenced by your own inclination.

Pam. Hold; you do not yet know all.

Char. For my part, I certainly do know that you are about to marry her.

Pam. Why are you torturing me to death? Listen to this. He (pointing to Davus) never ceased to urge me to tell my father that I would marry her; to advise and persuade me, even until he compelled me.

Char. Who was this person?

Pam. Davus.

Char. Davus! For what reason?

Pam. I don’t know; except that I must have been under the displeasure of the Gods, for me to have listened to him.

Char. Is this the fact, Davus?

Dav. It is the fact.

Char. (starting.) Ha! What do you say, you villain? Then may the Gods send you an end worthy of your deeds. Come now, tell me, if all his enemies had wished him to be plunged into a marriage, what advice but this could they have given?

Dav. I have been deceived, but I don’t despair.

Char. (ironically.) I’m sure of that.

Dav. This way it has not succeeded; we’ll try another. Unless, perhaps, you think that because it failed at first, this misfortune can not now possibly be changed for better luck.

Pam. Certainly not; for I quite believe that if you set about it, you will be making two marriages for me out of one.

Dav. I owe you this, Pamphilus, in respect of my servitude, to strive with hands and feet, night and day; to submit to hazard of my life, to serve you. It is your part, if any thing has fallen out contrary to expectation, to forgive me. What I was contriving has not succeeded; still, I am using all endeavors; or, do you yourself devise something better, and dismiss me.

Pam. I wish to; restore me to the position in which you found me.

Dav. I’ll do so.

Pam. But it must be done directly.

Dav. But the door of Glycerium’s house here makes a noise.77

Pam. That’s nothing to you.

Dav. (assuming an attitude of meditation.) I’m in search of—

Pam. (ironically.) Dear me, what, now at last?

Dav. Presently I’ll give you what I’ve hit upon.

Scene III.

Enter Mysis from the house of Glycerium.

Mys. (calling at the door to Glycerium within.) Now, wherever he is, I’ll take care that your own Pamphilus shall be found for you, and brought to you by me; do you only, my life, cease to vex yourself.

Pam. Mysis.

Mys. (turning round.) Who is it? Why, Pamphilus, you do present yourself opportunely to me. My mistress charged me to beg of you, if you love her, to come to her directly; she says she wishes to see you.

Pam. (aside.) Alas! I am undone; this dilemma grows apace! (To Davus.) For me and her, unfortunate persons, now to be tortured this way through your means; for I am sent for, because she has discovered that my marriage is in preparation.

Char. From which, indeed, how easily a respite could have been obtained, if he (pointing to Davus) had kept himself quiet.

Dav. (ironically to Charinus.) Do proceed; if he isn’t sufficiently angry of his own accord, do you irritate him.

Mys. (to Pamphilus.) Aye faith, that is the case; and for that reason, poor thing, she is now in distress.

Pam. Mysis, I swear by all the Gods that I will never forsake her; not if I were to know that all men would be my enemies in consequence. Her have I chosen for mine; she has fallen to my lot; our feelings are congenial; farewell they, who wish for a separation between us; nothing but Death separates her from me.

Mys. I begin to revive.

Pam. Not the responses of Apollo are more true than this. If it can possibly be contrived that my father may not believe that this marriage has been broken off through me, I could wish it. But if that can not be, I will do that which is easily effected, for him to believe that through me it has been caused. What do you think of me?

Char. That you are as unhappy as myself.

Dav. (placing his finger on his forehead.) I’m contriving an expedient.

Char. You are a clever hand; if you do set about any thing.

Dav. Assuredly, I’ll manage this for you.

Pam. There’s need of it now.

Dav. But I’ve got it now.

Char. What is it?

Dav. For him (pointing to Pamphilus) I’ve got it, not for you, don’t mistake.

Char. I’m quite satisfied.

Pam. What will you do? Tell me.

Dav. I’m afraid that this day won’t be long enough for me to execute it, so don’t suppose that I’ve now got leisure for relating it; do you betake yourself off at once, for you are a hinderance to me.

Pam. I’ll go and see her.

Goes into the house of Glycerium.

Dav. (to Charinus.) What are you going to do? Whither are you going from here?

Char. Do you wish me to tell you the truth?

Dav. No, not at all; (aside) he’s making the beginning of a long story for me.

Char. What will become of me?

Dav. Come now, you unreasonable person, are you not satisfied that I give you a little respite, by putting off his marriage?

Char. But yet, Davus—

Dav. What then?

Char. That I may marry her—

Dav. Absurd.

Char. Be sure to come hither (pointing in the direction of his house) to my house, if you can effect any thing.

Dav. Why should I come? I can do nothing for you.

Char. But still, if any thing—

Dav. Well, well, I’ll come.

Char. If you can; I shall be at home.

Exit.

Scene IV.

Mysis and Davus.

Dav. Do you, Mysis, remain here a little while, until I come out.

Mys. For what reason?

Dav. There’s a necessity for so doing.

Mys. Make haste.

Dav. I’ll be here this moment, I tell you.

He goes into the house of Glycerium.

Scene V.

Mysis alone.

Mys. (to herself.) That nothing can be secure to any one! Ye Gods, by our trust in you! I used to make sure that this Pamphilus was a supreme blessing for my mistress; a friend, a protector, a husband secured under every circumstance; yet what anguish is she, poor thing, now suffering through him? Clearly there’s more trouble for her now than there was happiness formerly. But Davus is coming out.

Scene VI.

Enter Davus from the house of Glycerium with the child.

Mys. My good sir, prithee, what is that? Whither are you carrying the child?

Dav. Mysis, I now stand in need of your cunning being brought into play in this matter, and of your address.

Mys. Why, what are you going to do?

Dav. (holding out the child.) Take it from me directly, and lay it down before our door.

Mys. Prithee, on the ground?

Dav. (pointing.) Take some sacred herbs78 from the altar here,79 and strew them under it.

Mys. Why don’t you do it yourself?

Dav. That if perchance I should have to swear to my master that I did not place it there, I may be enabled to do so with a clear conscience.

Mys. I understand; have these new scruples only just now occurred to you, pray?

Dav. Bestir yourself quickly, that you may learn what I’m going to do next. (Mysis lays the child at Simo’s door.) Oh Jupiter!

Mys. (starting up.) What’s the matter?

Dav. The father of the intended bride is coming in the middle of it all. The plan which I had first purposed I now give up.80

Mys. I don’t understand what you are talking about.

Dav. I’ll pretend too that I’ve come in this direction from the right. Do you take care to help out the conversation by your words, whenever there’s necessity.81

Mys. I don’t at all comprehend what you are about; but if there’s any thing in which you have need of my assistance, as you understand the best, I’ll stay, that I mayn’t in any way impede your success.

Davus retires out of sight.

Scene VII.

Enter Chremes on the other side of the stage, going toward the house of Simo.

Chrem. (to himself.) After having provided the things necessary for my daughter’s nuptials, I’m returning, that I may request her to be sent for. (Seeing the child.) But what’s this? I’faith, it’s a child. (Addressing Mysis.) Woman, have you laid that here (pointing to the child)?

Mys. (aside, looking out for Davus.) Where is he?

Chrem. Don’t you answer me?

Mys. (looking about, to herself.) He isn’t any where to be seen. Woe to wretched me! the fellow has left me and is off.

Dav. (coming forward and pretending not to see them.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you! what a crowd there is in the Forum! What a lot of people are squabbling there! (Aloud.) Then provisions are so dear. (Aside.) What to say besides, I don’t know.

Chremes passes by Mysis, and goes to a distance at the back of the stage.

Mys. Pray, why did you leave me here alone?

Dav. (pretending to start on seeing the child.) Ha! what story is this? How now, Mysis, whence comes this child? Who has brought it here?

Mys. Are you quite right in your senses, to be asking me that?

Dav. Whom, then, ought I to ask, as I don’t see any one else here?

Chrem. (apart to himself.) I wonder whence it has come.

Dav. Are you going to tell me what I ask?

Mys. Pshaw!

Dav. (in a whisper.) Step aside to the right.

They retire on one side.

Mys. You are out of your senses; didn’t you your own self?

Dav. (in a low voice.) Take you care not to utter a single word beyond what I ask you. Why don’t you say aloud whence it comes?

Mys. (in a loud voice.) From our house.

Dav. (affecting indignation.) Heyday, indeed! it really is a wonder if a woman, who is a courtesan, acts impudently.

Chrem. (apart.) So far as I can learn, this woman belongs to the Andrian.

Dav. Do we seem to you such very suitable persons for you to be playing tricks with us in this way?

Chrem. (apart.) I came just in time.

Dav. Make haste then, and take the child away from the door here: (in a low voice) stay there; take care you don’t stir from that spot.

Mys. (aside.) May the Gods confound you! you do so terrify poor me.

Dav. (in a loud voice.) Is it to you I speak or not?

Mys. What is it you want?

Dav. (aloud.) What—do you ask me again? Tell me, whose child have you been laying here? Let me know.

Mys. Don’t you know?

Dav. (in a low voice.) Have done with what I know; tell me what I ask.

Mys. (aloud.) It belongs to your people.

Dav. (aloud.) Which of our people?

Mys. (aloud.) To Pamphilus.

Dav. (affecting surprise in a loud tone.) How? What—to Pamphilus?

Mys. (aloud.) How now—is it not so?

Chrem. (apart.) With good reason have I always been averse to this match, it’s clear.

Dav. (calling aloud.) O abominable piece of effrontery!

Mys. Why are you bawling out so?

Dav. (aloud.) What, the very one I saw being carried to your house yesterday evening?

Mys. O you impudent fellow!

Dav. (aloud.) It’s the truth. I saw Canthara stuffed out beneath her clothes.82

Mys. I’faith, I thank the Gods that several free women were present83 at the delivery.

Dav. (aloud.) Assuredly she doesn’t know him, on whose account she resorts to these schemes. Chremes, she fancies, if he sees the child laid before the door, will not give his daughter; i’faith, he’ll give her all the sooner,.

Chrem. (apart.) I’faith, he’ll not do so.

Dav. (aloud.) Now therefore, that you may be quite aware, if you don’t take up the child, I’ll roll it forthwith into the middle of the road; and yourself in the same place I’ll roll over into the mud.

Mys. Upon my word, man, you are not sober.

Dav. (aloud.) One scheme brings on another. I now hear it whispered about that she is a citizen of Attica—

Chrem. (apart.) Ha!

Dav. (aloud.) And that, constrained by the laws,84 he will have to take her as his wife.

Mys. Well now, pray, is she not a citizen?

Chrem. (apart.) I had almost fallen unawares into a comical misfortune.

Comes forward.

Dav. Who’s that, speaking? (Pretending to look about.) O Chremes, you have come in good time. Do listen to this.

Chrem. I have heard it all already.

Dav. Prithee, did you hear it? Here’s villainy for you! she (pointing at Mysis) ought to be carried off85 hence to the torture forthwith. (To Mysis, pointing at Chremes.) This is Chremes himself; don’t suppose that you are trifling with Davus only.

Mys. Wretched me! upon my faith I have told no untruth, my worthy old gentleman.

Chrem. I know the whole affair. Is Simo within?

Dav. He is.

Chremes goes into Simo’s house.

Scene VIII.

Davus and Mysis.

Mys. (Davus attempting to caress her.) Don’t touch me, villain. (Moving away.) On my word, if I don’t tell Glycerium all this....

Dav. How now, simpleton, don’t you know what has been done?

Mys. How should I know?

Dav. This is the bride’s father. It couldn’t any other way have been managed that he should know the things that we wanted him to know.

Mys. You should have told me that before.

Dav. Do you suppose that it makes little difference whether you do things according to impulse, as nature prompts, or from premeditation?

Scene IX.

Enter Crito, looking about him.

Crito (to himself.) It was said that Chrysis used to live in this street, who preferred to gain wealth here dishonorably to living honestly as a poor woman in her own country: by her death that property has descended to me by law.86 But I see some persons of whom to make inquiry. (Accosting them.) Good-morrow to you.

Mys. Prithee, whom do I see? Isn’t this Crito, the kinsman of Chrysis? It is he.

Cri. O Mysis, greetings to you.

Mys. Welcome to you, Crito.

Cri. Is Chrysis then——?87 Alas!

Mys. Too truly. She has indeed left us poor creatures quite heart-broken.

Cri. How fare you here, and in what fashion? Pretty well?

Mys. What, we? Just as we can, as they say; since we can’t as we would.

Cri. How is Glycerium? Has she discovered her parents yet?

Mys. I wish she had.

Cri. What, not yet? With no favorable omen did I set out for this place; for, upon my faith, if I had known that, I never would have moved a foot hither. She was always said to be, and was looked upon as her sister; what things were hers she is in possession of; now for me to begin a suit at law here, the precedents of others warn me, a stranger,88 how easy and profitable a task it would be for me. At the same time, I suppose that by this she has got some friend and protector; for she was pretty nearly a grown-up girl when she left there. They would cry out that I am a sharper; that, a pauper, I’m hunting after an inheritance; besides, I shouldn’t like to strip the girl herself.

Mys. O most worthy stranger! I’faith, Crito, you still adhere to your good old-fashioned ways.

Cri. Lead me to her, since I have come hither, that I may see her.

Mys. By all means.

They go into the house of Glycerium.

Dav. (to himself.) I’ll follow them; I don’t wish the old man to see me at this moment.

He follows Mysis and Crito.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Chremes and Simo from the house of Simo.

Chrem. Enough already, enough, Simo, has my friendship toward you been proved. Sufficient hazard have I begun to encounter; make an end of your entreaties, then. While I’ve been endeavoring to oblige you, I’ve almost fooled away my daughter’s prospects in life.

Sim. Nay but, now in especial, Chremes, I do beg and entreat of you, that the favor, commenced a short time since in words, you’ll now complete by deeds.

Chrem. See how unreasonable you are from your very earnestness; so long as you effect what you desire, you neither think of limits to compliance, nor what it is you request of me; for if you did think, you would now forbear to trouble me with unreasonable requests.

Sim. What unreasonable requests?

Chrem. Do you ask? You importuned me to promise my daughter to a young man engaged in another attachment, averse to the marriage state, to plunge her into discord and a marriage of uncertain duration; that through her sorrow and her anguish I might reclaim your son. You prevailed; while the case admitted of it I made preparations. Now it does not admit of it; you must put up with it; they say that she is a citizen of this place; a child has been born; do cease to trouble us.

Sim. By the Gods, I do conjure you not to bring your mind to believe those whose especial interest it is that he should be as degraded as possible. On account of the marriage, have all these things been feigned and contrived. When the reason for which they do these things is removed from them, they will desist.

Chrem. You are mistaken: I myself saw the servant-maid wrangling with Davus.

Sim. (sneeringly.) I am aware.

Chrem. With an appearance of earnestness, when neither at the moment perceived that I was present there.

Sim. I believe it; and Davus a short time since forewarned me that this would be the case; and I don’t know how I forgot to tell it you to-day, as I had intended.

Scene II.

Enter Davus from the house of Glycerium.

Dav. (aloud at the door, not seeing Simo and Chremes.) Now then, I bid you set your minds at ease.

Chrem. (to Simo.) See you, there’s Davus.

Sim. From what house is he coming out?

Dav. (to himself.) Through my means, and that of the stranger——

Sim. (overhearing.) What mischief is this?

Dav. (to himself.) I never did see a more opportune person, encounter, or occasion.

Sim. The rascal! I wonder who it is he’s praising?

Dav. All the affair is now in a safe position.

Sim. Why do I delay to accost him?

Dav. (to himself, catching sight of Simo.) It’s my master; What am I to do?

Sim. (accosting him.) O, save you, good sir!

Dav. (affecting surprise.) Hah! Simo! O, Chremes, my dear sir, all things are now quite ready in-doors.

Sim. (ironically.) You have taken such very good care.

Dav. Send for the bride when you like.

Sim. Very good: (ironically) of course, that’s the only thing that’s now wanting here. But do you answer me this, what business had you there? (Pointing to the house of Glycerium.)

Dav. What, I?

Sim. Just so.

Dav. I?

Sim. Yes, you.

Dav. I went in just now.

Sim. As if I asked how long ago!

Dav. Together with your son.

Sim. What, is Phamphilus in there? (Aside.) To my confusion, I’m on the rack (To Davus.) How now? Didn’t you say that there was enmity between them, you scoundrel?

Dav. There is.

Sim. Why is he there, then?

Chrem. Why do you suppose he is? (Ironically.) Quarreling with her, of course.

Dav. Nay but, Chremes, I’ll let you now hear from me a disgraceful piece of business. An old man, I don’t know who he is, has just now come here; look you, he is a confident and shrewd person; when you look at his appearance, he seems to be a person of some consequence. There is a grave sternness in his features, and something commanding in his words.

Sim. What news are you bringing, I wonder?

Dav. Why nothing but what I heard him mention.

Sim. What does he say then?

Dav. That he knows Glycerium to be a citizen of Attica.

Sim. (going to his door.) Ho there! Dromo, Dromo!

Scene III.

Enter Dromo hastily from the house.

Dro. What is it?

Sim. Dromo!

Dav. Hear me.

Sim. If you add a word—Dromo!

Dav. Hear me, pray.

Dro. (to Simo.) What do you want?

Sim. (pointing to Davus.) Carry him off on your shoulders in-doors as fast as possible.

Dro. Whom?

Sim. Davus.

Dav. For what reason?

Sim. Because I choose. (To Dromo.) Carry him off, I say.

Dav. What have I done?

Sim. Carry him off.

Dav. If you find that I have told a lie in any one matter, then kill me.

Sim. I’ll hear nothing. I’ll soon have you set in motion.89

Dav. What? Although this is the truth.

Sim. In spite of it. (To Dromo.) Take care he’s kept well secured; and, do you hear? Tie him up hands and feet together.90 Now then, be off; upon my faith this very day, if I live, I’ll teach you what hazard there is in deceiving a master, and him in deceiving a father.

Dromo leads Davus into the house.

Chrem. Oh, don’t be so extremely vexed.

Sim. O Chremes, the dutifulness of a son! Do you not pity me? That I should endure so much trouble for such a son! (Goes to the door of Glycerium’s house.) Come, Pamphilus, come out, Pamphilus! have you any shame left?

Scene IV.

Enter Pamphilus in haste from Glycerium’s house.

Pam. Who is it that wants me? (Aside.) I’m undone! it’s my father.

Sim. What say you, of all men, the—?

Chrem. Oh! rather speak about the matter itself, and forbear to use harsh language.

Sim. As if any thing too severe could now be possibly said against him. Pray, do you say that Glycerium is a citizen—

Pam. So they say.

Sim. So they say! Unparalleled assurance! does he consider what he says? Is he sorry for what he has done? Does his countenance, pray, at all betray any marks of shame? That he should be of mind so weak, as, without regard to the custom and the law91 of his fellow-citizens, and the wish of his own father, to be anxious, in spite of every thing, to have her, to his own utter disgrace!

Pam. Miserable that I am!

Sim. Ha! have you at last found that out only just now, Pamphilus? Long since did that expression, long since, when you made up your mind, that what you desired must be effected by you at any price; from that very day did that expression aptly befit you. But yet why do I torment myself? Why vex myself? Why worry my old age with this madness? Am I to suffer the punishment for his offenses? Nay then, let him have her, good-by to him, let him pass his life with her.

Pam. My father——

Sim. How, “my father?” As if you stood in any need of this father. Home, wife, and children, provided by you against the will of your father! People suborned, too, to say that she is a citizen of this place! You have gained your point.

Pam. Father, may I say a few words?

Sim. What can you say to me?

Chrem. But, Simo, do hear him.

Sim. I, hear him? Why should I hear him, Chremes?

Chrem. Still, however, do allow him to speak.

Sim. Well then, let him speak: I allow him.

Pam. I own that I love her; if that is committing a fault, I own that also. To you, father, do I subject myself. Impose on me any injunction you please; command me. Do you wish me to take a wife? Do you wish me to give her up? As well as I can, I will endure it. This only I request of you, not to think that this old gentleman has been suborned by me. Allow me to clear myself, and to bring him here before you.

Sim. To bring him here?

Pam. Do allow me, father.

Chrem. He asks what’s reasonable; do give him leave.

Pam. Allow me to obtain thus much of you.

Sim. I allow it. I desire any thing, so long as I find, Chremes, that I have not been deceived by him.

Pamphilus goes into the house of Glycerium.

Chrem. For a great offense, a slight punishment ought to satisfy a father.

Scene V.

Re-enter Pamphilus with Crito.

Cri. (to Pamphilus, as he is coming out.) Forbear entreating. Of these, any one reason prompts me to do it, either your own sake, or the fact that it is the truth, or that I wish well for Glycerium herself.

Chrem. (starting.) Do I see Crito of Andros? Surely it is he.

Cri. Greetings to you, Chremes.

Chrem. How is it that, so contrary to your usage, you are at Athens?

Cri. So it has happened. But is this Simo?

Chrem. It is he.

Cri. Simo, were you asking for me?

Sim. How now, do you say that Glycerium is a citizen of this place?

Cri. Do you deny it?

Sim. (ironically.) Have you come here so well prepared?

Cri. For what purpose?

Sim. Do you ask? Are you to be acting this way with impunity? Are you to be luring young men into snares here, inexperienced in affairs, and liberally brought up, by tempting them, and to be playing upon their fancies by making promises?

Cri. Are you in your senses?

Sim. And are you to be patching up amours with Courtesans by marriage?

Pam. (aside.) I’m undone! I fear that the stranger will not put up with this.

Chrem. If, Simo, you knew this person well, you would not think thus; he is a worthy man.

Sim. He, a worthy man! To come so opportunely to-day just at the very nuptials, and yet never to have come before? (Ironically.) Of course, we must believe him, Chremes.

Pam. (aside.) If I didn’t dread my father, I have something, which, in this conjuncture, I could opportunely suggest to him.92

Sim. (sneeringly, to Chremes.) A sharper!93

Cri. (starting.) Hah!

Chrem. It is his way, Crito; do excuse it.

Cri. Let him take heed how he behaves. If he persists in saying to me what he likes, he’ll be hearing things that he don’t like. Am I meddling with these matters or interesting myself? Can you not endure your troubles with a patient mind? For as to what I say, whether it is true or false what I have heard, can soon be known. A certain man of Attica, a long time ago,94 his ship being wrecked, was cast ashore at Andros, and this woman together with him, who was then a little girl; he, in his destitution, by chance first made application to the father of Chrysis—

Sim. (ironically.) He’s beginning his tale.

Chrem. Let him alone.

Cri. Really, is he to be interrupting me in this way?

Chrem. Do you proceed.

Cri. He who received him was a relation of mine. There I heard from him that he was a native of Attica. He died there.

Chrem. His name?

Cri. The name, in such a hurry!

Pam. Phania.

Chrem. (starting.) Hah! I shall die!

Cri. I’faith, I really think it was Phania; this I know for certain, he said that he was a citizen of Rhamnus.95

Chrem. O Jupiter!

Cri. Many other persons in Andros have heard the same, Chremes.

Chrem. (aside.) I trust it may turn out as I hope. (To Crito.) Come now, tell me, what did he then say about her? Did he say she was his own daughter?

Cri. No.

Chrem. Whose then?

Cri. His brother’s daughter.

Chrem. She certainly is mine.

Cri. What do you say?

Sim. What is this that you say?

Pam. (aside.) Prick up your ears, Pamphilus.

Sim. Why do you suppose so?

Chrem. That Phania was my brother.

Sim. I knew him, and I am aware of it.

Chrem. He, flying from the wars, and following me to Asia, set out from here. At the same time he was afraid to leave her here behind; since then, this is the first time I have heard what became of him.

Pam. (aside.) I am scarcely myself, so much has my mind been agitated by fear, hope, joy, and surprise at this so great, so unexpected blessing.

Sim. Really, I am glad for many reasons that she has been discovered to be a citizen.

Pam. I believe it, father.

Chrem. But there yet remains one difficulty96 with me, which keeps me in suspense.

Pam. (aside.) You deserve to be——, with your scruples, you plague. You are seeking a knot in a bulrush.97

Cri. (to Chremes.) What is that?

Chrem. The names don’t agree.

Cri. Troth, she had another when little.

Chrem. What was it, Crito? Can you remember it?

Cri. I’m trying to recollect it.

Pam. (aside.) Am I to suffer his memory to stand in the way of my happiness, when I myself can provide my own remedy in this matter? I will not suffer it. (Aloud.) Hark you, Chremes, that which you are trying to recollect is “Pasibula.”

Chrem. The very same.

Cri. That’s it.

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

Sim. I suppose, Chremes, that you believe that we all rejoice at this discovery.

Chrem. So may the Gods bless me, I do believe it.

Pam. What remains to be done, father?

Sim. The event itself has quite brought me to reconcilement.

Pam. O kind father! With regard to her as a wife, since I have taken possession of her, Chremes will not offer any opposition.

Chrem. The plea is a very good one, unless perchance your father says any thing to the contrary.

Pam. Of course, I agree.

Sim. Then be it so.98

Chrem. Her portion, Pamphilus, is ten talents.

Pam. I am satisfied.

Chrem. I’ll hasten to my daughter. Come now, (beckoning) along with me, Crito; for I suppose that she will not know me.

They go into Glycerium’s house.

Sim. (To Pamphilus.) Why don’t you order her to be sent for hither, to our house?

Pam. Well thought of; I’ll at once give charge of that to Davus.

Sim. He can’t do it.

Pam. How so?

Sim. Because he has another matter that more nearly concerns himself, and of more importance.

Pam. What, pray?

Sim. He is bound.

Pam. Father, he is not rightly bound.99

Sim. But I ordered to that effect.

Pam. Prithee, do order him to be set at liberty.

Sim. Well, be it so.

Pam. But immediately.

Sim. I’m going in.

Pam. O fortunate and happy day!

Simo goes into his house.

Scene VI.

Enter Charinus, at a distance.

Char. (apart to himself.) I’m come to see what Pamphilus is about; and look, here he is.

Pam. (to himself.) Some one perhaps might imagine that I don’t believe this to be true; but now it is clear to me that it really is true. I do think that the life of the Gods is everlasting, for this reason, because their joys are their own.100 For immortality has been obtained by me, if no sorrow interrupts this delight. But whom in particular could I wish to be now thrown in my way, for me to relate these things to?

Char. (apart to himself.) What means this rapture?

Pam. (to himself.) I see Davus. There is no one in the world whom I would choose in preference; for I am sure that he of all people will sincerely rejoice in my happiness.

Scene VII.

Enter Davus.

Dav. (to himself.) Where is Pamphilus, I wonder?

Pam. Here he is, Davus.

Dav. (turning round.) Who’s that?

Pam. ’Tis I, Pamphilus; you don’t know what has happened to me.

Dav. No really; but I know what has happened to myself.

Pam. And I too.

Dav. It has fallen out just like human affairs in general, that you should know the mishap I have met with, before I the good that has befallen you.

Pam. My Glycerium has discovered her parents.

Dav. O, well done!

Char. (apart, in surprise.) Hah!

Pam. Her father is an intimate friend of ours.

Dav. Who?

Pam. Chremes.

Dav. You do tell good news.

Pam. And there’s no hinderance to my marrying her at once.

Char. (apart.) Is he dreaming the same that he has been wishing for when awake?

Pam. Then about the child, Davus.

Dav. O, say no more; you are the only person whom the Gods favor.

Char. (apart.) I’m all right if these things are true. I’ll accost them.

Comes forward.

Pam. Who is this? Why, Charinus, you meet me at the very nick of time.

Char. That’s all right.

Pam. Have you heard—?

Char. Every thing; come, in your good fortune do have some regard for me. Chremes is now at your command; I’m sure that he’ll do every thing you wish.

Pam. I’ll remember you; and because it is tedious for us to wait for him until he comes out, follow me this way; he is now in-doors at the house of Glycerium; do you, Davus, go home; send with all haste to remove her thence. Why are you standing there? Why are you delaying?

Dav. I’m going. (Pamphilus and Charinus go into the house of Glycerium. Davus then comes forward and addresses the Audience.) Don’t you wait until they come out from there; she will be betrothed within: if there is any thing else that remains, it will be transacted in-doors. Grant us your applause.101

FOOTNOTES

1. From σιμὸς, “flat-nosed.”

2. From πᾶν, “all,” and φιλὸς, “a friend.”

3. From σώζω, “to save;” saved in war.

4. From χρέμπτομαι, “to spit.”

5. From ξάρις, “grace.”

6. From κριτής, “a judge.”

7. From Dacia, his native country; the Davi and Daci being the same people.

8. From δρόμος, “a race.”

9. From πυῤῥὸς, “red-haired.”

10. From γλυκερὸς, “sweet.”

11. From Mysia, her native country.

12. From Lesbos, her native country.

13. The Megalensian Games)—These games were instituted at Rome in honor of the Goddess Cybele, when her statue was brought thither from Pessinum, in Asia Minor, by Scipio Nasica; they were so called from the Greek title Μεγάλη Μήτηρ, “the Great Mother.” They were called Megalesia or Megalensia, indifferently. A very interesting account of the origin of these games will be found in the Fasti of Ovid. B. iv. l. 194, et seq.

14. Being Curule Ædiles)—Among the other offices of the Ædiles at Rome, it was their duty to preside at the public games, and to provide the necessary dramatic representations for the Theatre, by making contracts with the Poets and Actors.

15. Ambivius Turpio and Lucius Atilius Prænestinus)—These persons were the heads or managers of the company of actors who performed the Play, and as such it was their province to make the necessary contracts with the Curule Ædiles. They were also actors themselves, and usually took the leading characters. Ambivius Turpio seems to have been a favorite with the Roman public, and to have performed for many years; of L. Atilius Prænestinus nothing is known.

16. Freedman of Claudius)—According to some, the words, “Flaccus Claudi” mean “the son of Claudius.” It is, however, more generally thought that it is thereby meant that he was the freedman or liberated slave of some Roman noble of the family of the Claudii.

17. Treble flutes and bass flutes)—The history of ancient music, and especially that relative to the “tibiæ,” “pipes” or “flutes,” is replete with obscurity. It is not agreed what are the meanings of the respective terms, but in the present Translation the following theory has been adopted: The words “dextræ” and “sinistræ” denote the kind of flute, the former being treble, the latter bass flutes, or, as they were sometimes called, “incentivæ” or “succentivæ;” though it has been thought by some that they were so called because the former held with the right hand, the latter with the left. When two treble flutes or two bass flutes were played upon at the same time, they were called “tibiæ pares;” but when one was “dextra” and the other “sinistra,” “tibiæ impares.” Hence the words “paribus dextris et sinistris,” would mean alternately with treble flutes and bass flutes. Two “tibiæ” were often played upon by one performer at the same time. For a specimen of a Roman “tibicen” or “piper,” see the last scene of the Stichus of Plautus. Some curious information relative to the pipers of Rome and the legislative enactments respecting them will be found in the Fasti of Ovid, B. vi. l. 653, et seq.

18. It is entirety Grecian)—This means that the scene is in Greece, and that it is of the kind called “palliata,” as representing the manners of the Greeks, who wore the “pallium,” or outer cloak; whereas the Romans wore the “toga.” In the Prologue, Terence states that he borrowed it from the Greek of Menander.

19. Being Consuls)—M. Claudius Marcellus and C. Sulpicius Galba were Consuls in the year from the building of Rome 586, and B.C. 167.

20. A malevolent old Poet)—Ver. 7. He alludes to Luscus Lanuvinus, or Lavinius, a Comic Poet of his time, but considerably his senior. He is mentioned by Terence in all his Prologues except that to the Hecyra, and seems to have made it the business of his life to run down his productions and discover faults in them.

21. Composed the Andrian)—Ver. 9. This Play, like that of our author, took its name from the Isle of Andros, one of the Cyclades in the Ægean Sea, where Glycerium is supposed to have been born. Donatus, the Commentator on Terence, informs us that the first Scene of this Play is almost a literal translation from the Perinthian of Menander, in which the old man was represented as discoursing with his wife just as Simo does here with Sosia. In the Andrian of Menander, the old man opened with a soliloquy.

22. And the Perinthian)—Ver. 9. This Play was so called from Perinthus, a town of Thrace, its heroine being a native of that place.

23. Nævius, Plautus, and Ennius)—Ver. 18. Ennius was the oldest of these three Poets. Nævius a contemporary of Plautus. See a probable allusion to his misfortunes in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, l. 211.

24. The mystifying carefulness)—Ver. 21. By “obscuram diligentiam” he means that formal degree of precision which is productive of obscurity.

25. Are to be taken care of, I suppose)—Ver. 30. “Nempe ut curentur recte hæc.” Colman here remarks; “Madame Dacier will have it that Simo here makes use of a kitchen term in the word ‘curentur.’ I believe it rather means ‘to take care of’ any thing generally; and at the conclusion of this very scene, Sosia uses the word again, speaking of things very foreign to cookery, ‘Sat est, curabo.’”

26. To be my freedman)—Ver. 37. “Libertus” was the name given to a slave set at liberty by his master. A “libertinus” was the son of a “libertus.”

27. As it were a censure)—Ver. 43. Among the Greeks (whose manners and sentiments are supposed to be depicted in this Play) it was a maxim that he who did a kindness should forget it, while he who received it should keep it in memory. Sosia consequently feels uneasy, and considers the remark of his master in the light of a reproach.

28. After he had passed from youthfulness)—Ver. 51. “Ephebus” was the name given to a youth when between the ages of sixteen and twenty.

29. And a master)—Ver. 54. See the Notes to the Translation of the Bacchides of Plautus, l. 109, where Lydus, a slave, appears as the “pædagogus,” or “magister,” of Pistoclerus.

30. Or to the philosophers)—Ver. 57. It was the custom in Greece with all young men of free birth to apply themselves to the study of philosophy, of course with zeal proportioned to the love of learning in each. They each adopted some particular sect, to which they attached themselves. There is something sarcastic here, and indeed not very respectful to the “philosophers,” in coupling them as objects of attraction with horses and hounds.

31. Nothing to excess)—Ver. 61. “Ne quid nimis.” This was one of the three sentences which were inscribed in golden letters in the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. The two others were “Know thyself,” and “Misery is the consequence of debt and discord.” Sosia seems from the short glimpse we have of him to have been a retailer of old saws and proverbs. He is unfortunately only a Protatic or introductory character, as we lose sight of him after this Act.

32. Meanwhile, three years ago)—Ver. 60. The following remark of Donatus on this passage is quoted by Colman for its curiosity. “The Author has artfully said three years, when he might have given a longer or a shorter period; since it is probable that the woman might have lived modestly one year; set up the trade the next; and died the third. In the first year, therefore, Pamphilus knew nothing of the family of Chrysis; in the second, he became acquainted with Glycerium; and in the third, Glycerium marries Pamphilus, and finds her parents.”

33. He is smitten)—Ver. 78. “Habet,” literally “He has it.” This was the expression used by the spectators at the moment when a Gladiator was wounded by his antagonist. In the previous line, in the words “captus est,” a figurative allusion is made to the “retiarius,” a Gladiator who was provided with a net, with which he endeavored to entangle his opponent.

34. Gave his contribution)—Ver. 88. “Symbolam.” The “symbolæ,” “shot” at picnic or club entertainments, are more than once alluded to in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

35. Even I myself)—Ver. 116. Cooke remarks here: “A complaisant father, to go to the funeral of a courtesan, merely to oblige his son!”

36. The female attendants)—Ver. 123. “Pedissequæ.” These “pedissequæ,” or female attendants, are frequently alluded to in the Plays of Plautus. See the Notes to Bohn’s Translation.

37. To the burying-place)—Ver. 128. “Sepulcrum” strictly means, the tomb or place for burial, but here the funeral pile itself. When the bones were afterward buried on the spot where they were burned, it was called “bustum.”

38. Troubles itself about that)—Ver. 185. He says this contemptuously, as if it was likely that the public should take any such great interest in his son as the father would imply by his remark. By thus saying, he also avoids giving a direct reply.

39. Davus, not Œdipus)—Ver. 194. Alluding to the circumstance of Œdipus alone being able to solve the riddle of the Sphynx.

40. To the mill)—Ver. 199. The “pistrinum,” or “hand-mill,” for grinding corn, was used as a mode of punishment for refractory slaves. See the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

41. Those in their dotage, not those who dote in love)—Ver. 218. There is a jingle intended in this line, in the resemblance between “amentium,” “mad persons,” and “amantium,” “lovers.”

42. They have resolved to rear)—Ver. 219. This passage alludes to the custom among the Greeks of laying new-born children on the ground, upon which the father, or other person who undertook the care of the child, lifted it from the ground, “tollebat.” In case no one took charge of the child, it was exposed, which was very frequently done in the case of female children. Plato was the first to inveigh against this barbarous practice. It is frequently alluded to in the Plays of Plautus.

43. Hence to the Forum)—Ver. 226. Colman has the following remark: “The Forum is frequently spoken of in the Comic Authors; and from various passages in which Terence mentions it, it may be collected that it was a public place, serving the several purposes of a market, the seat of the courts of justice, a public walk, and an exchange.”

44. Wine-bibbing)—Ver. 229. The nurses and midwives of antiquity seem to have been famed for their tippling propensities. In some of the Plays of Plautus we do not find them spared.

45. Rearing some monster)—Ver. 250. “Aliquid monstri alunt.” Madame Dacier and some other Commentators give these words the rather far-fetched meaning of “They are hatching some plot.” Donatus, with much more probability, supposes him to refer to the daughter of Chremes, whom, as the young women among the Greeks were brought up in great seclusion, we may suppose Pamphilus never to have seen.

46. She is oppressed with grief)—Ver. 268. “Laborat a dolore.” Colman has the following remark upon this passage: “Though the word ‘laborat’ has tempted Donatus and the rest of the Commentators to suppose that this sentence signifies Glycerium being in labor, I can not help concurring with Cooke, that it means simply that she is weighed down with grief. The words immediately subsequent corroborate this interpretation; and at the conclusion of the Scene, when Mysis tells him that she is going for a midwife, Pamphilus hurries her away, as he would naturally have done here had he understood by these words that her mistress was in labor.”

47. By your good Genius)—Ver. 289. “Per Genium tuum.” This was a common expression with the Romans, and is used by Horace, Epistles, B. i., Ep. 7:—

“Quod te per Genium dextramque Deosque Penates,

Obsecro, et obtestor—”

The word “Genius” signified the tutelary God who was supposed to attend every person from the period of his birth. The signification of the word will be found further referred to in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

48. To fetch the midwife)—Ver. 299. Cooke has the following remark here: “Methinks Mysis has loitered a little too much, considering the business which she was sent about; but perhaps Terence knew that some women were of such a temper as to gossip on the way, though an affair of life or death requires their haste.” Colman thus takes him to task for this observation: “This two-edged reflection, glancing at once on Terence and the ladies, is, I think, very ill-founded. The delay of Mysis, on seeing the emotion of Pamphilus, is very natural; and her artful endeavors to interest Pamphilus on behalf of her mistress, are rather marks of her attention than neglect.”

49. Charinus and Byrrhia). We learn from Donatus that the characters of Charinus and Byrrhia were not introduced in the work of Menander, but were added to the Play of Terence, lest Philumena’s being left without a husband, on the marriage of Pamphilus to Glycerium, should appear too tragical a circumstance. Diderot is of opinion that Terence did not improve his Play by this addition.

50. Tell me nothing)—Ver. 336. It has been suggested that this refers to Byrrhia’s dissuading his master from addressing Pamphilus, or else to what he has told him concerning the intended marriage. Westerhovius thinks that Byrrhia is just then whispering some trifling nonsense in his master’s ear, which he, occupied with more important cares, is unwilling to attend to.

51. To a high place)—Ver. 356. He probably alludes to some part of the Acropolis, the citadel, or higher part of Athens, which commanded a view of the lower town.

52. Stillness before the door)—Ver. 362. Madame Dacier observes that this remark is very appropriately made by Davus, as showing that the marriage was clearly not intended by Chremes. The house of the bride on such an occasion would be thronged by her friends, and at the door would be the musicians and those who were to form part of the bridal procession.

53. No matron at the house)—Ver. 364. By the use of the word “matrona,” he probably alludes to the “pronubæ” among the Romans, whose duties were somewhat similar to those of our bride’s-maids. At the completion of the bridal repast, the bride was conducted to the bridal chamber by matrons who had not had more than one husband.

54. An obol’s worth)—Ver. 369. The “obelus” was the smallest Greek silver coin, and was equal in value to about three halfpence of our money. “Pisciculi minuti,” “little fish,” were much used for food among the poorer classes; “mena,” a fish resembling our pilchard, was a common article of food with the Romans. The larger kinds of fish went under the general name of “cetum.”

55. I have now followed him)—Ver. 414. “Hunc venientem sequor.” Cooke has the following remark on this line: “This verse, though in every edition, as Bentley judiciously observes, is certainly spurious; for as Pamphilus has not disappeared since Byrrhia left the stage, he could not say ‘nunc hunc venientem sequor.’ If we suppose the line genuine, we must at the same time suppose Terence guilty of a monstrous absurdity.” On these words Colman makes the following just observations: “Other Commentators have also stumbled at this passage; but if in the words ‘followed him hither,’ we suppose ‘him’ (hunc) to refer to Simo, the difficulty is removed; and that the pronoun really does signify Simo, is evident from the circumstance of Pamphilus never having left the stage since the disappearance of Byrrhia. Simo is also represented as coming on the stage homeward, so that Byrrhia might easily have followed him along the street; and it is evident that Byrrhia does not allude to Pamphilus from the agreeable surprise which he expresses on seeing him there so opportunely for the purpose.”

56. Inflict evil upon me)—Ver. 431. “Malum;” the usual name by which slaves spoke of the beatings they were in the habit of receiving at the hands or by the order of their irascible masters. Colman has the following remarks: “Donatus observes on this Scene between Byrrhia, Simo, Pamphilus, and Davus, that the dialogue is sustained by four persons, who have little or no intercourse with each other; so that the Scene is not only in direct contradiction to the precept of Horace, excluding a fourth person, but is also otherwise vicious in its construction. Scenes of this kind are, I think, much too frequent in Terence, though, indeed, the form of the ancient Theatre was more adapted to the representation of them than the modern. The multiplicity of speeches aside is also the chief error in this dialogue; such speeches, though very common in dramatic writers, ancient and modern, being always more or less unnatural.”

57. What does he say, Davus?)—Ver. 434. “Quid, Dave, narrat?” This reading Vollbehr suggests in place of the old one, “Quid Davus narrat?” and upon good grounds, as it appears. According to the latter reading we are to suppose that Davus is grumbling to himself, on which Simo says, “What does Davus say?” It seems, however, much more likely that Davus accompanies Pamphilus to the door, and speaks to him before he goes in, and then, on his return to Simo, the latter asks him, “What does he say, Davus?”

58. Just as much as nothing)—Ver. 434. “Æque quidquam nunc quidem.” This is a circumlocution for “nothing at all:” somewhat more literally perhaps, it might be rendered “just as much as before.” Perizonius supplies the ellipsis with a long string of Latin words, which translated would mean, “Now, indeed, he says equally as much as he says then, when he says nothing at all.”

59. Amount of ten drachmæ)—Ver. 451. The Attic drachma was a silver coin worth in value about 9¾d. of English money.

60. Juno Lucina)—Ver. 473. Juno Lucina had the care of women in childbed. Under this name some suppose Diana to have been worshiped. A similar incident to the present is found in the Adelphi, l. 486; and in the Aulularia of Plautus, l. 646.

61. Are your scholars forgetful?)—Ver. 477. He alludes under this term to Mysis, Lesbia, and Pamphilus, whom he supposes Davus to have been training to act their parts in the plot against him.

62. Let her bathe)—Ver. 483. It was the custom for women to bathe immediately after childbirth. See the Amphitryon of Plautus, l. 669, and the Note to the passage in Bohn’s Translation.

63. Be laying the child)—Ver. 507. Colman has the following remark on this line:—“The art of this passage is equal to the pleasantry, for though Davus runs into this detail merely with a view to dupe the old man still further by flattering him on his fancied sagacity, yet it very naturally prepares us for an incident which, by another turn of circumstances, afterward becomes necessary.”

64. Proved to be false)—Ver. 513. That is, according to Simo’s own notion, which Davus now thinks proper to humor.

65. To Bring a child at the same time)—Ver. 515. This is a piece of roguery which has probably been practiced in all ages, and was somewhat commonly perpetrated in Greece. The reader of English history will remember how the unfortunate son of James II was said, in the face of the strongest evidence to the contrary, to have been a supposititious child brought into the queen’s chamber in a silver warming-pan.

66. But I do not think)—Ver. 563-4. “At ego non posse arbitror neque illum hane perpetuo habere.” Chremes uses an ambiguous expression here, perhaps purposely. It may mean, “I do not think that he can possibly be constant to her,” or, “that she will continue to live with him.”

67. A sure son-in-law)—Ver. 571. By the use of the word “firmum,” he means a son-in-law who will not be likely to resort to divorce or separation from his wife.

68. Why isn’t the bride sent for?)—Ver. 582. Among the Greeks the bride was conducted by the bridegroom at nightfall from her father’s house, in a chariot drawn by a pair of mules or oxen, and escorted by persons carrying the nuptial torches. Among the Romans she proceeded in the evening to the bridegroom’s house; preceded by a boy carrying a torch of white thorn, or, according to some, of pine-wood. To this custom reference is indirectly made in the present passage.

69. I myself, indeed!)—Ver. 597. No doubt Davus says these words in sorrow and regret; Simo, however, supposes them to be uttered in exultation at the apparent success of his plans. Consequently “vero” is intended by Davus to have the sense here of “too truly.”

70. To a frivolous slave)—Ver. 610. “Servo futili.” According to the Scholiast on the Thebais of Statius, B. viii. l. 297, “vas futile” was a kind of vessel with a broad mouth and narrow bottom, used in the rites of Vesta. It was made of that peculiar shape in order that the priest should be obliged to hold it during the sacrifices, and might not set it on the ground, which was considered profane; as, if set there, the contents must necessarily fall out. From this circumstance, men who could not contain a secret were sometimes called “futiles.”

71. You scoundrel)—Ver. 619. “Furcifer;” literally, wearer of the “furca,” or wooden collar. This method of punishment has been referred to in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

72. What do you deserve?)—Ver. 622. Madame Dacier remarks that this question is taken from the custom of the Athenians, who never condemned a criminal without first asking him what punishment he thought he deserved; and according to the nature of his answer they mitigated or increased his punishment. Tho Commentators quote a similar passage from the Frogs of Aristophanes.

73. The cross)—Ver. 622. The “cross,” “crux,” as a punishment for refractory slaves has been remarked upon in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

74. The circumstances)—Ver. 635. “Res.” According, however, to Donatus, this word has the meaning here of “malice” or “spitefulness.”

75. Concerned in my own interests)—Ver. 637. Equivalent to our sayings, “Charity begins at home;” “Take care of number one.”

76. They are not ashamed)—Ver. 638. Terence has probably borrowed this remark from the Epidicus of Plautus, l. 165-6: “Generally all men are ashamed when it is of no use; when they ought to be ashamed, then does shame forsake them, when occasion is for them to be ashamed.”

77. Makes a noise)—Ver. 683. The doors with the Romans opened inwardly, while those of the Greeks opened on the outside. It was therefore usual with them, when coming out, to strike the door on the inside with a stick or with the knuckles, that those outside might be warned to get out of the way. Patrick, however, observes with some justice, that the word “concrepuit” may here allude to the creaking of the hinges. See the Curculio of Plautus, l. 160, where the Procuress pours water on the hinges, in order that Cappadox may not hear the opening of the door.

78. Take some sacred herbs)—Ver. 727. “Verbena” appears to have been a general term applied to any kind of herb used in honor of the Deities, or to the boughs and leaves of any tree gathered from a pure or sacred place. Fresh “verbenæ” were placed upon the altars every day. See the Mercator of Plautus, l. 672.

79. From the altar here)—Ver. 727. It was usual to have altars on the stage; when Comedy was performed, one on the left hand in honor of Apollo, and on the representation of Tragedy, one on the right in honor of Bacchus. It has been suggested that Terence here alludes to the former of these. As, however, at Athens almost every house had its own altar in honor of Apollo Prostaterius just outside of the street door, it is most probable that to one of these altars reference is here made. They are frequently alluded to in the Plays of Plautus.

80. Which I had first purposed, I now give up)—Ver. 734. His first intention no doubt was to go and inform Simo of the child being laid at the door.

81. Whenever there’s necessity)—Ver. 737. He retires without fully explaining his intention to Mysis; consequently, in the next Scene she gives an answer to Chremes which Davus does not intend.

82. Stuffed out beneath her clothes)—Ver. 771. “Suffarcinatam.” He alludes to the trick already referred to as common among the Greeks, of the nurses and midwives secretly introducing supposititious children; see l. 515 and the Note.

83. Several free women were present)—Ver. 772. She speaks of “liberæ,” “free women,” because in Greece as well as Italy slaves were not permitted to give evidence. See the Curculio of Plautus, l. 621, and the Note to the passage in Bohn’s Translation. See also the remark of Geta in the Phormio, l. 293.

84. Constrained by the laws)—Ver. 782. He alludes to a law at Athens which compelled a man who had debauched a free-born woman to marry her. This is said by Davus with the view of frightening Chremes from the match.

85. She ought to be carried off)—Ver. 787. He says this implying that Mysis, who is a slave, ought to be put to the torture to confess the truth; as it was the usual method at Athens to force a confession from slaves by that method. We find in the Hecyra, Bacchis readily offering her slaves to be put to the torture, and in the Adelphi the same custom is alluded to in the scene between Micio, Hegio, and Geta.

86. Descended to me by law)—Ver. 800. On the supposition that Chrysis died without a will, Crito as her next of kin would be entitled to her effects.

87. Is Chrysis then——?)—Ver. 804. This is an instance of Aposiopesis; Crito, much affected, is unwilling to name the death of Chrysis. It was deemed of ill omen to mention death, and numerous Euphemisms or circumlocutions were employed in order to avoid the necessity of doing so.

88. Warn me, a stranger)—Ver. 812. Patrick has the following remarks upon this passage: “Madame Dacier observes that it appears, from Xenophon’s Treatise on the policy of the Athenians, that all the inhabitants of cities and islands in alliance with Athens were obliged in all claims to repair thither, and refer their cause to the decision of the people, not being permitted to plead elsewhere. We can not wonder then that Crito is unwilling to engage in a suit so inconvenient from its length, expense, and little prospect of success.” She might have added that such was the partiality and corruptness of the Athenian people, that, being a stranger, his chances of success would probably be materially diminished.

89. You set in motion)—Ver. 865. By the use of the word “Commotus” he seems to allude to the wretched, restless existence of a man tied hand and foot, and continually working at the hand-mill. Westerhovius thinks that Simo uses this word sarcastically, in allusion to the words of Davus, at the beginning of the present Scene, “Animo otioso esse impero;” “I bid you set your minds at ease.”

90. Hands and feet together)—Ver. 866. “Quadrupedem.” Literally “as a quadruped” or “all fours.” Echard remarks that it was the custom of the Athenians to tie criminals hands and feet together, just like calves.

91. Without regard to the custom and the law)—Ver. 880. There was a law among the Athenians which forbade citizens to marry strangers, and made the offspring of such alliances illegitimate; the same law also excluded such as were not born of two citizens from all offices of trust and honor.

92. Could opportunely suggest to him)—Ver. 919. Colman has the following remark on this line: “Madame Dacier and several English Translators make Pamphilus say that he could give Crito a hint or two. What hints he could propose to suggest to Crito, I can not conceive. The Italian translation, printed with the Vatican Terence, seems to understand the words in the same manner that I have translated them, in which sense (the pronoun ‘illum’ referring to Simo instead of Crito) they seem to be the most natural words of Pamphilus on occasion of his father’s anger and the speech immediately preceding.”

93. A sharper)—Ver. 920. “Sycophanta.” For some account of the “sycophantæ,” “swindlers” or “sharpers” of ancient times, see the Notes to the Trinummus of Plautus, Bohn’s Translation.

94. A long time ago)—Ver. 924. The story begins with “Olim,” just in the same way that with us nursery tales commence with “There was, a long time ago.”

95. A citizen of Rhamnus)—Ver. 931. Rhamnus was a maritime town of Attica, near which many of the more wealthy Athenians had country-seats. It was famous for the Temple of Nemesis there, the Goddess of Vengeance, who was thence called “Rhamnusia.” In this Temple was her statue, carved by Phidias out of the marble which the Persians brought to Greece for the purpose of making a statue of Victory out of it, and which was thus appropriately devoted to the Goddess of Retribution. The statue wore a crown, and had wings, and, holding a spear of ash in the right hand, it was seated on a stag.

96. One difficulty)—Ver. 941. “Scrupus,” or “scrupulus,” was properly a stone or small piece of gravel which, getting into the shoe, hurt the foot; hence the word figuratively came to mean a “scruple,” “difficulty,” or “doubt.” We have a similar expression: “to be graveled.”

97. A knot in a bulrush)—Ver. 942. “Nodum in scirpo quærere” was a proverbial expression implying a desire to create doubts and difficulties where there really were none; there being no knots in the bulrush. The same expression occurs in the Menæchmi of Plautus, l. 247.

98. Of course——Then be it so)—Ver. 951. “Nempe id. Scilicet.” Colman has the following remark on this line: “Donatus, and some others after him, understand these words of Simo and Pamphilus as requiring a fortune of Chremes with his daughter; and one of them says that Simo, in order to explain his meaning, in the representation, should produce a bag of money. This surely is precious refinement, worthy the genius of a true Commentator. Madame Dacier, who entertains a just veneration for Donatus, doubts the authenticity of the observation ascribed to him. The sense I have followed is, I think, the most obvious and natural interpretation of the words of Pamphilus and Simo, which refers to the preceding, not the subsequent, speech of Chremes.”

99. He is not rightly bound)—Ver. 956. “Non recte vinctus;” meaning “it was not well done to bind him.” The father pretends to understand him as meaning (which he might equally well by using the same words), “non satis stricte,” “he wasn’t tightly enough” bound; and answers “I ordered that he should be,” referring to his order for Davus to be bound hand and foot. Donatus justly observes that the disposition of the old gentleman to joke is a characteristic mark of his thorough reconciliation.

100. Their joys are their own)—Ver. 961. Westorhovius remarks that he seems here to be promulgating the doctrine of Epicurus, who taught that the Deities devoted themselves entirely to pleasure and did not trouble themselves about mortals. Donatas observes that these are the doctrines of Epicurus and that the whole sentence is copied from the Eunuch of Menander; to which practice of borrowing from various Plays, allusion is made in the Prologue, where he mentions the mixing of plays; “contaminari fabulas.”

101. Grant us your applause)—Ver. 982. “Plaudite.” Colman has the following remark at the conclusion of this Play: “All the old Tragedies and Comedies acted at Rome concluded in this manner. ‘Donec cantor vos “Plaudite” dicat,’ says Horace. Who the ‘cantor’ was, is a matter of dispute. Madame Dacier thinks it was the whole chorus; others suppose it to have been a single actor; some the prompter, and some the composer. Before the word ‘Plaudite’ in all the old copies is an Ω which has also given rise to several learned conjectures. It is most probable, according to the notion of Madame Dacier, that this Ω, being the last letter of the Greek alphabet, was nothing more than the mark of the transcriber to signify the end, like the Latin word ‘Finis’ in modern books; or it might, as Patrick supposes, stand for Ωδος, ‘cantor,’ denoting that the following word ‘Plaudite’ was spoken by him. After ‘Plaudite’ in all the old copies of Terence stand these two words, ‘Calliopius recensui;’ which signify, ‘I, Calliopius, have revised and corrected this piece.’ And this proceeds from the custom of the old critics, who carefully revised all Manuscripts, and when they had read and corrected any work, certified the same by placing their names at the end of it.”

EUNUCHUS;
THE EUNUCH.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Laches,1 an aged Athenian.

Phædria,2

Chærea,3

his sons.

Antipho,4 a young man, friend of Chærea.

Chremes,5 a young man, brother of Pamphila.

Thraso,6 a boastful Captain.

Gnatho,7 a Parasite.

Parmeno,8 servant of Phædria.

Sanga,9 cook to Thraso.

Donax,10

Simalio,11

Syriscus,12

servants of Thraso.

Dorus,15 a Eunuch slave.

Thais,13 a Courtesan.

Pythias,14

Dorias,15

her attendants.

Sophrona,16 a nurse.

Pamphila,17 a female slave.

Scene.—Athens; before the houses of Laches and Thais.

THE SUBJECT.

A certain citizen of Athens had a daughter named Pamphila, and a son called Chremes. The former was stolen while an infant, and sold to a Rhodian merchant, who having made a present of her to a Courtesan of Rhodes, she brought her up with her own daughter Thais, who was somewhat older. In the course of years, Thais following her mother’s way of life, removes to Athens. Her mother dying, her property is put up for sale, and Pamphila is purchased as a slave by Thraso, an officer and an admirer of Thais, who happens just then to be visiting Rhodes. During the absence of Thraso, Thais becomes acquainted with Phædria, an Athenian youth, the son of Laches; she also discovers from Chremes, who lives near Athens, that Pamphila, her former companion, is his sister. Thraso returns, intending to present to her the girl he has bought, but determines not to do so until she has discarded Phædria. Finding that the girl is no other than Pamphila, Thais is at a loss what to do, as she both loves Phædria, and is extremely anxious to recover Pamphila. At length, to please the Captain, she excludes Phædria, but next day sends for him, and explains to him her reasons, at the same time begging of him to allow Thraso the sole right of admission to her house for the next two days, and assuring him that as soon as she shall have gained possession of the girl, she will entirely throw him off. Phædria consents, and resolves to spend these two days in the country; at the same time he orders Parmeno to take to Thais a Eunuch and an Æthiopian girl, whom he has purchased for her. The Captain also sends Pamphila, who is accidentally seen by Chærea, the younger brother of Phædria; he, being smitten with her beauty, prevails upon Parmeno to introduce him into the house of Thais, in the Eunuch’s dress. Being admitted there, in the absence of Thais, he ravishes the damsel. Shortly afterward Thraso quarrels with Thais, and comes with all his attendants to her house to demand the return of Pamphila, but is disappointed. In conclusion, Pamphila is recognized by her brother Chremes, and is promised in marriage to Chremes; while Thraso becomes reconciled to Phædria, through the mediation of Gnatho, his Parasite.

THE TITLE18 OF THE PLAY.

Performed at the Megalensian Games; L. Posthumius Albinus and L. Cornelius Merula being Curule Ædiles. L. Ambivius Turpio and L. Atilius Præsnestinus performed it. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius, composed the music to two treble flutes. From the Greek of Menander. It was acted twice,19 M. Valerius and C. Fannius being Consuls.20

EUNUCHUS;
THE EUNUCH.

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

The Captain, Thraso, being ignorant of the same, has brought from abroad a girl who used wrongly to be called the sister of Thais, and presents her to Thais herself: she in reality is a citizen of Attica. To the same woman, Phædria, an admirer of Thais, orders a Eunuch whom he has purchased, to be taken, and he himself goes away into the country, having been entreated to give up two days to Thraso. A youth, the brother of Phædria, having fallen in love with the damsel sent to the house of Thais, is dressed up in the clothes of the Eunuch. Parmeno prompts him; he goes in; he ravishes the maiden; but at length her brother being discovered, a citizen of Attica, betroths her who has been ravished, to the youth, and Thraso prevails upon Phædria by his entreaties.

THE PROLOGUE.

If there is any one who desires to please as many good men as possible, and to give offense to extremely few, among those does our Poet enroll his name. Next, if there is one who thinks21 that language too harsh, is here applied to him, let him bear this in mind—that it is an answer, not an attack; inasmuch as he has himself been the first aggressor; who, by translating plays verbally,22 and writing them in bad Latin, has made out of good Greek Plays Latin ones by no means good. Just as of late he has published the Phasma23 [the Apparition] of Menander; and in the Thesaurus [the Treasure] has described24 him from whom the gold is demanded, as pleading his cause why it should be deemed his own, before the person who demands it has stated how this treasure belongs to him, or how it came into the tomb of his father. Henceforward, let him not deceive himself, or fancy thus, “I have now done with it; there’s nothing that he can say to me.” I recommend him not to be mistaken, and to refrain from provoking me. I have many other points, as to which for the present he shall be pardoned, which, however, shall be brought forward hereafter, if he persists in attacking me, as he has begun to do. After the Ædiles had purchased the Eunuch of Menander, the Play which we are about to perform, he managed to get an opportunity of viewing it.25 When the magistrates were present it began to be performed. He exclaimed that a thief, no Poet, had produced the piece, but still had not deceived26 him; that, in fact, it was the Colax, an old Play of Plautus;27 and that from it were taken the characters of the Parasite and the Captain. If this is a fault, the fault is the ignorance of the Poet; not that he intended to be guilty of theft. That so it is, you will now be enabled to judge. The Colax is a Play of Menander’s; in it there is Colax, a Parasite, and a braggart Captain: he does not deny that he has transferred these characters into his Eunuch from the Greek; but assuredly he does deny this, that he was aware that those pieces had been already translated into Latin. But if it is not permitted us to use the same characters as others, how can it any more be allowed to represent hurrying servants,28 to describe virtuous matrons, artful courtesans, the gluttonous parasite, the braggart captain, the infant palmed off, the old man cajoled by the servant, about love, hatred, suspicion? In fine, nothing is said now that has not been said before. Wherefore it is but just that you should know this, and make allowance, if the moderns do what the ancients used to do. Grant me your attention, and give heed in silence, that you may understand what the Eunuch means.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Phædria and Parmeno.

Phæd. What, then, shall I do?29 Ought I not to go, not now even, when I am sent for of her own accord? Or ought I rather so to behave myself as not to put up with affronts from Courtesans? She shut her door against me; she now invites me back. Ought I to return? No; though she should implore me.

Par. I’faith, if indeed you only can, there’s nothing better or more spirited; but if you begin, and can not hold out stoutly, and if, when you can not endure it, while no one asks you, peace being not made, you come to her of your own accord, showing that you love her, and can not endure it, you are done for; it’s all over with you; you are ruined outright. She’ll be jilting you, when she finds you overcome. Do you then, while there’s time, again and again reflect upon this, master, that a matter, which in itself admits of neither prudence nor moderation, you are unable to manage with prudence. In love there are all these evils; wrongs, suspicions, enmities, reconcilements, war, then peace; if you expect to render these things, naturally uncertain, certain by dint of reason, you wouldn’t effect it a bit the more than if you were to use your endeavors to be mad with reason. And, what you are now, in anger, meditating to yourself, “What! I to her?30 Who—him! Who—me! Who wouldn’t? Only let me alone; I had rather die; she shall find out what sort of a person I am;” these expressions, upon my faith, by a single false tiny tear, which, by rubbing her eyes, poor thing, she can hardly squeeze out perforce, she will put an end to; and she’ll be the first to accuse you; and you will be too ready to give satisfaction to her.

Phæd. O disgraceful conduct! I now perceive, both that she is perfidious, and that I am a wretched man. I am both weary of her, and burn with passion; knowing and fully sensible, alive and seeing it, I am going to ruin; nor do I know what I am to do.

Par. What you are to do? Why, only to redeem yourself, thus captivated, at the smallest price you can; if you can not at a very small rate, still for as little as you can; and do not afflict yourself.

Phæd. Do you persuade me to this?

Par. If you are wise. And don’t be adding to the troubles which love itself produces; those which it does produce, bear patiently. But see, here she is coming herself, the downfall of our fortunes,31—for that which we ought ourselves to enjoy she intercepts.

Scene II.

Enter Thais from her house.

Thais (to herself, not seeing them.) Ah wretched me! I fear lest Phædria should take it amiss or otherwise than I intended it, that he was not admitted yesterday.

Phæd. (aside to Parmeno.) I’m trembling and shivering all over, Parmeno, at the sight of her.

Par. (apart.) Be of good heart; only approach this fire,32 you’ll soon be warmer than you need.

Thais (turning round.) Who is it that’s speaking here? What, are you here, my Phædria? Why are you standing here! Why didn’t you come into the house at once?

Par. (whispering to Phædria.) But not a word about shutting you out!

Thais. Why are you silent?

Phæd. Of course, it’s because33 this door is always open to me, or because I’m the highest in your favor?

Thais. Pass those matters by.

Phæd. How pass them by? O Thais, Thais, I wish that I had equal affection with yourself, and that it were in like degree, that either this, might distress you in the same way that it distresses me, or that I might be indifferent at this being done by you.

Thais. Prithee, don’t torment yourself, my life, my Phædria. Upon my faith, I did it, not because I love or esteem any person more than you; but the case was such that it was necessary to be done.

Par. (ironically.) I suppose that, poor thing, you shut him out of doors, for love, according to the usual practice.

Thais. Is it thus you act, Parmeno? Well, well. (To Phædria.) But listen—the reason for which I desired you to be sent for hither—

Phæd. Go on.

Thais. First tell me this; can this fellow possibly hold his tongue? (pointing to Parmeno.)

Par. What, I? Perfectly well. But, hark you, upon these conditions I pledge my word to you; the truth that I hear, I’m silent upon, and retain it most faithfully; but if I hear what’s false and without foundation, it’s out at once; I’m full of chinks, and leak in every direction. Therefore, if you wish it to be kept secret, speak the truth.

Thais. My mother was a Samian; she lived at Rhodes—

Par. That may be kept a secret.

Thais. There, at that period, a certain merchant made present to my mother of a little girl, who had been stolen away from Attica here.

Par. What, a citizen?

Thais. I think so; we do not know for certain: she herself used to mention her mother’s and her father’s name; her country and other tokens she didn’t know, nor, by reason of her age, was she able. The merchant added this: that he had heard from the kidnappers that she had been carried off from Sunium.34 When my mother received her, she began carefully to teach her every thing, and to bring her up, just as though she had been her own daughter. Most persons supposed that she was my sister. Thence I came hither with that stranger, with whom alone at that period I was connected; he left me all which I now possess—

Par. Both these things are false; out it goes.

Thais. How so?

Par. Because you were neither content with one, nor was he the only one to make you presents; for he likewise (pointing to Phædria) brought a pretty considerable share to you.

Thais. Such is the fact; but do allow me to arrive at the point I wish. In the mean time, the Captain, who had begun to take a fancy to me, set out to Caria;35 since when, in the interval, I became acquainted with you. You yourself are aware how very dear I have held you; and how I confess to you all my nearest counsels.

Phæd. Nor will Parmeno be silent about that.

Par. O, is that a matter of doubt?

Thais. Attend; I entreat you. My mother died there recently; her brother is somewhat greedy after wealth. When he saw that this damsel was of beauteous form and understood music, hoping for a good price, he forthwith put her up for sale, and sold her. By good fortune this friend of mine was present; he bought her as a gift to me, not knowing or suspecting any thing of all this. He returned; but when he perceived that I had formed a connection with you as well, he feigned excuses on purpose that he might not give her; he said that if he could feel confidence that he should be preferred to yourself by me, so as not to apprehend that, when I had received her, I should forsake him, then he was ready to give her to me; but that he did fear this. But, so far as I can conjecture, he has set his affections upon the girl.

Phæd. Any thing beyond that?

Thais. Nothing; for I have made inquiry. Now, my Phædria, there are many reasons why I could wish to get her away from him. In the first place, because she was called my sister; moreover, that I may restore and deliver her to her friends. I am a lone woman; I have no one here, neither acquaintance nor relative; wherefore, Phædria, I am desirous by my good offices to secure friends. Prithee, do aid me in this, in order that it may be the more easily effected. Do allow him for the few next days to have the preference with me. Do you make no answer?

Phæd. Most vile woman! Can I make you any answer after such behavior as this?

Par. Well done, my master, I commend you; (aside) he’s galled at last. (To Phædria.) You show yourself a man.

Phæd. I was not aware what you were aiming at; “she was carried away from here, when a little child; my mother brought her up as though her own; she was called my sister; I wish to get her away, that I may restore her to her friends.” The meaning is, that all these expressions, in fine, now amount to this, that I am shut out, he is admitted. For what reason? Except that you love him more than me: and now you are afraid of her who has been brought hither, lest she should win him, such as he is, from yourself.

Thais. I, afraid of that?

Phæd. What else, then, gives you concern? Let me know. Is he the only person who makes presents? Have you found my bounty shut against you? Did I not, when you told me that you wished for a servant-maid from Æthiopia,36 setting all other matters aside, go and seek for one? Then you said that you wanted a Eunuch, because ladies of quality37 alone make use of them; I found you one. I yesterday paid twenty minæ38 for them both. Though slighted by you, I still kept these things in mind; as a reward for so doing, I am despised by you.

Thais. Phædria, what does this mean? Although I wish to get her away, and think that by these means it could most probably be effected; still, rather than make an enemy of you, I’ll do as you request me.

Phæd. I only wish that you used that expression from your heart and truthfully, “rather than make an enemy of you.” If I could believe that this was said sincerely, I could put up with any thing.

Par. (aside.) He staggers; how instantaneously is he vanquished by a single expression!

Thais. I, wretched woman, not speak from my heart? What, pray, did you ever ask of me in jest, but that you carried your point? I am unable to obtain even this of you, that you would grant me only two days.

Phæd. If, indeed, it is but two days; but don’t let these days become twenty.

Thais. Assuredly not more than two days, or—

Phæd. “Or?” I won’t have it.

Thais. It shall not be; only do allow me to obtain this of you.

Phæd. Of course that which you desire must be done.

Thais. I love you as you deserve; you act obligingly.

Phæd. (to Parmeno.) I shall go into the country; there I shall worry myself for the next two days: I’m resolved to do so; Thais must be humored. Do you, Parmeno, take care that they are brought hither.

Par. Certainly.

Phæd. For the next two days then, Thais, adieu.

Thais. And the same to you, my Phædria; do you desire aught else?

Phæd. What should I desire? That, present with the Captain, you may be as if absent; that night and day you may love me; may feel my absence; may dream of me; may be impatient for me; may think about me; may hope for me; may centre your delight in me; may be all in all with me; in fine, if you will, be my very life, as I am yours.

Exeunt Phædria and Parmeno.

Scene III.

Thais alone.

Thais, (to herself.) Ah wretched me!39 perhaps now he puts but little faith in me, and forms his estimate of me from the dispositions of other women.40 By my troth, I, who know my own self, am very sure of this, that I have not feigned any thing that’s false, and that no person is dearer to my heart than this same Phædria; and whatever in the present case I have done, for this girl’s sake have I done it; for I trust that now I have pretty nearly discovered her brother, a young man of very good family; and he has appointed this day to come to me at my house. I’ll go hence in-doors, and wait until he comes.

She goes into her house.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.

Enter Phædria and Parmeno.

Phæd. Mind that those people are taken there, as I ordered.

Par. I’ll do so.

Phæd. And carefully.

Par. It shall be done.

Phæd. And with all speed.

Par. It shall be done.

Phæd. Have you had sufficient instructions?

Par. Dear me! to ask the question, as though it were a matter of difficulty. I wish that you were able, Phædria, to find any thing as easily as this present will be lost.

Phæd. Together with it, I myself am lost, which concerns me more nearly. Don’t bear this with such a feeling of vexation.

Par. By no means; on the contrary, I’ll see it done. But do you order any thing else?

Phæd. Set off my present with words, as far as you can; and so far as you are able, do drive away that rival of mine from her.

Par. Pshaw! I should have kept that in mind, even if you hadn’t reminded me.

Phæd. I shall go into the country and remain there.

Par. I agree with you. (Moves as if going.)

Phæd. But hark you!

Par. What is it you want?

Phæd. Are you of opinion that I can muster resolution and hold out so as not to come back within the time?

Par. What, you? Upon my faith, I don’t think so; for either you’ll be returning at once, or by-and-by, at night, want of sleep will be driving you hither.

Phæd. I’ll do some laborious work, that I may be continually fatigued, so as to sleep in spite of myself.

Par. When wearied, you will be keeping awake; by this you will be making it worse.

Phæd. Oh, you talk to no purpose, Parmeno: this softness of spirit, upon my faith, must be got rid of; I indulge myself too much. Could I not do without her, pray, if there were the necessity, even for a whole three days?

Par. Whew! an entire three days! Take care what you are about.

Phæd. My mind is made up.

Exit.

Scene II.

Parmeno alone.

Par. (to himself.) Good Gods! What a malady is this! That a man should become so changed through love, that you wouldn’t know him to be the same person! Not any one was there41 less inclined to folly than he, and no one more discreet or more temperate. But who is it that’s coming this way? Heyday! surely this is Gnatho, the Captain’s Parasite; he’s bringing along with him the damsel as a present to her. Heavens! How beautiful! No wonder if I make but a sorry figure here to-day with this decrepit Eunuch of mine. She surpasses Thais herself.

Stands aside.

SCENE III.

Enter Gnatho at a distance, leading Pamphila.

Gna. (to himself.) Immortal Gods! how much does one man excel another! What a difference there is between a wise person and a fool! This strongly came into my mind from the following circumstance. As I was coming along to-day, I met a certain person of this place, of my own rank and station, no mean fellow, one who, like myself, had guttled away his paternal estate; I saw him, shabby, dirty, sickly, beset with rags and years;—“What’s the meaning of this garb?” said I; he answered, “Because, wretch that I am, I’ve lost what I possessed: see to what I am reduced,—all my acquaintances and friends forsake me.” On this I felt contempt for him in comparison with myself. “What!” said I, “you pitiful sluggard, have you so managed matters as to have no hope left? Have you lost your wits together with your estate? Don’t you see me, who have risen from the same condition? What a complexion I have, how spruce and well dressed, what portliness of person? I have every thing, yet have nothing; and although I possess nothing, still, of nothing am I in want.” “But I,” said he, “unhappily, can neither be a butt nor submit to blows.”42 “What!” said I, “do you suppose it is managed by those means? You are quite mistaken. Once upon a time, in the early ages, there was a calling for that class; this is a new mode of coney-catching; I, in fact, have been the first to strike into this path. There is a class of men who strive to be the first in every thing, but are not; to these I make my court; I do not present myself to them to be laughed at; but I am the first to laugh with them, and at the same time to admire their parts: whatever they say, I commend; if they contradict that self-same thing, I commend again. Does any one deny? I deny: does he affirm? I affirm: in fine, I have so trained myself as to humor them in every thing. This calling is now by far the most productive.”

Par. (apart.) A clever fellow, upon my faith! From being fools he makes men mad outright.

Gna. (to himself, continuing.) While we were thus talking, in the mean time we arrived at the market-place; overjoyed, all the confectioners ran at once to meet me; fishmongers,43 butchers, cooks,44 sausage-makers, and fishermen, whom, both when my fortunes were flourishing and when they were ruined, I had served, and often serve still: they complimented me, asked me to dinner, and gave me a hearty welcome. When this poor hungry wretch saw that I was in such great esteem, and that I obtained a living so easily, then the fellow began to entreat me that I would allow him to learn this method of me; I bade him become my follower45 if he could; as the disciples of the Philosophers take their names from the Philosophers themselves, so too, the Parasites ought to be called Gnathonics.

Par. (apart to the Audience.) Do you see the effects of ease and feeding at another’s cost?

Gna. (to himself, continuing.) But why do I delay to take this girl to Thais, and ask her to come to dinner? (Aside, on seeing Parmeno.) But I see Parmeno, our rival’s servant, waiting before the door of Thais with a sorrowful air; all’s safe; no doubt these people are finding a cold welcome. I’m resolved to have some sport with this knave.

Par. (aside.) They fancy that, through this present, Thais is quite their own.

Gna. (accosting Parmeno.) With his very best wishes Gnatho greets Parmeno, his very good friend.—What are you doing?

Par. I’m standing.46

Gna. So I perceive. Pray, do you see any thing here that don’t please you?

Par. Yourself.

Gna. I believe you,—but any thing else, pray?

Par. Why so?

Gna. Because you are out of spirits.

Par. Not in the least.

Gna. Well, don’t be so; but what think you of this slave? (pointing to her.)

Par. Really, not amiss.

Gna. (aside.) I’ve galled the fellow.

Par. (aside, on overhearing him.) How mistaken you are in your notion!

Gna. How far do you suppose this gift will prove acceptable to Thais?

Par. It’s this you mean to say now, that we are discarded there. Hark you, there are vicissitudes in all things.

Gna. For the next six months, Parmeno, I’ll set you at ease; you sha’n’t have to be running to and fro, or sitting up till daylight. Don’t I make you happy?

Par. Me? O prodigiously!

Gna. That’s my way with my friends.

Par. I commend you.

Gna. I’m detaining you; perhaps you were about to go somewhere else.

Par. Nowhere.

Gna. In that case then, lend me your services a little; let me be introduced to her.

Par. Very well; (Gnatho knocks at the door, which immediately opens) now the door is open for you, (aside) because you are bringing her.

Gna. (going into the house of Thais, ironically.) Should you like any one to be called out from here?

Goes in with Pamphila, and shuts the door.

Scene IV.

Parmeno, alone.

Par. (to himself.) Only let the next two days go by; you who, at present, in such high favor, are opening the door with one little finger, assuredly I’ll cause to be kicking at that door full oft, with your heels, to no purpose.

Re-enter Gnatho from the house.

Gna. Still standing here, Parmeno? Why now, have you been left on guard here, that no go-between might perchance be secretly running from the Captain to her?

Exit.

Par. Smartly said; really they ought to be wonderful things to please the Captain. But I see my master’s youngest son coming this way; I wonder why he has come away from the Piraeus,47 for he is at present on guard there in the public service. It’s not for nothing; he’s coming in a hurry, too; I can’t imagine why he’s looking around in all directions.

Scene V.

Enter Chærea on the other side of the stage, in haste.

Chæ. (to himself.) I’m utterly undone! The girl is nowhere; nor do I know where I am myself, to have lost sight of her. Where to inquire for her, where to search for her, whom to ask, which way to turn, I’m at a loss. I have only this hope; wherever she is, she can not long be concealed. O what beauteous features! from this moment I banish all other women from my thoughts; I can not endure these every-day beauties.

Par. (apart.) Why look, here’s the other one. He’s saying something, I don’t know what, about love. O unfortunate old man, their father! This assuredly is a youth, who, if he does begin, you will say that the other one was mere play and pastime, compared with what the madness of this one will cause.

Chæ. (to himself, aloud.) May all the Gods and Goddesses confound that old fellow who detained me to-day, and me as well who stopped for him, and in fact troubled myself a straw about him. But see, here’s Parmeno. (Addressing him.) Good-morrow to you.

Par. Why are you out of spirits, and why in such a hurry? Whence come you?

Chæ. What, I? I’faith, I neither know whence I’m come, nor whither I’m going; so utterly have I lost myself.

Par. How, pray?

Chæ. I’m in love.

Par. (starting.) Ha!

Chæ. Now, Parmeno, you may show what sort of a man you are. You know that you often promised me to this effect: “Chærea, do you only find some object to fall in love with; I’ll make you sensible of my usefulness in such matters,” when I used to be storing up my father’s provisions for you on the sly in your little room.48

Par. To the point, you simpleton.

Chæ. Upon my faith, this is the fact. Now, then, let your promises be made good, if you please, or if indeed the affair is a deserving one for you to exert your energies upon. The girl isn’t like our girls, whom their mothers are anxious to have with shoulders kept down, and chests well girthed,49 that they may be slender. If one is a little inclined to plumpness, they declare that she’s training for a boxer,50 and stint her food; although their constitutions are good, by their treatment they make them as slight as bulrushes; and so for that reason they are admired, forsooth.

Par. What sort of a girl is this one of yours?

Chæ. A new style of beauty.

Par. (ironically.) Astounding!

Chæ. Her complexion genuine,51 her flesh firm and full of juiciness.52

Par. Her age?

Chæ. Her age? Sixteen.

Par. The very flower of youth.53

Chæ. Do you make it your care to obtain her for me either by force, stealth, or entreaty; so that I only gain her, it matters not how to me.

Par. Well, but to whom does the damsel belong?

Chæ. That, i’faith, I don’t know.

Par. Whence did she come?

Chæ. That, just as much.

Par. Where does she live?

Chæ. Nor yet do I know that.

Par. Where did you see her?

Chæ. In the street.

Par. How did you come to lose her?

Chæ. Why, that’s what I was just now fretting myself about; and I do not believe that there is one individual to whom all good luck is a greater stranger than to myself. What ill fortune this is! I’m utterly undone!

Par. What’s the matter?

Chæ. Do you ask me? Do you know Archidemides, my father’s kinsman and years’-mate?

Par. Why not?

Chæ. He, while I was in full pursuit of her, met me.

Par. Unseasonably, upon my faith.

Chæ. Aye, unhappily, rather; for other ordinary matters are to be called “unseasonable,” Parmeno. It would be safe for me to make oath that I have not seen him for fully these six or seven months, until just now, when I least wanted, and there was the least occasion. Come now! isn’t this like a fatality? What do you say?

Par. Extremely so.

Chæ. At once he came running up to me, from a considerable distance, stooping, palsied, hanging his lip, and wheezing. “Halloo, Chærea! halloo!” said he; “I’ve something to say to you.” I stopped. “Do you know what it is I want with you?” said he. “Say on,” said I. “To-morrow my cause comes on,” said he. “What then?” “Be sure and tell your father to remember and be my advocate54 in the morning.” In talking of this, an hour elapsed.55 I inquired if he wanted any thing else. “That’s all,” said he. I left him. When I looked in this direction for the damsel, she had that very instant turned thia way down this street of ours.

Par. (aside.) It’s a wonder if he doesn’t mean her who has just now been made a present of to Thais here.

Chæ. When I got here, she was nowhere to be seen.

Par. Some attendants, I suppose, were accompanying the girl?

Chæ. Yes; a Parasite, and a female servant.

Par. (apart.) It’s the very same. (To Chærea.) It’s all over with you; make an end of it; you’ve said your last.56

Chæ. You are thinking about something else.

Par. Indeed I’m thinking of this same matter.

Chæ. Pray, tell me, do you know her, or did you see her?

Par. I did see, and I do know her; I am aware to what house she has been taken.

Chæ. What, my dear Parmeno, do you know her, and are you aware where she is?

Par. She has been brought here (pointing) to the house of Thais the Courtesan.57 She has been made a present to her.

Chæ. What opulent person is it, to be presenting a gift so precious as this?

Par. The Captain Thraso, Phædria’s rival.

Chæ. An unpleasant business for my brother, it should seem.

Par. Aye, and if you did but know what present he is pitting against this present, you would say so still more.

Chæ. Troth now, what is it, pray?

Par. A Eunuch.58

Chæ. What! that unsightly creature, pray, that he purchased yesterday, an old woman?

Par. That very same.

Chæ. To a certainty, the gentleman will be bundled out of doors, together with his present; but I wasn’t aware that this Thais is our neighbor.

Par. It isn’t long since she came.

Chæ. Unhappy wretch that I am! never to have seen her, even. Come now, just tell me, is she as handsome as she is reported to be?59

Par. Quite.

Chæ. But nothing in comparison with this damsel of mine?

Par. Another thing altogether.

Chæ. Troth now, Parmeno, prithee do contrive for me to gain possession of her.

Par. I’ll do my best, and use all my endeavors; I’ll lend you my assistance. (Going.) Do you want any thing else with me?

Chæ. Where are you going now?

Par. Home; to take those slaves to Thais, as your brother ordered me.

Chæ. Oh, lucky Eunuch that! really, to be sent as a present to that house! Par. Why so?

Chæ. Do you ask? Ho will always see at home a fellow-servant of consummate beauty, and he conversing with her; he will be in the same house with her; sometimes he will take his meals with her; sometimes sleep near her.

Par. What now, if you yourself were to be this fortunate person?

Chæ. By what means, Parmeno? Tell me.

Par. Do you assume his dress.

Chæ. His dress! Well, what then?

Par. I’ll take you there instead of him.

Chæ. (musing.) I hear you.

Par. I’ll say that you are he.

Chæ. I understand you.

Par. You may enjoy those advantages which you just now said he would enjoy; you may take your meals together with her, be in company with her, touch her, dally with her, and sleep by her side; as not one of these women is acquainted with you, nor yet knows who you are. Besides, you are of an age and figure that you may easily pass for a eunuch.

Chæ. You speak to the purpose; I never knew better counsel given. Well, let’s go in at once; dress me up, take me away, lead me to her, as fast as you can.

Par. What do you mean? Really, I was only joking.

Chæ. You talk nonsense.

Par. I’m undone! Wretch that I am! what have I done? (Chærea pushes him along.) Whither are you pushing me? You’ll throw me down presently. I entreat you, be quiet.

Chæ. Let’s be off. (Pushes him.)

Par. Do you still persist?

Chæ. I am resolved upon it.

Par. Only take care that this isn’t too rash a project.

Chæ. Certainly it isn’t; let me alone for that.

Par. Aye, but I shall have to pay the penalty60 for this?

Chæ. Pshaw!

Par. We shall be guilty of a disgraceful action.

Chæ. What, is it disgraceful61 to be taken to the house of a Courtesan, and to return the compliment upon those tormentors who treat us and our youthful age so scornfully, and who are always tormenting us in every way;—to dupe them just as we are duped by them? Or is it right and proper that in preference my father should be wheedled out of his money by deceitful pretexts? Those who knew of this would blame me; while all would think the other a meritorious act.

Par. What’s to be done in such case? If you are determined to do it, you must do it: but don’t you by-and-by be throwing the blame upon me.

Chæ.. I shall not do so.

Par. Do you order me, then?

Chæ. I order, charge, and command you; I will never disavow my authorizing you.

Par. Follow me; may the Gods prosper it!

They go into the house of Laches.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Thraso and Gnatho.

Thra. Did Thais really return me many thanks?

Gna. Exceeding thanks.

Thra. Was she delighted, say you?

Gna. Not so much, indeed, at the present itself, as because it was given by you; really, in right earnest, she does exult at that.

Enter Parmeno unseen, from Laches’ house.

Par. (apart.) I’ve come here to be on the look-out, that when there is an opportunity I may take the presents. But see, here’s the Captain.

Thra. Undoubtedly it is the case with me, that every thing I do is a cause for thankfulness.

Gna. Upon my faith, I’ve observed it.

Thra. The most mighty King,62 even, always used to give me especial thanks for whatever I did; but not so to others.

Gna. He who has the wit that you have, often by his words appropriates to himself the glory that has been achieved by the labor of others.

Thra. You’ve just hit it.63

Gna. The king, then, kept you in his eye.64

Thra. Just so.

Gna. To enjoy your society.

Thra. True; he intrusted to me all his army, all his state secrets.

Gna. Astonishing!

Thra. Then if, on any occasion, a surfeit of society, or a dislike of business, came upon him, when he was desirous to take some recreation; just as though—you understand?65

Gna. I know; just as though on occasion he would rid his mind of those anxieties.

Thra. You have it. Then he used to take me aside as his only boon companion.

Gna. Whew! You are telling of a King of refined taste.

Thra. Aye, he is a person of that sort; a man of but very few acquaintanceships.

Gna. (aside.) Indeed, of none,66 I fancy, if he’s on intimate terms with you.

Thra. All the people envied me, and attacked me privately. I don’t care one straw. They envied me dreadfully; but one in particular, whom the King had appointed over the Indian elephants.67 Once, when he became particularly troublesome, “Prithee, Strato,” said I, “are you so fierce because you hold command over the wild beasts?”

Gna. Cleverly said, upon my faith, and shrewdly. Astounding! You did give the fellow a home thrust. What said he?

Thra. Dumfounded, instantaneously.

Gna. How could he be otherwise?

Par. (apart.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you! a lost and miserable fellow the one, and the other a scoundrel.

Thra. Well then, about that matter, Gnatho, the way in which I touched up the Rhodian at a banquet—did I never tell you?

Gna. Never; but pray, do tell me. (Aside.) I’ve heard it more than a thousand times already.

Thra. There was in my company at a banquet, this young man of Rhodes, whom I’m speaking of. By chance I had a mistress there; he began to toy with her, and to annoy me. “What are you doing, sir impudence?” said I to the fellow; “a hare yourself, and looking out for game?”68

Gna. (pretending to laugh very heartily.) Ha, ha, ha!

Thra. What’s the matter?

Gna. How apt, how smart, how clever; nothing could be more excellent. Prithee, was this a saying of yours? I fancied it was an old one.

Thra. Did you ever hear it before?

Gna. Many a time; and it is mentioned among the first-rate ones.

Thra. It’s my own.

Gna. I’m sorry though that it was said to a thoughtless young man, and one of respectability.

Par. (apart.) May the Gods confound you!

Gna. Pray, what did he do?

Thra. Quite disconcerted. All who were present were dying with laughter; in short, they were all quite afraid of me.

Gna. Not without reason.

Thra. But hark you, had I best clear myself of this to Thais, as to her suspicion that I’m fond of this girl?

Gna. By no means: on the contrary, rather increase her jealousy.

Thra. Why so?

Gna. Do you ask me? Don’t you see, if on any occasion she makes mention of Phædria or commends him, to provoke you——

Thra. I understand.

Gna. That such may not be the case, this method is the only remedy. When she speaks of Phædria, do you instantly mention Pamphila. If at any time she says, “Let’s invite Phædria to make one,” do you say, “Let’s ask Pamphila to sing.” If she praises his good looks, do you, on the other hand, praise hers. In short, do you return like for like, which will mortify her.

Thra. If, indeed, she loved me,69 this might be of some use, Gnatho.

Gna. Since she is impatient for and loves that which you give her, she already loves you; as it is, then, it is an easy matter for her to feel vexed. She will be always afraid lest the presents which she herself is now getting, you may on some occasion be taking elsewhere.

Thra. Well said; that never came into my mind.

Gna. Nonsense. You never thought about it; else how much more readily would you yourself have hit upon it, Thraso!

Scene II.

Enter Thais from her house, attended by Pythias.

Thais, (as she comes out.) I thought I just now heard the Captain’s voice. And look, here he is. Welcome, my dear Thraso.

Thra. O my Thais, my sweet one, how are you? How much do you love me in return for that music girl?

Par. (apart.) How polite! What a beginning he has made on meeting her!

Thais. Very much, as you deserve.

Gna. Let’s go to dinner then. (To Thraso.) What do you stand here for?

Par. (apart.) Then there’s the other one: you would declare that he was born for his belly’s sake.

Thra. When you please; I sha’n’t delay.

Par. (apart.) I’ll accost them, and pretend as though I had just come out. (He comes forward.) Are you going any where, Thais?

Thais. Ha! Parmeno; well done; just going out for the day.

Par. Where?

Thais, (aside, pointing at Thraso.) Why! don’t you see him?

Par. (aside.) I see him, and I’m sorry for it. (Aloud.) Phædria’s presents are ready for you when you please.

Thra. (impatiently.) Why are we to stand here? Why don’t we be off?

Par. (to Thraso.) Troth now, pray, do let us, with your leave, present to her the things we intend, and accost and speak to her.

Thra. (ironically.) Very fine presents, I suppose, or at least equal to mine.

Par. The fact will prove itself. (Goes to the door of Laches’ house and calls.) Ho there! bid those people come out of doors at once, as I ordered.

Enter from the house a Black Girl.

Par. Do you step forward this way, (To Thais.) She comes all the way from Æthiopia.

Thra. (contemptuously.) Here are some three minæ in value.

Gna. Hardly so much.

Par. Where are you, Dorus? Step this way.

Enter Chærea from the house, dressed like the Eunuch.

Par. There’s a Eunuch for you—of what a genteel appearance! of what a prime age!

Thais. God bless me, he’s handsome.

Par. What say you, Gnatho? Do you see any thing to find fault with? And what say you, Thraso? (Aside.) They hold their tongues; they praise him sufficiently thereby. (To Thais.) Make trial of him in literature, try him in exercises,70 and in music; I’ll warrant him well skilled in what it becomes a gentleman to know.

Thra. That Eunuch, if occasion served,71 even in my sober senses, I—

Par. And he who has sent these things makes no request that you will live for him alone, and that for his own sake others may be excluded; he neither tells of battles nor shows his scars, nor does he restrict you as (looking at Thraso) a certain person does; but when it is not inconvenient, whenever you think fit, whenever you have the time, he is satisfied to be admitted.

Thra. (to Gnatho, contemptuously.) It appears that this is the servant of some beggarly, wretched master.

Gna. Why, faith, no person, I’m quite sure of that, could possibly put up with him, who had the means to get another.

Par. You hold your tongue—a fellow whom I consider beneath all men of the very lowest grade: for when you can bring yourself to flatter that fellow (pointing at Thraso), I do believe you could pick your victuals out of the very flames.72

Thra. Are we to go now?

Thais. I’ll take these in-doors first (pointing to Chærea and the Æthiopian), and at the same time I’ll order what I wish; after that I’ll return immediately.

Goes into the house with Pythias, Chærea, and the Slave.

Thra. (to Gnatho.) I shall be off. Do you wait for her.

Par. It is not a proper thing for a general to be walking in the street with a mistress.

Thra. Why should I use many words with you? You are the very ape of your master.

Exit Parmeno.

Gna. (laughing.) Ha, ha, ha!

Thra. What are you laughing at?

Gna. At what you were mentioning just now; that saying, too, about the Rhodian, recurred to my mind. But Thais is coming out.

Thra. You go before; take care that every thing is ready at home.

Gna. Very well.

Exit.

Re-enter Thais, with Pythias and Female Attendants.

Thais. Take care, Pythias, and be sure that if Chremes should happen to come,73 to beg him to wait; if that is not convenient, then to come again; if he can not do that, bring him to me.

Pyth. I’ll do so.

Thais. Well, what else was I intending to say? O, do you take particular care of that young woman; be sure that you keep at home.

Thra. Let us begone.

Thais, (to her attendants.) You follow me.

Exeunt Thais and Thraso, followed by the Attendants. Pythias goes into the house.

Scene III.

Enter Chremes.

Chrem. (to himself.) Why, really, the more and more I think of it, I shouldn’t be surprised if this Thais should be doing me some great mischief; so cunningly do I perceive myself beset by her. Even on the occasion when she first requested me to be fetched to her (any one might ask me, “What business had you with her?” Really I don’t know.) When I came, she found an excuse for me to remain there; she said that she had been offering a sacrifice,74 and that she was desirous to speak upon some important business with me. Even then I had a suspicion that all these things were being done for her artful purposes. She takes her place beside me; pays every attention to me; seeks an opportunity of conversation. When the conversation flagged, she turned off to this point—how long since my father and mother died? I said that it was now a long time ago. Whether I had any country-house at Sunium, and how far from the sea? I suppose that this has taken her fancy, and she expects to get it away from me. Then at last, whether any little sister of mine had been lost from there; whether any person was with her; what she had about her when she was lost; whether any one could recognize her. Why should she make these inquiries? Unless, perhaps, she pretends—so great is her assurance—that she herself is the same person that was formerly lost when a little girl. But if she is alive, she is sixteen years old, not older; whereas Thais is somewhat older than I am. She has sent to press me earnestly to come. Either let her speak out what she wants, or not be troublesome; I assuredly shall not come a third time (knocking at the door of Thais). Ho! there, ho! there! Is any one here? It’s I, Chremes.

Scene IV.

Enter Pythias from the house.

Pyth. O most charming, dear creature!

Chrem. (apart.) I said there was a design upon me.

Pyth. Thais entreated you most earnestly to come again to-morrow.

Chrem. I’m going into the country.

Pyth. Do, there’s a dear sir.

Chrem. I can not, I tell you.

Pyth. Then stay here at our house till she comes back.

Chrem. Nothing less likely.

Pyth. Why, my dear Chremes? (Taking hold of him.)

Chrem. (shaking her off.) Away to perdition with you!

Pyth. If you are so determined about it, pray do step over to the place where she is.

Chrem. I’ll go there.

Pyth. (calling at the door.) Here, Dorias (Dorias enters), show this person directly to the Captain’s.

Exit Chremes with Dorias, Pythias goes into the house.

Scene V.

Enter Antipho.

Ant. (to himself.) Yesterday some young fellows of us agreed together at the Piræus that we were to go shares today in a club-entertainment. We gave Chærea charge of this matter; our rings were given75 as pledges; the place and time arranged. The time has now gone by; at the place appointed there was nothing ready. The fellow himself is nowhere to be met with; I neither know what to say nor what to suppose. Now the rest have commissioned me with this business, to look for him. I’ll go see, therefore, if he’s at home. But who’s this, I wonder, coming out of Thais’s? Is it he, or is it not? ’Tis the very man! What, sort of being is this? What kind of garb is this? What mischief is going on now? I can not sufficiently wonder or conjecture. But, whatever it is, I should like first at a distance to try and find out.

He stands apart.

Scene VI.

Enter Chærea from the house of Thais, in the Eunuch’s dress.

Chæ. (looking around, then aloud to himself.) Is there anybody here? There’s no one. Is there any one following me from there? There’s not a person. Now am I not at liberty to give vent to these raptures? O supreme Jupiter! now assuredly is the time for me to meet my death,76 when I can so well endure it; lest my life should sully this ecstasy with some disaster. But is there now no inquisitive person to be intruding upon me, to be following me wherever I go, to be deafening me, worrying me to death, with asking questions; why thus transported, or why so overjoyed, whither I’m going, whence I’m come, where I got this garb, what is my object, whether I’m in my senses or whether downright mad?

Ant. (apart.) I’ll accost him, and I’ll do him the favor which I see he’s wishing for. (Accosting him.) Chærea, why are you thus transported? What’s the object of this garb? Why is it that you’re so overjoyed? What is the meaning of this? Are you quite right in your senses? Why do you stare at me? What have you to say?

Chæ. O joyous day! O welcome, my friend! There’s not one in all the world whom I would rather wish to see at this moment than yourself.

Ant. Pray, do tell me what all this means.

Chæ. Nay rather, i’faith, I beg of you to listen to me. Do you know the mistress whom my brother is so fond of?

Ant. I know her; I suppose you mean Thais?

Chæ. The very same.

Ant. So far I recollect.

Chæ. To-day a certain damsel was presented to her. Why now should I extol or commend her beauty to you, Antipho, since you yourself know how nice a judge of beauty I am? I have been smitten by her.

Ant. Do you say so?

Chæ. If you saw her, I am sure you would say she’s exquisite. What need of many words? I fell in love with her. By good luck there was at our house a certain Eunuch, whom my brother had purchased for Thais, and he had not as yet been sent to her. On this occasion, Parmeno, our servant, made a suggestion to me, which I adopted.

Ant. What was it?

Chæ. Be quiet, and you shall hear the sooner; to change clothes with him, and order myself to be taken there in his stead.

Ant. What, instead of the Eunuch?

Chæ. The fact.

Ant. To receive what advantage, pray, from this plan?

Chæ. Do you ask? That I might see, hear, and be in company with her whom I loved, Antipho. Is that a slight motive, or a poor reason? I was presented to the woman. She, as soon as she received me, joyfully took me home to her house and intrusted the damsel—

Ant. To whom? To you?

Chæ. To me.

Ant. (ironically.) In perfect safety, at all events.

Chæ. She gave orders that we male was to come near her, and commanded me not to stir away from her; that I was to remain alone with her in the inner apartments.77 Looking bashfully on the ground, I nodded assent.

Ant. (ironically.) Poor fellow!

Chæ. (continuing.) “I am going out,” said she, “to dinner.” She took her maids with her; a few novices of girls78 remained, to be about her. These immediately made preparations for her to bathe. I urged them to make haste. While preparations were being made, the damsel sat in a room looking up at a certain painting,79 in which was represented how Jove80 is said once to have sent a golden shower into the bosom of Danaë. I myself began to look at it as well, and as he had in former times played the like game, I felt extremely delighted that a God should change himself into money, and slily come through the tiles of another person’s house, to deceive the fair one by means of a shower. But what God was this? He who shakes the most lofty temples of heaven with his thunders. Was I, a poor creature of a mortal,81 not to do the same? Certainly, I was to do it, and without hesitation. While I was thinking over these matters with myself, the damsel meantime was fetched away to bathe; she went, bathed, and came back; after which they laid her on a couch. I stood waiting to see if they gave me any orders. One came up, “Here, Dorus,” said she, “take this fan,82 and let her have a little air in this fashion, while we are bathing; when we have bathed, if you like, you may bathe too.” With a demure air I took it.

Ant. Really, I should very much have liked to see that impudent face of yours just then, and what figure a great donkey like you made, holding a fan!

Chæ. (continuing.) Hardly had she said this, when all, in a moment, betook themselves off: away they went to bathe, and chattered aloud;83 just as the way is when masters are absent. Meanwhile, sleep overtook the damsel; I slily looked askance84 through the fan;85 this way (showing how): at the same time I looked round in all directions, to see whether all was quite safe. I saw that it was. I bolted the door.

Ant. What then?

Chæ. Eh? What then, you simpleton?

Ant. I own I am.

Chæ. Was I to let slip the opportunity offered me, so excellent, so short-lived,86 so longed for, so unexpected. In that case, i’faith, I really should have been the person I was pretending to be.

Ant. Troth, you certainly are in the right; but, meantime, what has been arranged about the club-entertainment?

Chæ. All’s ready.

Ant. You are a clever band; but where? At your house?

Chæ. No, at Discus’s, our freedman.

Ant. That’s a long way off.

Chæ. Then let’s make so much the greater haste.

Ant. Change your dress.

Chæ. Where am I to change it? I’m at a loss; for at present I’m an exile from home; I’m afraid of my brother, lest he should be in-doors: and then again of my father, lest he should have returned from the country by this.

Ant. Let’s go to my house; there is the nearest place for you to change.

Chæ. You say right. Let’s be off; besides, I want to take counsel with you about this girl, by what means I may be able to secure the future possession of her.

Ant. Very well.

Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Dorias, with a casket in her hand.

Dorias (to herself.) So may the Gods bless me, but from what I have seen, I’m terribly afraid that this mad fellow will be guilty of some disturbance to-day or of some violence to Thais. For when this young man, the brother of the damsel, arrived, she begged the Captain to order him to be admitted; he immediately began to get into a passion, and yet didn’t dare refuse; Thais still insisted that he would invite the man in. This she did for the sake of detaining him; because there was no opportunity just then of telling him what she wanted to disclose about her sister. He was invited in, and took his seat. Then she entered into discourse with him. But the Captain, fancying it was a rival brought before his very eyes, wanted in his turn to mortify her: “Hark you, boy,” said he, “go fetch Pamphila, that she may amuse us here.” She exclaimed, “At a banquet! Certainly not.” The Captain still persisted to a downright quarrel. Meanwhile my mistress secretly took off her golden jewels,87 and gave them to me to take away: this is a sign, I’m sure, that she’ll betake herself from there as soon as she possibly can.

Goes into the house.

Scene II.

Enter Phædria.

Phæd. (to himself.) While I was going88 into the country, I began on the road, as it mostly happens when there is any anxiety on the mind, to reflect with myself upon one thing after another, and upon every thing in the worst light. What need of words? While I was musing thus, inadvertently I passed my country-house. I had already got some distance from it, when I perceived this; I returned again, really feeling quite uneasy; when I came to the very turning that leads to the house, I came to a stop, and began to reason with myself; “What! must I stay here alone for two days without her? Well, and what then? It’s nothing at all. What? Nothing at all? Well now, if I haven’t the privilege of touching her, am I not even to have that of seeing her? If I may not do the one, at least I may the other. Surely to love at a distance89 even, is better than nothing at all.” I purposely passed the house. But how’s this, that Pythias is suddenly hurrying out in such a fright?

Stands apart.

Scene III.

Enter Pythias and Dorias in haste from the house of Thais.

Pyth. (aloud.) Where, wretch that I am, shall I find this wicked and impious fellow? Or where look for him? That he should dare to commit so audacious a crime as this! I’m ruined outright!

Phæd. (apart.) I dread what this may be.

Pyth. Besides, too, the villain, after he had abused the girl, rent all the poor thing’s clothes, and tore her hair as well.

Phæd. (apart, in surprise.) Ha!

Pyth. If he were just now in my reach, how eagerly would I fly at that villain’s eyes with my nails!

Phæd. (apart.) Really I can’t imagine what disturbance has happened to us at home in my absence. I’ll accost them. (Going up to them.) What’s the matter? Why in such haste? Or whom are you looking for, Pythias?

Pyth. Why, Phædria, whom should I be looking for? Away with you, as you deserve, with such fine presents of yours.

Phæd. What is the matter?

Pyth. What, do you ask? The Eunuch you gave us, what confusion he has caused. He has ravished the girl whom the Captain made present of to my mistress.

Phæd. What is it you say?

Pyth. I’m ruined outright!

Phæd. You are drunk.

Pyth. I wish that they were so, who wish ill to me.

Dorias. Oh, prithee, my dear Pythias, what a monstrous thing this is!

Phæd. You are out of your senses. How could a Eunuch possibly do this?

Pyth. I know nothing about him: as to what he has done, the thing speaks for itself. The girl is in tears; and when you ask her what’s the matter, she does not dare tell. But he, a precious fellow, is nowhere to be seen. To my sorrow I suspect too, that when he took himself off he carried something away from the house.

Phæd. I can not enough wonder, whither this varlet can possibly have betaken himself to any distance from here; unless perhaps he has returned home to our house.

Pyth. Pray, go and see whether he is there.

Phæd. I’ll let you know immediately.

Goes into the house of Laches.

Dorias. Ruined outright! Prithee, my dear, I never did so much as hear of a deed so abominable!

Pyth. Why, faith, I had heard that they were extremely fond of the women, but were incapable; unfortunately what has happened never came into my mind; otherwise I should have shut him up somewhere, and not have intrusted the girl to him.

Scene IV.

Enter Phædria from the house of Laches, with Dorus in Chærea’s clothes.

Phæd. (dragging him out.) Come out, you villain! What, do you lag behind, you runaway? Out with you, you sorry bargain!

Dorus (crying out.) Mercy, I do entreat you!

Phæd. Oh, do look at that! How the villain distorts his face. What means your coming back hither? Why this change of dress? What have you to say? If I had delayed a moment, Pythias, I shouldn’t have found him at home: he had just prepared, in this fashion, for flight. (Pointing at his dress.)

Pyth. Have you caught the fellow, pray?

Phæd. Caught him, why not?

Pyth. O well done!

Dorias. Upon my faith that really is capital!

Pyth. Where is he?

Phæd. Do you ask the question? Don’t you see him? (Pointing to the Eunuch.)

Pyth. (staring about.) See whom, pray?

Phæd. This fellow, to be sure (pointing).

Pyth. What person is this?

Phæd. The same that was brought to your house to-day.

Pyth. Not one of our people has ever beheld this person with her eyes, Phædria.

Phæd. Not beheld him?

Pyth. Prithee, did you fancy that this was he who was brought to our house?

Phæd. Why, I had no other.

Pyth. O dear! this one really isn’t to be compared with the other. He was of a handsome and genteel appearance.

Phæd. He seemed so, just then, because he was decked out in party-colored clothes:90 now he appears ugly, for this reason—because he hasn’t got them on.

Pyth. Prithee, do hold your tongue; as though indeed the difference was so trifling. A young man was brought to our house to-day, whom, really, Phædria, you would have liked to look upon. This is a withered, antiquated, lethargic, old fellow, with a speckled complexion.91

Phæd. (starting.) Hah! What tale is this? You’ll so be-fool me that I sha’n’t know what I bought. (To Dorus.) How now, sirrah, did I not buy you?

Dorus. You did buy me.

Pyth. Bid him answer me in my turn.

Phæd. Question him.

Pyth. (to Dorus.) Did you come here to-day to our house? (Dorus shakes his head.) He says, no. But it was the other one that came, about sixteen years of age; whom Parmeno brought with him.

Phæd. (to Dorus.) Well now, in the first place tell me this, where did you get that dress that you have on? What, are you silent? Monster of a fellow, are you not going to speak (Shakes him.)

Dorus. Chærea came.

Phæd. What, my brother?

Dorus. Yes.

Phæd. When?

Dorus. To-day.

Phæd. How long since?

Dorus. Just now.

Phæd. With whom?

Dorus. With Parmeno.

Phæd. Did you know him before?

Dorus. No.

Phæd. How did you know he was my brother?

Dorus. Parmeno said he was. He gave me these clothes.

Phæd. I’m undone!

Dorus. He himself put on mine; afterward, they both went out together.

Pyth. Now are you quite satisfied that I am sober, and that we have told you no falsehood? Is it now sufficiently evident that the girl has been ravished?

Phæd. Avaunt, you beast, do you believe what he says?

Pyth. What is there to believe? The thing speaks for itself.

Phæd. (apart to Dorus.) Step aside a little this way. Do you hear? (Dorus steps aside.) A little further still. That will do. Now tell me this once more; did Chærea take your clothes off you?

Dorus. He did.

Phæd. And did he put them on?

Dorus. He did.

Phæd. And was he brought here instead of you?

Dorus. Yes.

Phæd. Great Jupiter! O wicked and audacious fellow!

Pyth. Woe unto me! Now at last will you believe that we have been insulted in a disgraceful manner?

Phæd. It is no wonder that you believe what the fellow says. (Aside.) What I’m to do I know not. (Aside to Dorus.) Hark you, deny it all again. (Aloud.) Can I not this day extract the truth from you? Did you really see my brother Chærea?

Dorus. No.

Phæd. He can’t be brought to confess without being punished, I see: follow me this way. At one moment he affirms, at another denies. (Aside.) Ask pardon of me.

Dorus. Indeed, I do entreat you, Phædria.

Phæd. (kicking him.) Be off in-doors.

Dorus. Oh! oh!

Phæd. (aside.) How in any other fashion to get decently out of this I don’t know; for really it’s all up with me. (Aloud, with pretended indignation.) Will you be trifling with me even here, you knave?

Follows Dorus into the house.

Scene V.

Pythias and Dorias.

Pyth. I’m as certain that this is the contrivance of Parmeno as that I’m alive.

Dorias. So it is, no doubt.

Pyth. I’faith, I’ll find out a method to-day to be even with him. But now, what do you think ought to be done, Dorias?

Dorias. Do you mean with regard to this girl?

Pyth. Yes; whether I ought to mention it or be silent?

Dorias. Upon my word, if you are prudent, you won’t know what you do know, either about the Eunuch or the girl’s misfortune. By this method you’ll both rid yourself of all perplexity, and have done a service to her.92 Say this only, that Dorus has run away.

Pyth. I’ll do so.

Dorias. But don’t I see Chremes? Thais will be here just now.

Pyth. Why so?

Dorias. Because when I came away from there, a quarrel had just commenced between them.

Pyth. Take in these golden trinkets; I shall learn from him what’s the matter.

Dorias takes the casket into the house.

Scene VI.

Enter Chremes, somewhat drunk.

Chrem. Heyday! upon my faith, I’ve been bamboozled: the wine that I’ve drunk has got the upper hand. But, so long as I was reclining, how extremely sober I did seem to myself to be; when I got up, neither feet nor senses were quite equal to their duty.

Pyth. Chremes!

Chrem. (turning round.) Who’s that? What, Pythias; dear me, how much more charming you now seem to me than a short time since!

Pyth. Troth now, you are much more merry, that’s certain.

Chrem. Upon my faith, it is a true saying, that “Venus grows cold without Ceres and Bacchus.” But has Thais got here long before me?

Pyth. Has she already come away from the Captain’s?

Chrem. A long time ago; an age since. There has been a most violent quarrel between them.

Pyth. Did she say nothing about you following her?

Chrem. Nothing at all; only, on going away, she gave me a nod.

Pyth. Well now, wasn’t that enough?

Chrem. Why, I didn’t know that she meant that, until the Captain gave me an explanation, because I was dull of comprehension; for he bundled me out of the house. But look, here she is; I wonder how it was I got here before her.

Scene VII.

Enter Thais.

Thais. (to herself.) I really do believe that he’ll be here presently, to force her away from me. Let him come; but if he touches her with a single finger, that instant his eyes shall be torn out. I can put up with his impertinences and his high-sounding words, as long as they remain words: but if they are turned into realities, he shall get a drubbing.

Chrem. Thais, I’ve been here some time.

Thais. O my dear Chremes, you are the very person I was wanting. Are you aware that this quarrel took place on your account, and that the whole of this affair, in fact, bore reference to yourself?

Chrem. To me? How so, pray?

Thais. Because, while I’ve been doing my best to recover and restore your sister to you, this and a great deal more like it I’ve had to put up with.

Chrem. Where is she?

Thais. At home, at my house.

Chrem. (starting.) Hah!

Thais. What’s the matter? She has been brought up in a manner worthy of yourself and of her.

Chrem. What is it you say?

Thais. That which is the fact. Her I present to you, nor do I ask of you any return for her.

Chrem. Thanks are both felt and shall be returned in such way, Thais, as you deserve.

Thais. But still, take care, Chremes, that you don’t lose her, before you receive her from me; for it is she, whom the Captain is now coming to take away from me by force. Do you go, Pythias, and bring out of the house the casket with the tokens.93

Chrem. (looking down the side Scene.) Don’t you see him, Thais?

Pyth. (to Thais.) Where is it put?

Thais. In the clothes’ chest. Tiresome creature, why do you delay?

Pythias goes into the house.

Chrem. What a large body of troops the Captain is bringing with him against you. Bless me!

Thais. Prithee, are you frightened, my dear sir?

Chrem. Get out with you. What, I frightened? There’s not a man alive less so.

Thais. Then now is the time to prove it.

Chrem. Why, I wonder what sort of a man you take me to be.

Thais. Nay, and consider this too; the person that you have to deal with is a foreigner;94 of less influence than you, less known, and one that has fewer friends here.

Chrem. I’m aware of that; but it’s foolish to run the risk of what you are able to avoid. I had rather we should prevent it, than, having received an injury, avenge ourselves upon him. Do you go in and fasten the door, while I run across hence to the Forum; I should like us to have the aid of some legal adviser in this disturbance. (Moves, as if going.)

Thais. (holding him.) Stay.

Chrem. Let me go, I’ll be here presently.

Thais. There’s no occasion, Chremes. Only say that she is your sister, and that you lost her when a little girl, and have now recognized her; then show the tokens.

Re-enter Pythias from the house, with the trinkets.

Pyth. (giving them to Thais.) Here they are.

Thais. (giving them to Chremes.) Take them. If he offers any violence, summon the fellow to justice; do you understand me?

Chrem. Perfectly.

Thais. Take care and say this with presence of mind.

Chrem. I’ll take care.

Thais. Gather up your cloak. (Aside.) Undone! the very person whom I’ve provided as a champion, wants one himself.

They all go into the house.

Scene VIII.

Enter Thraso, followed by Gnatho, Sanga, and other Attendants.

Thra. Am I to submit, Gnatho, to such a glaring affront as this being put upon me? I’d die sooner. Simalio, Donax, Syriscus, follow me! First, I’ll storm the house.

Gna. Quite right.

Thra. I’ll carry off the girl.

Gna. Very good.

Thra. I’ll give her own self a mauling.

Gna. Very proper.

Thra. (arranging the men.) Advance hither to the main body, Donax, with your crowbar; you, Simalio, to the left wing; you, Syriscus, to the right. Bring up the rest; where’s the centurion Sanga, and his maniple95 of rogues?

San. (coming forward.) See, here he is.

Thra. What, you booby, do you think of fighting with a dish-clout,96 to be bringing that here?

San. What, I? I knew the valor of the general, and the prowess of the soldiers; and that this could not possibly go on without bloodshed; how was I to wipe the wounds?

Thra. Where are the others?

San. Plague on you, what others? Sannio is the only one left on guard at home.

Thra. (to Gnatho.) Do you draw up your men in battle order; I’ll be behind the second rank;97 from that position I’ll give the word to all.

Takes his place behind the second rank.

Gna. (aside.) That’s showing prudence; as soon as he has drawn them up, he secures a retreat for himself.

Thra. (pointing to the arrangements.) This is just the way Pyrrhus used to proceed.98

Chremes and Thais appear above at a window.

Chrem. Do you see, Thais, what plan he is upon? Assuredly, that advice of mine about closing the door was good.

Thais. He who now seems to you to be a hero, is in reality a mere vaporer; don’t be alarmed.

Thra. (to Gnatho.) What seems best to you?

Gna. I could very much99 like a sling to be given you just now, that you might pelt them from here on the sly at a distance; they would be taking to flight.

Thra. (to Gnatho.) But look (pointing), I see Thais there herself.

Gna. How soon are we to fall to?

Thra. Hold (holding him back); it behooves a prudent person to make trial of every thing before arms. How do you know but that she may do what I bid her without compulsion?

Gna. Ye Gods, by our trust in you, what a thing it is to be wise! I never come near you but what I go away from you the wiser.

Thra. Thais, in the first place, answer me this. When I presented you that girl, did you not say that you would give yourself up to me alone for some days to come?

Thais. Well, what then?

Thra. Do you ask the question? You, who have been and brought your lover under my very eyes? What business had you with him? With him, too, you clandestinely betook yourself away from me.

Thais. I chose to do so.

Thra. Then give me back Pamphila; unless you had rather she were taken away by force.

Chrem. Give her back to you, or you lay hands upon her? Of all the—

Gna. Ha! What are you about? Hold your tongue.

Thra. What do you mean? Am I not to touch my own?

Chrem. Your own, indeed, you gallows-bird!100

Gna. (to Chremes.) Have a care, if you please. You don’t know what kind of man you are abusing now.

Chrem. (to Gnatho.) Won’t you be off from here? Do you know how matters stand with you? If you cause any disturbance here to-day, I’ll make you remember the place, and day, and me too, for the rest of your life.

Gna. I pity you, who are making so great a man as this your enemy.

Chrem. I’ll break your head this instant if you are not off.

Gna. Do you really say so, puppy? Is it that you are at?

Thra. (to Chremes.) What fellow are you? What do you mean? What business have you with her?

Chrem. I’ll let you know: in the first place, I assert that she is a freeborn woman.

Thra. (starting.) Ha!

Chrem. A citizen of Attica.

Thra. Whew!

Chrem. My own sister.

Thra. Brazen face!

Chrem. Now, therefore, Captain, I give you warning; don’t you use any violence toward her. Thais, I’m going to Sophrona, the nurse, that I may bring her here and show her these tokens.

Thra. What! Are you to prevent me from touching what’s my own?

Chrem. I will prevent it, I tell you.

Gna. (to Thraso.) Do you hear him? He is convicting himself of theft. Is not that enough for you?

Thra. Do you say the same, Thais?

Thais. Go, find some one to answer you.

She and Chremes go away from the window.

Thra. (to Gnatho.) What are we to do now?

Gna. Why, go back again: she’ll soon be with you, of her own accord, to entreat forgiveness.

Thra. Do you think so?

Gna. Certainly, yes. I know the disposition of women: when you will, they won’t; when you won’t, they set their hearts upon you of their own inclination.

Thra. You judge right.

Gna. Shall I dismiss the army then?

Thra. Whenever you like.

Gna. Sanga, as befits gallant soldiers,101 take care in your turn to remember your homes and hearths.

San. My thoughts have been for some time among the sauce-pans.

Gna. You are a worthy fellow.

Thra. (putting himself at their head.) You follow me this way.

Exeunt omnes.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Thais from her house, followed by Pythias.

Thais. What! do you persist, hussy, in talking ambiguously to me? “I do know;” “I don’t know;” “he has gone off;” “I have heard;” “I wasn’t there.” Don’t you mean to tell me plainly, whatever it is? The girl in tears, with her garments torn, is mute; the Eunuch is off: for what reason? What has happened? Won’t you speak?

Pyth. Wretch that I am, what am I to say to you? They declare that he was not a Eunuch.

Thais. What was he then?

Pyth. That Chærea.

Thais. What Chærea?

Pyth. That stripling, the brother of Phædria.

Thais. What’s that you say, you hag?

Pyth. And I am satisfied of it.

Thais. Pray, what business had he at my house? What brought him there?

Pyth. I don’t know; unless, as I suppose, he was in love with Pamphila.

Thais. Alas! to my confusion, unhappy woman that I am, I’m undone, if what you tell me is true. Is it about this that the girl is crying?

Pyth. I believe so.

Thais. How say you, you arch-jade? Did I not warn you about this very thing, when I was going away from here?

Pyth. What could I do? Just as you ordered, she was intrusted to his care only.

Thais. Hussy, I’ve been intrusting the sheep to the wolf. I’m quite ashamed to have been imposed upon in this way. What sort of man was he?

Pyth. Hush! hush! mistress, pray; we are all right. Here we have the very man.

Thais. Where is he?

Pyth. Why there, to the left. Don’t you see?

Thais. I see.

Pyth. Order him to be seized as quickly as possible.

Thais. What can we do to him, simpleton?

Pyth. What do to him, do you ask? Pray, do look at him; if his face doesn’t seem an impudent one.

Thais. Not at all.

Pyth. Besides, what effrontery he has.

Scene II.

Enter Chærea, in the Eunuch’s dress, on the other side of the stage.

Chæ. (to himself.) At Antipho’s,102 both of them, father and mother, just as if on purpose, were at home, so that I couldn’t any way get in, but that they must have seen me. In the mean time, while I was standing before the door, a certain acquaintance of mine was coming full upon me. When I espied him, I took to my heels as fast as I could down a narrow unfrequented alley; thence again to another, and thence to another; thus have I been most dreadfully harassed with running about, that no one might recognize me. But isn’t this Thais that I see? It is she. I’m at a stand. What shall I do? But what need I care? What can she do to me?

Thais, (to Pythias.) Let’s accost him. (To Chærea.) Good Mister Dorus, welcome; tell me, have you been running away?

Chæ. Madam, I did so.

Thais. Are you quite pleased with it?

Chæ. No.

Thais. Do you fancy that you’ll get off with impunity?

Chæ. Forgive this one fault; if I’m ever guilty of another, then kill me.

Thais. Were you in fear of my severity?

Chæ. No.

Thais. No? What then?

Chæ. (pointing at Pythias.) I was afraid of her, lest she might be accusing me to you.

Thais. What had you done?

Chæ. A mere trifle.

Pyth. Come now, a trifle, you impudent fellow. Does this appear a trifle to you, to ravish a virgin, a citizen?

Chæ. I took her for my fellow-servant.

Pyth. Fellow-servant? I can hardly restrain myself from flying at his hair. A miscreant! Even of his own free will he comes to make fun of us.

Thais, (to Pythias.) Won’t you begone from here, you mad woman?

Pyth. Why so? Really, I do believe I should be something in this hang-dog’s debt, if I were to do so; especially as he owns that he is your servant.

Thais. We’ll pass that by. Chærea, you have behaved unworthily of yourself; for if I am deserving in the highest degree of this affront, still it is unbecoming of you to be guilty of it. And, upon my faith, I do not know what method now to adopt about this girl: you have so confounded all my plans, that I can not possibly return her to her friends in such a manner as is befitting and as I had intended; in order that, by this means, I might, Chærea, do a real service to myself.

Chæ. But now, from henceforth, I hope, Thais, that there will be lasting good-will between us. Many a time, from some affair of this kind and from a bad beginning, great friendships have sprung up. What if some Divinity has willed this?

Thais. I’faith, for my own part I both take it in that view and wish to do so.

Chæ. Yes, prithee, do so. Be sure of this one thing, that I did not do it for the sake of affronting you, but in consequence of passion.

Thais. I understand, and, i’faith, for that reason do I now the more readily forgive you. I am not, Chærea, of a disposition so ungentle, or so inexperienced, as not to know what is the power of love.

Chæ. So may the Deities kindly bless me, Thais; I am now smitten with you as well.

Pyth. Then, i’faith, mistress, I foresee you must have a care of him.

Chæ. I would not dare—

Pyth. I won’t trust you at all in any thing.

Thais, (to Pythias.) Do have done.

Chæ. Now I entreat you that you will be my assistant in this affair. I intrust and commit myself to your care; I take you, Thais, as my protectress; I implore you; I shall die if I don’t have her for my wife.

Thais. But if your father should say any thing—

Chæ. Oh, he’ll consent, I’m quite sure of that, if she is only a citizen.

Thais. If you will wait a little, the brother himself of the young woman will be here presently; he has gone to fetch the nurse, who brought her up when a little child; you yourself, shall be present Chærea, at his recognition of her.

Chæ. I certainly will stay.

Thais. In the mean time, until he comes, would you prefer that we should wait for him in the house, rather than here before the door?

Chæ. Why yes, I should like it much.

Pyth. (to Thais.) Prithee, what are you going to do?

Thais. Why, what’s the matter?

Pyth. Do you ask? Do you think of admitting him after this into your house?

Thais. Why not?

Pyth. Trust my word for it, he’ll be creating some new disturbance.

Thais. O dear, prithee, do hold your tongue.

Pyth. You seem to me to be far from sensible of his assurance.

Chæ. I’ll not do any thing, Pythias.

Pyth. Upon my faith, I don’t believe you, Chærea, except in case you are not trusted.

Chæ. Nay but, Pythias, do you be my keeper.

Pyth. Upon my faith, I would neither venture to give any thing to you to keep, nor to keep you myself: away with you!

Thais. Most opportunely the brother himself is coming.

Chæ. I’faith, I’m undone. Prithee, let’s be gone in-doors, Thais. I don’t want him to see me in the street with this dress on.

Thais. For what reason, pray? Because you are ashamed?

Chæ. Just so.

Pyth. Just so? But the young woman——

Thais. Go first; I’ll follow. You stay here, Pythias, that you may show Chremes in.

Thais and Chærea go into the house.

Scene III.

Enter Chremes and Sophrona.

Pyth. (to herself.) Well! what now can suggest itself to my mind? What, I wonder, in order that I may repay the favor to that villain who palmed this fellow off upon us?

Chrem. Really, do bestir yourself more quickly, nurse.

Soph. I am bestirring.

Chrem. So I see; but you don’t stir forward.

Pyth. (to Chremes.) Have you yet shown the tokens to the nurse?

Chrem. All of them.

Pyth. Prithee, what does she say? Does she recognize them?

Chrem. Yes, with a full recollection of them.

Pyth. Upon my faith, you do bring good news; for I really wish well to this young woman. Go in-doors: my mistress has been for some time expecting you at home. (Chremes and Sophrona go into Thais’s house.) But look, yonder I espy that worthy fellow, Parmeno, coming: just see, for heaven’s sake, how leisurely he moves along. I hope I have it in my power to torment him after my own fashion. I’ll go in-doors, that I may know for certain about the discovery; afterward I’ll come out, and give this villain a terrible fright.

Goes into the house.

Scene IV.

Enter Parmeno.

Par. (to himself.) I’ve just come back to see what Chærea has been doing here. If he has managed the affair with dexterity, ye Gods, by our trust in you, how great and genuine applause will Parmeno obtain! For not to mention that a passion, full of difficulty and expense, with which he was smitten for a virgin, belonging to an extortionate courtesan, I’ve found means of satisfying for him, without molestation, without outlay, and without cost; then, this other point—that is really a thing that I consider my crowning merit, to have found out the way by which a young man may be enabled to learn the dispositions and manners of courtesans, so that by knowing them betimes, he may detest them ever after. (Pythias enters from the house unperceived.) For while they are out of doors, nothing seems more cleanly, nothing more neat or more elegant; and when they dine with a gallant, they pick daintily about:103 to see the filth, the dirtiness, the neediness of these women; how sluttish they are when at home, and how greedy after victuals; in what a fashion they devour the black bread with yesterday’s broth:—to know all this, is salvation to a young man.

Scene V.

Enter Pythias from the house.

Pyth. (apart, unseen by Parmeno.) Upon my faith, you villain, I’ll take vengeance upon you for these sayings and doings; so that you sha’n’t make sport of us with impunity. (Aloud, coming forward.) O, by our trust in the Gods, what a disgraceful action! O hapless young man! O wicked Parmeno, to have brought him here!

Par. What’s the matter?

Pyth. I do pity him; and so that I mightn’t see it, wretched creature that I am, I hurried away out of doors. What a dreadful example they talk of making him!

Par. O Jupiter! What is this tumult? Am I then undone? I’ll accost her. What’s all this, Pythias? What are you saying? An example made of whom?

Pyth. Do you ask the question, you most audacious fellow? You’ve proved the ruin of the young man whom you brought hither for the Eunuch, while you were trying to put a trick upon us.

Par. How so, or what has happened? Tell me.

Pyth. I’ll tell you: that young woman who was to-day made a present to Thais, are you aware that she is a citizen of this place, and that her brother is a person of very high rank?

Par. I didn’t know that.

Pyth. But so she has been discovered to be; he, unfortunate youth, has ravished her. When the brother came to know of this being done, in a most towering rage, he——

Par. Did what, pray?

Pyth. First, bound him in a shocking manner.

Par. Bound him?

Pyth. And even though Thais entreated him that he wouldn’t do so——

Par. What is it you tell me?

Pyth. Now he is threatening that he will also do that which is usually done to ravishers; a thing that I never saw done, nor wish to.

Par. With what assurance does he dare perpetrate a crime so heinous?

Pyth. How “so heinous?”

Par. Is it not most heinous? Who ever saw any one taken up as a ravisher in a courtesan’s house?

Pyth. I don’t know.

Par. But that you mayn’t be ignorant of this, Pythias, I tell you, and give you notice that he is my master’s son.

Pyth. How! Prithee, is it he?

Par. Don’t let Thais suffer any violence to be done to him. But why don’t I go in myself?

Pyth. Take care, Parmeno, what you are about, lest you both do him no good and come to harm yourself; for it is their notion, that whatever has happened, has originated in you.

Par. What then, wretch that I am, shall I do, or how resolve? But look, I see the old gentleman returning from the country; shall I tell him or shall I not? By my troth, I will tell him; although I am certain that a heavy punishment is in readiness for me; but it’s a matter of necessity, in order that he may rescue him.

Pyth. You are wise. I’m going in-doors; do you relate to him every thing exactly as it happened.

Goes into the house.

Scene VI.

Enter Laches.

Lach. (to himself.) I have this advantage104 from my country-house being so near at hand; no weariness, either of country or of town, ever takes possession of me; when satiety begins to come on, I change my locality. But is not that our Parmeno? Surely it is he. Whom are you waiting for, Parmeno, before the door here?

Par. (pretends not to see him.) Who is it? (Turning round.) Oh, I’m glad that you have returned safe.

Lach. Whom are you waiting for?

Par. (aside.) I’m undone: my tongue cleaves to my mouth through fright.

Lach. Why, what is it you are trembling about? Is all quite right? Tell me.

Par. Master, in the first place, I would have you persuaded of what is the fact; whatever has happened in this affair has happened through no fault of mine.

Lach. What is it?

Par. Really you have reason to ask. I ought first to have told you the circumstances. Phædria purchased a certain Eunuch, to make a present of to this woman here.

Lach. To what woman?

Par. To Thais.

Lach. Bought? Good heavens, I’m undone! For how much?

Par. Twenty minæ.

Lach. Done for, quite.

Par. Then, Chærea is in love with a certain music-girl here. (Pointing to Thais’s house.)

Lach. How! What? In love? Does he know already what a courtesan means? Is he come to town? One misfortune close upon another.

Par. Master, don’t look so at me; he didn’t do these things by my encouragement.

Lach. Leave off talking about yourself. If I live, you hang-dog, I’ll——But first give me an account of it, whatever it is.

Par. He was taken to the house of Thais in place of the Eunuch.

Lach. In place of the Eunuch?

Par. Such is the fact. They have since apprehended him in the house as a ravisher, and bound him.

Lach. Death!

Par. Mark the assurance of courtesans.

Lach. Is there any other calamity or misfortune besides, that you have not told me of?

Par. That’s all.

Lach. Do I delay rushing in here?

Runs into the house of Thais.

Par. (to himself.) There’s no doubt but that I shall have a heavy punishment for this affair, only that I was obliged to act thus. I’m glad of this, that some mischief will befall these women here through my agency, for the old man has, for a long time, been on the look-out for some occasion105 to do them a bad turn; at last he has found it.

Scene VII.

Enter Pythias from the house of Thais, laughing.

Pyth. (to herself, on entering.) Never, upon my faith, for a long time past, has any thing happened to me that I could have better liked to happen, than the old gentleman just now, full of his mistake, coming into our house. I had the joke all to myself, as I knew106 what it was he feared.

Par. (apart). Why, what’s all this?

Pyth. Now I’m come out to meet with Parmeno. But, prithee, where is he? (Looking around.)

Par. (apart.) She’s looking for me.

Pyth. And there he is, I see; I’ll go up to him.

Par. What’s the matter, simpleton? What do you mean? What are you laughing about? Still going on?

Pyth. (laughing.) I’m dying; I’m wretchedly tired with laughing at you.

Par. Why so?

Pyth. Do you ask? Upon my faith, I never did see, nor shall see, a more silly fellow. Oh dear, I can not well express what amusement you’ve afforded in-doors. And still I formerly took you to be a clever and shrewd person. Why, was there any need for you instantly to believe what I told you? Or were you not content with the crime, which by your advice the young man had been guilty of, without betraying the poor fellow to his father as well? Why, what do you suppose his feelings must have been at the moment when his father saw him clothed in that dress? Well, do you now understand that you are done for? (Laughing.)

Par. Hah! what is it you say, you hussy? Have you been telling me lies? What, laughing still? Does it appear so delightful to you, you jade, to be making fools of us?

Pyth. (laughing.) Very much so.

Par. Yes, indeed, if you can do it with impunity.

Pyth. Exactly so.

Par. By heavens, I’ll repay you!

Pyth. I believe you; but, perhaps, that which you are threatening, Parmeno, will need a future day; you’ll be trussed up directly, for rendering a silly young man remarkable for disgraceful conduct, and then betraying him to his father; they’ll both be making an example of you. (Laughing.)

Par. I’m done for!

Pyth. This reward has been found you in return for that present of yours;107 I’m off.

Goes into the house.

Par. (to himself.) Wretch that I am; just like a rat, this day I’ve come to destruction through betrayal of myself.108

Scene VIII.

Enter Thraso and Gnatho.

Gna. (to Thraso.) Well now? With what hope, or what design, are we come hither? What do you intend to do, Thraso?

Thra. What, I? To surrender myself to Thais, and do what she bids me.

Gna. What is it you say?

Thra. Why any the less so, than Hercules served Omphale.109

Gna. The precedent pleases me. (Aside.) I only wish I may see your head stroked down with a slipper;110 but her door makes a noise.

Thra. Confusion! Why, what mischief’s this? I never saw this person before; why, I wonder, is he rushing out in such a hurry?

They stand aside.

Scene IX.

Enter Chærea from the house of Thais, on the other side of the stage.

Chæ. (to himself, aloud.) O fellow-townsmen, is there any one alive more fortunate than me this day? Not any one, upon my faith: for clearly in me have the Gods manifested all their power, on whom, thus suddenly, so many blessings are bestowed.

Par. (apart.) Why is he thus overjoyed?

Chæ. (seeing Parmeno, and running up to him.) O my dear Parmeno, the contriver, the beginner, the perfecter of all my delights, do you know what are my transports? Are you aware that my Pamphila has been discovered to be a citizen?

Par. I have heard so.

Chæ. Do you know that she is betrothed to me?

Par. So may the Gods bless me, happily done.

Gna. (apart to Thraso.) Do you hear what he says?

Chæ. And then, besides, I am delighted that my brother’s mistress is secured to him; the family is united. Thais has committed herself to the patronage of my father;111 she has put herself under our care and protection.

Par. Thais, then, is wholly your brother’s.

Chæ. Of course.

Par. Then this is another reason for us to rejoice, that the Captain will be beaten out of doors.

Chæ. Wherever my brother is, do you take care that he hears this as soon as possible.

Par. I’ll go look for him at home.

Goes into the house of Laches.

Thra. (apart to Gnatho.) Do you at all doubt, Gnatho, but that I am now ruined everlastingly?

Gna. (to Thraso.) Without doubt, I do think so.

Chæ. (to himself.) What am I to make mention of first, or commend in especial? Him who gave me the advice to do so, or myself, who ventured to undertake it? Or ought I to extol fortune, who has been my guide, and has so opportunely crowded into a single day events so numerous, so important; or my father’s kindness and indulgence? Oh Jupiter, I entreat you, do preserve these blessings unto us!

Scene X.

Enter Phædria from the house of Laches.

Phæd. (to himself.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you, what incredible things has Parmeno just related to me! But where is my brother?

Chæ. (stepping forward.) Here he is.

Phæd. I’m overjoyed.

Chæ. I quite believe you. There is no one, brother, more worthy to be loved than this Thais of yours: so much is she a benefactress to all our family.

Phæd. Whew! are you commending her too to me?

Thra. (apart.) I’m undone; the less the hope I have, the more I am in love. Prithee, Gnatho, my hope is in you.

Gna. (apart.) What do you wish me to do?

Thra. (apart.) Bring this about, by entreaties or with money, that I may at least share Thais’s favors in some degree.

Gna. (apart.) It’s a hard task.

Thra. (apart.) If you set your mind on any thing, I know you well. If you manage this, ask me for any present you like as your reward; you shall have what you ask.

Gna. (apart.) Is it so?

Thra. (apart.) It shall be so.

Gna. (apart.) If I manage this, I ask that your house, whether you are present or absent, may be open to me; that, without invitation, there may always be a place for me.

Thra. (apart.) I pledge my honor that it shall be so.

Gna. (apart.) I’ll set about it then.

Phæd. Who is it I hear so close at hand? (Turning round.) O Thraso—

Thra. (coming forward.) Save you both—

Phæd. Perhaps you are not aware what has taken place here.

Thra. I am quite aware.

Phæd. Why, then, do I see you in this neighborhood?

Thra. Depending on your kindness.

Phæd. Do you know what sort of dependence you have? Captain, I give you notice, if ever I catch you in this street again, even if you should say to me, “I was looking for another person, I was on my road this way,” you are undone.

Gna. Come, come, that’s not handsome.

Phæd. I’ve said it.

Gna. I didn’t know you gave yourself such airs.

Phæd. So it shall be.

Gna. First hear a few words from me; and when I have said the thing, if you approve of it, do it.

Phæd. Let’s hear.

Gna. Do you step a little that way, Thraso. (Thraso stands aside.) In the first place, I wish you both implicitly to believe me in this, that whatever I do in this matter, I do it entirely for my own sake; but if the same thing is of advantage to yourselves, it would be folly for you not to do it.

Phæd. What is it?

Gna. I’m of opinion that the Captain, your rival, should be received among you.

Phæd. (starting.) Hah!

Chæ. Be received?

Gna. (to Phædria.) Only consider. I’faith, Phaedria, at the free rate you are living with her, and indeed very freely you are living, you have but little to give; and it’s necessary for Thais to receive a good deal. That all this may be supplied for your amour and not at your own expense, there is not an individual better suited or more fitted for your purpose than the Captain. In the first place, he both has got enough to give, and no one does give more profusely. He is a fool, a dolt, a blockhead; night and day he snores away; and you need not fear that the lady will fall in love with him; you may easily have him discarded whenever you please.

Chæ. (to Phædria.) What shall we do?

Gna. And this besides, which I deem to be of even greater importance,—not a single person entertains in better style or more bountifully.

Chæ. It’s a wonder if this sort of man can not be made use of in some way or other.

Phæd. I think so too.

Gna. You act properly. One thing I have still to beg of you,—that you’ll receive me into your fraternity; I’ve been rolling that stone112 for a considerable time past.

Phæd. We admit you.

Chæ. And with all my heart.

Gna. Then I, in return for this, Phaedria, and you, Chaerea, make him over to you113 to be eaten and drunk to the dregs.

Chæ. Agreed.

Phæd. He quite deserves it.114

Gna. (calling to Thraso.) Thraso, whenever you please, step this way.

Thra. Prithee, how goes it?

Gna. How? Why, these people didn’t know you; after I had discovered to them your qualities, and had praised you as your actions and your virtues deserved, I prevailed upon them.

Thra. You have managed well; I give you my best thanks. Besides, I never was any where but what all were extremely fond of me.

Gna. (to Phædria and Chærea.) Didn’t I tell you that he was a master of the Attic elegance?

Phæd. He is no other than you mentioned. (Pointing to his Father’s house.) Walk this way. (To the Audience.) Fare you well, and grant us your applause.

FOOTNOTES

1. From λαγχάνω, “to obtain by lot” or “heirship.”

2. From φαιδρὸς, “cheerful.”

3. From χαίρων, “rejoicing.”

4. From ἀντὶ, “opposite to,” and φῶς, “light,” or φῆμι, “to speak.”

5. From χρεμίζω, “to neigh;” delighting in horses.

6. From θρασὸς, “boldness.”

7. From γναθὸς, “the jawbone;” a glutton.

8. From παρὰ, “by,” and μένω, “to remain.”

9. From Sangia in Phrygia, his native country.

10. From δόναξ, “a reed.”

11. From σιμὸς, “flat-nosed.”

12. From Syria, his country; or from συρίσκος, “a basket of figs.”

13. From θεάομαι, “to look at.”

14. From πυθομένη, “asking questions.”

15. From Doris, their country, a part of Caria.

16. From σώφρων, “prudent.”

17. From πᾶν, “all,” and φιλὸς, “a friend.”

18. The Title)—Colman has the following remark on this Play: “This seems to have been the most popular of all the Comedies of Terence. Suetonius and Donatus both inform us that it was acted with the greatest applause, and that the Poet received a larger price for it from the Ædiles than had ever been paid for any before, namely, 8000 sesterces, which is about equal to 200 crowns, which in those times was a considerable sum.”

19. Acted twice)—This probably means “twice in one day.” As it is generally supposed that something is wanting after the figures II, this is presumed to be “die,” “in one day,” in confirmation of which Suetonius informs us that it really was performed twice in one day. Donatus says it was performed three times, by which he may probably mean, twice on one day and once on another.

20. Being Consuls)—M. Valerius Messala and C. Fannius Strabo were Consuls in the year from the building of the City 591, or B.C. 162.

21. If there is one who thinks)—Ver. 4. He alludes to his old enemy, Luscus Lavinius, the Comic Poet, who is alluded to in the Prologue to the Andria, and has since continued his attacks upon him.

22. By translating literally)—Ver. 7. “Bene vertendo, at eosdem scribendo male.” This passage has greatly puzzled some of the Commentators. Bentley has, however, it appears, come to the most reasonable conclusion; who supposes that Terence means by “bene vertere,” a literal translation, word for word, from the Greek, by which a servile adherence to the idiom of that language was preserved to the neglect of the Latin idiom; in consequence of which the Plays of Luscus Lavinius were, as he remarks, “male scriptæ,” written in bad Latin.

23. Has published the Phasma)—Ver. 9. The “Φασμά,” or “Apparition,” was a play of Menander, so called, in which a young man looking through a hole in the wall between his father’s house and that next door, sees a young woman of marvelous beauty, and is struck with awe at the sight, as though by an apparition; in the Play, the girl’s mother is represented as having made this hole in the wall, and having decked it with garlands and branches that it may resemble a consecrated place; where she daily performs her devotions in company with her daughter, who has been privately brought up, and whose existence is unknown to the neighbors. On the youth coming by degrees to the knowledge that the object of his admiration is but a mortal, his passion becomes so violent that it will admit of no cure but marriage, with the celebration of which the Play concludes. Bentley gives us the above information from an ancient Scholiast, whose name is unknown, unless it is Donatus himself, which is doubtful. It would appear that Luscus Lavinius had lately made a translation of this Play, which, from its servile adherence to the language of the original, had been couched in ungrammatical language, and probably not approved of by the Audience. Donatus thinks that this is the meaning of the passage, and that, content with this slight reference to a well-known fact, the author passes it by in contemptuous silence.

24. And in the Thesaurus has described)—Ver. 10. Cook has the following appropriate remark upon this passage: “In the ‘Thesaurus,’ or ‘Treasure’ of Luscus Lavinius, a young fellow, having wasted his estate by his extravagance, sends a servant to search his father’s monument: but he had before sold the ground on which the monument was, to a covetous old man; to whom the servant applies to help him open the monument; in which they discover a hoard and a letter. The old fellow sees the treasure and keeps it; the young one goes to law with him, and the old man is represented as opening his cause first before the judge, which he begins with these words:—

‘Athenienses, bellum cum Rhodiensibus,

Quod fuerit, quid ego prædicem?’

‘Athenians, why should I relate the war with the Rhodians?’ And he goes on in a manner contrary to the rules of court; which Terence objects to, because the young man, who was the plaintiff, should open his cause first. Thus far Bentley, from the same Scholiast [as referred to in the last Note]. This Note is a clear explanation of the four verses to which it belongs. Hare concurs with Madame Dacier in her opinion ‘de Thesauro,’ that it is only a part of the Phasma of Menander, and not a distinct Play; but were I not determined by the more learned Bentley, the text itself would not permit me to be of their opinion; for the words ‘atque in Thesauro scripsit’ seem plainly to me to be a transition to another Play. The subject of the Thesaurus is related by Eugraphius, though not with all the circumstances mentioned in my Note from Bentley.” Colman also remarks here; “Menander and his contemporary Philemon, each of them wrote a Comedy under this title. We have in the above Note the story of Menander’s; and we know that of Philemon’s from the ‘Trinummus’ of Plautus, which was a Translation of it.”

25. Opportunity of viewing it)—Ver. 21. Colman thinks that this means something “stronger than merely being present at the representation,” and he takes the meaning to be, that having obtained leave to peruse the MS., he furnished himself with objections against the piece, which he threw out when it came to be represented before the magistrates. Cooke thinks that the passage only means, “that he bustled and took pains to be near enough at the representation to see and hear plainly.” The truth seems to be that Lavinius managed to obtain admission at the rehearsal or trial of the merits of the piece before the magistrates, and that he then behaved himself in the unseemly manner mentioned in the text.

26. Produced the piece, but still had not deceived him)—Ver. 24. There is a pun here upon the resemblance in meaning of the words “verba dare” and “fabulam dare.” The first expression means to “deceive” or “impose upon;” the latter phrase has also the same meaning, but it may signify as well “to represent” or “produce a Play.” Thus the exclamation in its ambiguity may mean, “he has produced a Play, and has not succeeded in deceiving us,” or “he has deceived us, and yet has not deceived us.” This is the interpretation which Donatus puts upon the passage.

27. Colax, an old Play of Plautus)—Ver. 25. Although Nonius Marcellus professes to quote from the Colax of Plautus (so called from the Greek Κολὰξ, “a flatterer” or “parasite”), some scholars have disbelieved in the existence of any Play of Plautus known by that name. Cooke says: “If Plautus had wrote a Play under the title of ‘Colax,’ I should think it very unlikely that it should have escaped Terence’s eye, considering how soon he flourished after Plautus, his being engaged in the same studies, and his having such opportunities to consult the libraries of the great; for though all learning was then confined to Manuscripts, Terence could have no difficulty in coming at the best copies. The character of the ‘Miles Gloriosus’ [Braggart Captain] here mentioned, I am inclined to think the same with that which is the hero of Plautus’s Comedy, now extant, and called ‘Miles Gloriosus,’ from which Terence could not take his Thraso. Pyrgopolinices and Thraso are both full of themselves, both boast of their valor and their intimacy with princes, and both fancy themselves beloved by all the women who see them; and they are both played off by their Parasites, but they differ in their manner and their speech: Plautus’s Pyrgopolinices is always in the clouds, and talking big, and of blood and wounds—Terence’s Thraso never says too little nor much, but is an easy ridiculous character, continually supplying the Audience with mirth without the wild extravagant bluster of Pyrgopolinices; Plautus and Terence both took their soldiers and Parasites from Menander, but gave them different dresses.” Upon this Note Colman remarks: “Though there is much good criticism in the above Note, it is certain that Plautus did not take his ‘Miles Gloriosus’ from the Colax of Menander, as he himself informs us it was translated from a Greek play called Ἀλάζων, ‘the Boaster,’ and the Parasite is but a trifling character in that play, never appearing after the first Scene.”

28. Hurrying servants)—Ver. 35. On the “currentes servi,” see the Prologue to the Heautontimorumenos, l. 31. Ovid, in the Amores, B. i., El. 15, l. 17, 18, mentions a very similar combination of the characters of Menander’s Comedy: “So long as the deceitful slave, the harsh father, the roguish procuress, and the cozening courtesan shall endure, Menander will exist.”

29. What, then, shall I do?)—Ver. 46. Phædria, on being sent for by Thais, breaks out into those words as he enters, after having deliberated upon his parting with her. Both Horace and Persius have imitated this passage in their Satires.

30. What! I to her?)—Ver. 65. Donatus remarks that this is an abrupt manner of speaking familiarly to persons in anger; and that the sentences are thus to be understood, “I, go to her? Her, who has received him! Who has excluded me!”—inasmuch as indignation loves to deal in Ellipsis and Aposiopesis.

31. The downfall of our fortunes)—Ver. 79. Colman observes, “There is an extreme elegance in this passage in the original; and the figurative expression is beautifully employed.” “Calamitas” was originally a word used in husbandry, which signified the destruction of growing corn; because, as Donatus says, “Comminuit calamum et segetem;”—“it strikes down the blades and standing corn.”

32. Approach this fire)—Ver. 85. “Ignem” is generally supposed to be used figuratively here, and to mean “the flame of love.” Eugraphius, however, would understand the expression literally, observing that courtesans usually had near their doors an altar sacred to Venus, on which they daily sacrificed.

33. Of course it’s because)—Ver. 89. It must be observed that these words, commencing with “Sane, quia vero,” in the original, are said by Phædria not in answer to the words of Thais immediately preceding, but to her previous question, “Cur non recta introibas?” “Why didn’t you come into the house at once?” and that they are spoken in bitter irony.

34. From Sunium)—Ver. 115. This was a town situate near a lofty Promontory of that name in Attica. It was famous for a fair which was held there. “Sunium’s rocky brow” is mentioned by Byron in the song of the Greek Captive in the third Canto of Don Juan.

35. Set out for Caria)—Ver. 126. This was a country of Asia Minor upon the sea-coast, opposite to the island of Rhodes.

36. Servant-maid from Æthiopia)—Ver. 165. No doubt Æthiopian or negro slaves were much prized by the great, and those courtesans whose object it was to ape their manners.

37. Ladies of quality)—Ver. 168. “Reginæ,” literally “queens,” here means women of rank and distinction.

38. Paid twenty minæ)—Ver. 169. The “minæ” contained one hundred “drachmæ” of about 9¾d. each.

39. Ah wretched me!)—Ver. 197. Donatus remarks that the Poet judiciously reserves that part of the plot to be told here, which Thais did not relate to Phædria in the presence of Parmeno; whom the Poet keeps in ignorance as to the rank of the damsel, that he may with the more probability dare to assist Chærea in his attempt on her.

40. From the dispositions of other women)—Ver. 198. Donatus observes that this is one of the peculiar points of excellence shown by Terence, introducing common characters in a new manner, without departing from custom or nature; since he draws a good Courtesan, and yet engages the attention of the Spectators and amuses them. Colman has the following Note here: “Under the name of Thais, Menander is supposed to have drawn the character of his own mistress, Glycerium, and it seems he introduced a Courtesan of the same name into several of his Comedies. One Comedy was entitled ‘Thais,’ from which St. Paul took the sentence in his Epistle to the Corinthians, ‘Evil communications corrupt good manners.’” Plutarch has preserved four lines of the Prologue to that Comedy, in which the Poet, in a kind of mock-heroic manner, invokes the Muse to teach him to depict the character of his heroine.

41. Not any one was there)—Ver. 226-7. Very nearly the same words as these occur in the Mostellaria of Plautus, l. 29, 30: “Than whom, hitherto, no one of the youth of all Attica has been considered more temperate or equally frugal.”

42. Nor submit to blows)—Ver. 244. It has been remarked in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus that the Parasites had, in consequence of their state of dependence, to endure blows and indignities from their fellow-guests. Their attempts to be “ridiculi” or “drolls” were made in order to give some small return to their entertainers. See especially the character of Gelasimus in the Stichus of Plautus, and the words of Ergasilus in the Captivi, l. 88, 90. Diderot, as quoted by Colman, observes: “This is the only Scene in Terence which I remember that can be charged with being superfluous. Thraso has made a present to Thais of a young girl. Gnatho is to convey her. Going along with her, he amuses himself with giving the Spectators a most agreeable eulogium on his profession. But was that the time for it? Let Gnatho pay due attention on the stage to the young woman whom he is charged with, and let him say what he will to himself, I consent to it.”

43. Fishmongers)—Ver. 257. “Cetarii;” strictly speaking, “dealers in large fish.”

44. Cooks)—Ver. 257. The “coqui” were in the habit of standing in the market-place for hire by those who required their services. See the Pseudolus, the Aulularia, and the Mercator of Plautus, and the Notes to Bohn’s Translation. See also a remark on the knavish character of the sausage-makers in the Truculentus of Plautus, l. 110

45. Become my follower)—Ver. 262. “Sectari.” In allusion to the manners of the ancient Philosophers, who were wont to be followed by a crowd of their disciples, who were styled “sectatores” and “sectæ.” Gnatho intends to found a new school of Parasites, who shall be called the “Gnathonics,” and who, by their artful adulation, shall contrive to be caressed instead of being maltreated. Artotrogus, the Parasite in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, seems, however, to have forestalled Gnatho as the founder of this new school.

46. I’m standing)—Ver. 271. “Quid agitur?” “Statur.” The same joke occurs in the Pseudolus of Plautus, l. 457. “Quid agitur? Statur hic ad hunc modum?” “What is going on?” or “What are you about?” “About standing here in this fashion;” assuming an attitude. Colman observes that there is much the same kind of conceit in the “Merry Wives of Windsor.”

Falstaff. “My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.”

Pistol. “Two yards or more.”

Cooke has the following note: “‘Quid agitur’ is to be supposed to have a single meaning as spoken by Gnatho, but Parmeno archly renders it ambiguous by his answer. Our two first English translations, that by Bernard and that by Hoole, make nothing of it, nor indeed any other part of their author. Echard follows Madame Dacier, and perceives a joke; but he does not render ‘quid, agitur’ as the question ought to be translated. ‘Quid agitur’ sometimes means, ‘What are you doing?’ Sometimes, ‘How do you do?’ ‘How are you?’ or ‘How goes the world with you?’”

47. From the Piraeus)—Ver. 290. The Piraeus was the chief harbor of Athens, at the mouth of the Cephisus, about three miles from the City. It was joined to the town by two walls, one of which was built by Themistocles, and the other by Pericles. It was the duty of the Athenian youth to watch here in turn by way of precaution against surprise by pirates or the enemy.

48. In your little room)—Ver. 310. Though “cellulam” seems to be considered by some to mean “cupboard” or “larder,” it is more probable that it here signifies the little room which was appropriated to each slave in the family for his own use.

49. Shoulders kept down and chests well girthed)—Ver. 314. Ovid, in the Art of Love, B. iii., l. 274, alludes to the “strophium” or “girth” here referred to: “For high shoulders, small pads are suitable; and let the girth encircle the bosom that is too prominent.” Becker thinks that the “strophium” was different from the “fascia” or “stomacher,” mentioned in the Remedy of Love, l. 338: “Does a swelling bosom cover all her breast, let no stomacher conceal it.” From Martial we learn that the “strophium” was made of leather.

50. Training for a boxer)—Ver. 315. “Pugilem.” This means “robust as a boxer,” or “athlete.” These persons were naturally considered as the types of robustness, being dieted for the purpose of increasing their flesh and muscle.

51. Complexion genuine)—Ver. 318. “Color verns.” The same expression is used by Ovid, in the Art of Love, B. iii., l. 164: “Et melior vero quæritur arte color:” “And by art a color is sought superior to the genuine one.”

52. Full of juiciness)—Ver. 318. “Succi plenum.” A similar expression occurs in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, l. 787, where Periplecomenus wishes inquiry to be made for a woman who is “siccam, at sucedam,” “sober, but full of juice:” i.e. replete with the plumpness and activity of youth.

53. The very flower of youth)—Ver. 319. Ovid makes mention of the “flos” or “bloom” of youth, Art of Love, B. ii., l. 663: “And don’t you inquire what year she is now passing, nor under what Consulship she was born; a privilege which the rigid Censor possesses. And this, especially, if she has passed the bloom of youth, and her best years are fled, and she now pulls out the whitening hairs.”

54. Be my advocate)—Ver. 340. “Advocatus.” It must be remembered that this word did not among the Romans bear the same sense as the word “advocate” does with us. The “advocati” were the friends of a man who accompanied him when his cause was pleaded, and often performed the part of witnesses; those who assisted a person in a dispute or difficulty were also his “advocati,” and in this respect distantly resembled the “second” or “friend” of a party in the modern duel. In the Phormio, Hegio, Cratinus, and Crito are introduced as the “advocati” of Demipho. See also the Pænulus of Plautus, and the Notes to that Play in Bohn’s Translation.

55. An hour elapsed)—Ver. 341. “Hora” is here used to signify the long time, that, in his impatience, it appeared to him to be.

56. It’s all over with you,—you’ve said your last)—Ver. 347. “Ilicet” and “conclamatnm est,” are words of mournful import, which were used with regard to the funeral rites of the Romans. “Ilicet,” “you may begone,” was said aloud when the funeral was concluded. “Conclamare,” implied the ceremony of calling upon the dead person by name, before light was act to the funeral pile; on no answer being given, he was concluded to be really dead, and the pile was set fire to amid the cries of those present: “conclamatum est” would consequently signify that all hope has gone.

57. Thais the Courtesan)—Ver. 352. Cooke remarks here, somewhat hypercritically as it would seem: “Thais is not called ‘meretrix’ here opprobriously, but to distinguish her from other ladies of the same name, who were not of the same profession.”

58. A Eunuch)—Ver. 356. Eunuchs formed part of the establishment of wealthy persons, who, in imitation of the Eastern nobles, confided the charge of their wives, daughters, or mistresses to them. Though Thais would have no such necessity for his services, her wish to imitate the “reginæ,” or “great ladies,” would make him a not unacceptable present. See the Addresses of Ovid to the Eunuch Bagoüs in the Amours, B. ii., El. 2, 3.

59. as she is reported to be)—Ver. 361. Donatus remarks this as an instance of the art of Terence, in preserving the probability of Chærea’s being received for the Eunuch. He shows hereby that he is so entirely a stranger to the family that he does not even know the person of Thais. It is also added that she has not been long in the neighborhood, and he has been on duty at the Piraeus. The meaning of his regret is, that, not knowing Thais, he will not have an opportunity of seeing the girl.

60. Have to pay the penalty)—Ver. 381. “In me cadetur faba,” literally, “the bean will be struck” or “laid about me;” meaning, “I shall have to smart for it.” There is considerable doubt what is the origin of this expression, and this doubt existed as early as the time of Donatus. He says that it was a proverb either taken from the threshing of beans with a flail by the countrymen; or else from the circumstance of the cooks who have dressed the beans, but have not moistened them sufficiently, being sure to have them thrown at their heads, as though for the purpose of softening them. Neither of these solutions seems so probable as that suggested by Madame Dacier, that dried beans were inserted in the thongs of the “scuticæ,” or “whips,” with which the slaves were beaten. According to others the knots in the whips were only called “fabæ,” from their resemblance to beans.

61. Is it disgraceful)—Ver. 382. Donatus remarks that here Terence obliquely defends the subject of the Play.

62. The most mighty King)—Ver. 397. It has been suggested that Darius III. is here alluded to, who was a contemporary of Menander. As however Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, is mentioned in this Play, there is no necessity to go out of the way to make Terence guilty of an anachronism. Madame Dacier suggests that Seleucus, king of part of Asia Minor, is meant; and as Thraso is called “a stranger” or “foreigner” toward the end of the Play, he probably was intended to be represented as a native of Asia and a subject of Seleucus. One of the Seleuci was also favored with the services of Pyrgopolinices, the “Braggart Captain” of Plantus, in the Miles Gloriosus. See l. 75 in that Play: “For King Seleucus entreated me with most earnest suit that I would raise and enlist recruits for him.”

63. You’ve just hit it)—Ver. 401. Colman here remarks, quoting the following passage from Shakspeare’s “Love’s Labor Lost,” “That that Poet was familiarly acquainted with this Comedy is evident from the passage, ‘Holofernes says, Novi hominem tanquam te. His humor is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behavior vain, ridiculous, and Thrasonical.’” We may remark that the previous words of Gnatho, though spoken with reference to the King, contain a reproach against the Captain’s boastfulness, though his vanity will not let him perceive it.

64. In his eye)—Ver. 401. “In oculis” is generally supposed to mean “as dearly in his eyes.” As, however, the Satraps of the East were called “the king’s eyes,” those who suppose that Darius is alluded to, might with some ground consider the passage as meaning that the king ranked him in the number of his nobles. See the Pænulus of Plautus, l. 693, and the Note in Bohn’s Translation.

65. You understand)—Ver. 405. He says this at the very moment when he is at a loss what to say next; the Parasite obligingly steps in to help him out with the difficulty.

66. Indeed, of none)—Ver. 410. “Immo, nullorum arbitror, si tecum vivit.” This expression which is used “aside,” has two meanings, neither of which is complimentary to the Captain. It may mean, “he has no society if he associates with you,” making the Captain equivalent to nobody; or it may signify, “if he associates with you he’ll be sure to drive all his other acquaintances away.”

67. Over the Indian elephants)—Ver. 413. Here he shows his lofty position to perfection; he dares to take down the pride of one who commanded even the royal elephants. The Braggart Captain of Plautus comes into collision with the elephants themselves: l. 26. Artotrogus says to him, “In what a fashion it was you broke the fore-leg of even an elephant in India with your fist!”

68. Looking out for game?)—Ver. 426. “Pulmentum,” more strictly speaking, “A nice bit.” Patrick has the following Note on this passage: “‘Lepus tute es, et pulmentum quæris?’ A proverbial expression in use at that time: the proper meaning of it, stripped of its figure, is, ‘You are little more than a woman yourself, and do you want a mistress?’” We learn from Donatus and Vopiscus, that Livius Andronicus had used this proverb in his Plays before Terence. Commentators who enter into a minute explanation of it offer many conjectures rather curious than solid, and of a nature not fit to be mentioned here. Donatus seems to think that allusion is made to a story prevalent among the ancient naturalists that the hare was in the habit of changing its sex.

69. If, indeed, she loved me)—Ver. 446. Colman has the following Note upon this passage: “I am at a loss to determine whether it was in order to show the absurdity of the Captain or from inadvertence in the Poet, that Terence here makes Thraso and Gnatho speak in contradiction to the idea of Thais’s wonderful veneration for Thraso, with which they opened the Scene.”

70. In exercises)—Ver. 477. Reference will be found made to the “palæstræ,” or “places of exercise,” in the Notes to the Translation of Plautus.

71. If occasion served)—Ver. 479. The Aposiopesis in this line is very aptly introduced, on account of the presence of the female; but it admirably illustrates the abominable turpitude of the speaker, and perhaps in a somewhat more decent manner than that in which Plautus attributes a similar tendency to his Braggart Captain, l. 1111.

72. Out of the very flames)—Ver. 491. This was a proverb expressive of the lowest degree of meanness and infamy. When they burned the bodies of the dead, it was the custom of the ancients to throw meat and various articles of food upon the funeral pile, and it was considered the greatest possible affront to tell a person that he was capable of snatching these things out of the flames.

73. If Chremes should happen to come)—Ver. 513. This is the first allusion to the arrangement which ultimately causes the quarrel between Thais and the Captain.

74. Had been offering a sacrifice)—Ver. 513. It was the custom to sacrifice before entering on affairs of importance. Thus, too, Jupiter, in the Amphitryon of Plautus, l. 938, speaks of offering sacrifice on his safe return.

75. Our rings were given)—Ver. 541. It was the custom of parties who agreed to join in a “symbola,” or “club” or “picnic” entertainment, to give their rings as pledges to the “rex convivii,” or “getter up the feast.” Stakes were also deposited on making bets at races. See Ovid’s Art of Love, B. i., l. 168.

76. To meet my death)—Ver. 550. There is a passage in the Othello of Shakspeare extremely similar to this:

——“If I were now to die,

I were now to be most happy; for, I fear,

My soul hath her content so absolute,

That not another comfort, like to this,

Succeeds in unknown fate.”

77. In the inner apartments)—Ver. 579. The “Gynecæa,” or women’s apartments, among the Greeks, always occupied the interior part of the house, which was most distant from the street, and there they were kept in great seclusion.

78. A few novices of girls)—Ver. 582. These “noviciæ” were young slaves recently bought, and intended to be trained to the calling of a Courtesan.

79. At a certain painting)—Ver. 584. See the story of Jupiter and Danaë, the daughter of Acrisius, king of Argos, in the Metamorphoses of Ovid, B. iv., l. 610. Pictures of Venus and Adonis, and of Jupiter and Ganymede, are mentioned in the Menæchmi of Plautus; l. 144, and paintings on the walls are also mentioned in the Mostellaria of Plantus, l. 821, where Tranio tries to impose upon Theuropides by pretending to point out a picture of a crow between two vultures.

80. How Jove)—Ver. 584. Donatus remarks here that this was “a very proper piece of furniture for the house of a Courtesan, giving an example of loose and mercenary love, calculated to excite wanton thoughts, and at the same time hinting to the young lover that he must make his way to the bosom of his mistress, like Jupiter to Danaë, in a shower of gold. Oh the avarice of harlots!”

81. A poor creature of a mortal)—Ver. 591. “Homuncio.” He uses this word the better to contrast his abject nature as a poor mortal with the majesty of Jupiter. St. Augustin refers to this passage. The preceding line is said by Donatus to be a parody on a passage by Ennius.

82. Take this fan)—Ver. 595. As to the fans of the ancients, see the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 252, and the Note to the passage in Bohn’s Translation. See also the Amours of Ovid, B. iii., El. 2, l. 38.

83. Chattered aloud)—Ver. 600. This line bears a strong resemblance to two lines found in Anstey’s new Bath Guide:

“And how the young ladies all set up their clacks,

All the while an old woman was rubbing their backs.”

84. I slily looked askance)—Ver. 601. This way of looking aside, “limis,” is mentioned in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, where Milphidippa tells Acroteleutium to look at the Captain sideways, “Aspicito limis,” l. 1217; also in the Bacchides, l. 1131. Those familiar with the works of Hogarth will readily call to mind the picture of Bedlam in the Rake’s Progress, whore the young woman is looking askance through her fan at the madman in his cell.

85. Through the fan)—Ver. 602. This shows that the fan was probably one made of thin boards, and not of feathers.

86. So short-lived)—Ver. 605. Colman has the following Note here: “Short indeed, considering the number of incidents, which, according to Chærea’s relation, are crowded into it. All the time allowed for this adventure is the short space between the departure of Thais and Thraso and the entrance of Chærea; so that all this variety of business of sleeping, bathing, ravishing, &c., is dispatched during the two soliloquies of Antipho and Chærea, and the short Scene between Chremes and Pythias. The truth is, that a very close adherence to the unities often drives the Poet into as great absurdities as the perfect violation of them.”

87. Took off her golden jewels)—Ver. 627. This was probably because it was contrary to the laws of Athens for a Courtesan to appear with gold or jewels in the street. Madame Dacier suggests another reason, in which there is some force, although it is ridiculed by Cooke. Thais may have supposed that the Captain, when irritated, might not have scrupled to take them away from her. Indeed, nothing would be more probable, than that he would be ready to take them by way of security for the return of the slave, whom he had thus, to no purpose, presented to her. In reference to the preceding line, we may remark that it was not customary among the Greeks for females of good character to appear at table with strangers.

88. While I was going)—Ver. 629. Donatus remarks that here the Poet artfully finds a reason to bring Phædria back again; as he at first with equal art sent him out of the way, to give probability to those incidents necessary to happen in his absence.

89. At a distance)—Ver. 640. “Extremâ lineâ.” There have been many suggestions offered for the origin of this figurative expression. Some suggest that it alludes to the last or lowest stage of the supposed ladder of love; others that it refers to the first or elementary line traced by the student, when beginning to learn the art of painting. It is however more generally thought to be a metaphor taken from the chariot-races in the Circus, where, in going round the turning-place, he who was nearest was said “currere in primâ lineâ;” the next, “in secundâ;” and so on to the last, who took the widest range, and was said to run “in extremâ lineâ.”

90. In party-colored clothes)—Ver. 683. It was the custom to dress Eunuchs in party-colored clothes of bright hue. Most probably it was from them that the “motley” descended to the fools and buffoons of the Middle Ages.

91. With a speckled complexion)—Ver. 689. “Colore stellionino;” probably having spots or freckles on his face like a “stellio” or “lizard.”

92. Have done a service to her)—Ver. 722. Though some would have “illi” here to refer to the damsel, and others again to Phædria, it is pretty clear that Madame Dacier is right in suggesting that Thais is the person meant.

93. Casket with the tokens)—Ver. 752. It was the custom with the ancients when they exposed their children, to leave with them some pledge or token of value, that they might afterward be recognized by means of them. The catastrophes of the Curculio, the Rudens, and other Plays of Plautus, are brought about by taking advantage of this circumstance. The reasons for using these tokens will be stated in a future Note.

94. Is a foreigner)—Ver. 758. And therefore the more unlikely to obtain redress from an Athenian tribunal. See the Andria, l. 811, and the Note to the passage.

95. And his maniple)—Ver. 775. We learn from the Fasti of Ovid, B. iii., l. 117-8, that in early times the Roman armies carried bundles or wisps of hay upon poles by way of standards. “A long pole used to bear the elevated wisps, from which circumstance the manipular soldier derives his name.” It appears from this passage, and from other authors, that to every troop of one hundred men a “manipulus” or wisp of hay (so called from “manum implere,” to “fill the hand,” as being “a handful”), was assigned as a standard, and hence in time the company itself obtained the name of “manipulus,” and the soldier, a member of it, was called “manipularis.” The “centurio,” or “leader of a hundred,” was the commanding officer of the “manipulus.”

96. With a dish-clout)—Ver. 776. “Peniculo.” This word meant a sponge fastened to a stick, or the tail of a fox or an ox, which was used as dusters or dish-clouts are at the present day for cleaning tables, dishes, or even shoes. See the Menæchmi of Plautus, ver. 77 and 391.

97. Be behind the second rank)—Ver. 780. “Post principia.” The Captain, with that discretion which is the better part of valor, chooses the safest place in his army. The “principes” originally fought in the van, fronting the enemy, and behind them were the “hastati” and the “triarii.” In later times the “hastati” faced the enemy, and the “principes” were placed in the middle, between them and the “triarii;” but though no longer occupying the front place, they still retained the name. Thraso, then, places himself behind the middle line.

98. Pyrrhus used to proceed)—Ver. 782. He attempts to defend his cowardice by the example of Pyrrhus, the powerful antagonist of the Romans, and one of the greatest generals of antiquity. He might have more correctly cited the example of Xerxes, who, according to Justin, did occupy that position in his army.

99. I could very much)—Ver. 785. Although Vollbehr gives these words to Gnatho, yet, judging from the context, and the words “ex occulto,” and remembering that Thais and Chremes are up at the window, there is the greatest probability that these are really the words of Thais addressed aside to Chremes.

100. You gallows-bird)—Ver. 797. “Furcifer;” literally, “bearer of the furca.”

101. As befits gallant soldiers)—Ver. 814. Beaumont and Fletcher not improbably had this scene in view in their picture of the mob regiment in Philaster. The ragged regiment which Shakspeare places under the command of Falstaff was not very unlike it, nor that which owned the valiant Bombastes Furioso as its Captain.

102. At Antipho’s)—Ver. 839. Madame Dacier here observes that Chærea assigns very natural reasons for not having changed his dress; in which the art of Terence is evident, since the sequel of the Play makes it absolutely necessary that Chærea should appear again before Thais in the habit which he wore while in the house.

103. Pick daintily about)—Ver. 935. He seems here to reprehend the same practice against which Ovid warns his fair readers, in his Art of Love, B. iii. l. 75. He says, “Do not first take food at home,” when about to go to an entertainment. Westerhovius seems to think that “ligurio” means, not to “pick daintily,” but “to be fond of good eating;” and refers to the Bacchides of Plautus as portraying courtesans of the “ligurient” kind, and finds another specimen in Bacchis in the Heautontimorumenos.

104. This advantage)—Ver. 970. Donatus here observes that the Poet introduces Laches, as he has Parmeno just before, in a state of perfect tranquillity, that their sudden change of feeling may be the more diverting to the Audience.

105. For some occasion)—Ver. 999. We learn from Donatus that Menander was more explicit concerning the resentment of Laches against Thais, on account of her having corrupted Phædria.

106. As I knew)—Ver. 1003. She enjoyed it the more, knowing that the old man had nothing to fear, as he had just heard the fiction which she had imparted to Parmeno. Donatus observes that the terror of Laches accounts for his sudden consent to the union of Chærea with Pamphila; for though he could not settle the matter any other way with credit, he was glad to find that his son had made an unequal match rather than endangered his life. Colman, however, observes with considerable justice: “I think Chærea apologizes still better for this arrangement in the Scene with Thais at the opening of this Act, where he says that he is confident of obtaining his father’s consent, provided Pamphila proves to be a citizen; and, indeed, the match between them is rather a reparation of an injury done to her than a degradation of himself.”

107. In return for that present of yours)—Ver. 1022. By the present she means Chærea in the disguise of the Eunuch.

108. Through betrayal of myself)—Ver. 1023. Which betrays itself by its own squeaking.

109. Hercules served Omphale)—Ver. 1026. He alludes to the story of Omphale, Queen of Lydia, and Hercules. Being violently in love with her, the hero laid aside his club and boar’s skin, and in the habit of a woman plied the spindle and distaff with her maids. See a curious story of Omphale, Hercules, and Faunus, in the Fasti of Ovid, B. ii. l. 305. As to the reappearance of Thraso here, Colman has the following remarks: “Thraso, says Donatus, is brought back again in order to be admitted to some share in the good graces of Thais, that he may not be made unhappy at the end of the Play; but surely it is an essential part of the poetical justice of Comedy to expose coxcombs to ridicule and to punish them, though without any shocking severity, for their follies.”

110. With a slipper)—Ver. 1027. He doubtless alludes to the treatment of Hercules by Omphale; and, according to Lucian, there was a story that Omphale used to beat him with her slipper or sandal. On that article of dress, see the Notes to the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 252.

111. To the patronage of my father)—Ver. 1038. It was the custom at Athens for strangers, such as Thais was, to put themselves under the protection (in clientelam) of some wealthy citizen, who, as their patron, was bound to protect them against injury. An exactly parallel case to the present is found in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, l. 799, where the wealthy Periplecomenus says, “Habeo, eccillam, meam clientam, meretricem adolescentulam.” “Why, look, I have one, a dependent of mine, a courtesan, a very young woman.”

112. Been rolling that stone)—Ver. 1084. Donatus thinks that he alludes to the story of Sisyphus, who, in the Infernal Regions, was condemned eternally to roll a stone up a hill, which, on arriving at the summit, immediately fell to the bottom.

113. Make him over to you)—Ver. 1086. “Vobis propino.” The word “propino” was properly applied to the act of tasting a cup of wine, and then handing it to another; he means that he has had his taste of the Captain, and is now ready to hand him over to them.

114. He quite deserves it)—Ver. 1087. Cooke has the following appropriate remark: “I can not think that this Play, excellent as it is in almost all other respects, concludes consistently with the manners of gentlemen; there is a meanness in Phædria and Chærea consenting to take Thraso into their society, with a view of fleecing him, which the Poet should have avoided.”

HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS;
THE SELF-TORMENTOR.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Chremes,1 an old gentleman, living in the country.

Menedemus,2 an old gentleman, his neighbor.

Clinia,3 son of Menedemus.

Clitipho,4 son of Chremes.

Dromo,5 son of Clinia.

Syrus,6 servant of Clitipho.

Sostrata,7 wife of Chremes.

Antiphila,8 a young woman beloved by Clinia.

Bacchis,9 a Courtesan, the mistress of Clitipho.

The Nurse of Antiphila.

Phrygia,10 maid-servant to Bacchis.

Scene.—In the country, near Athens; before the houses of Chremes and Menedemus.

THE SUBJECT.

Chremes commands his wife, when pregnant, if she is delivered of a girl immediately to kill the child. Having given birth to a girl, Sostrata delivers her to an old woman named Philtera to be exposed. Instead of doing this, Philtera calls her Antiphila, and brings her up as her own. Clinia, the son of Menedemus, falls in love with her, and treats her as though his wife. Menedemus, on learning this, is very angry, and by his harsh language drives away his son from home. Taking this to heart, and in order to punish himself for his ill-timed severity, Menedemus, though now an aged man, fatigues himself by laboring at agricultural pursuits from morning till night. At the period when the Play commences, Clinia has just returned to Attica, but not daring to go to his father’s house, is entertained by Clitipho, the son of Chremes, who is the neighbor of Menedemus. Clitipho then sends for Antiphila, whose supposed mother has recently died, to come and meet her lover. On the same day, Chremes learns from Menedemus how anxious he is for his son’s return; and on hearing from his son of the arrival of Clinia, he defers informing Menedemus of it until the next day. Syrus, the servant who has been sent to fetch Antiphila, also brings with him Bacchis, an extravagant Courtesan, the mistress of Clitipho. To conceal the truth from Chremes, they represent to him that Bacchis is the mistress of Clinia, and that Antiphila is one of her maids. Next morning Chremes informs Menedemus of his son’s arrival, and of the extravagant conduct of his mistress, but begs that he will conceal from Clinia his knowledge of this fact. Bacchis requiring ten minæ, Syrus devises a plan for obtaining the money from Chremes, while the latter is encouraging him to think of a project against Menedemus. Syrus tells him a story, that the mother of Antiphila had borrowed a thousand drachmæ of Bacchis, and being dead, the girl is left in her hands as a pledge for the money. While these things are going on, Sostrata discovers in Antiphila her own daughter. In order to obtain the money which Bacchis persists in demanding, Syrus suggests to Chremes that it should be represented to Menedemus that Bacchis is the mistress of Clitipho, and that he should be requested to conceal her in his house for a few days; it is also arranged that Clinia shall pretend to his father to be in love with Antiphila, and to beg her as his wife. He is then to ask for money, as though for the wedding, which is to be handed over to Bacchis. Chremes does not at first approve of the plan suggested by Syrus; but he pays down the money for which he has been informed his daughter is a pledge in the hands of Bacchis. This, with his knowledge, is given to Clitipho, who, as Syrus says, is to convey it to Bacchis, who is now in the house of Menedemus, to make the latter more readily believe that she is his mistress. Shortly after this, the plot is discovered by Chremes, who threatens to punish Clitipho and Syrus. The Play concludes with Chremes giving his consent to the marriage of Clinia with Antiphila, and pardoning Clitipho, who promises to abandon the Courtesan, and marry. Unlike the other Plays of Terence and Plautus, the Plot of this Play extends over two days.

THE TITLE OF THE PLAY.

It is from the Greek of Menander. Performed at the Megalensian Games; Lucius Cornelius Lentulus and Lucius Valerius Flaccus being Curule Ædiles. Ambivius Turpio performed it. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius, composed the music. The first time it was performed to the music of treble and bass flutes; the second time, of two treble flutes. It was acted three times; Marcus Juventius and Titus Sempronius being Consuls.11

HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS;
THE SELF-TORMENTOR.

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

A severe father compels his son Clinia, in love with Antiphila, to go abroad to the wars; and repenting of what has been done, torments himself in mind. Afterward, when he has returned, unknown to his father, he is entertained at the house of Clitipho. The latter is in love with Bacchis, a Courtesan. When Clinia sends for his much-loved Antiphila, Bacchis comes, as though his mistress, and Antiphila, wearing the garb of her servant; this is done in order that Clitipho may conceal it from his father. He, through the stratagems of Syrus, gets ten minæ from the old man for the Courtesan. Antiphila is discovered to be the sister of Clitipho. Clinia receives her, and Clitipho, another woman, for his wife.

THE PROLOGUE.

Lest it should be a matter of surprise to any one of you, why the Poet has assigned to an old man12 a part that belongs to the young, that I will first explain to you;13 and then, the reason for my coming I will disclose. An entire Play from an entire Greek one,14 the Heautontimorumenos, I am to-day about to represent, which from a two-fold plot15 has been made but one. I have shown that it is new, and what it is: next I would mention who it was that wrote it, and whose in Greek it is, if I did not think that the greater part of you are aware. Now, for what reason I have learned this part, in a few words I will explain. The Poet intended me to be a Pleader,16 not the Speaker of a Prologue; your decision he asks, and has appointed me the advocate; if this advocate can avail as much by his oral powers as he has excelled in inventing happily, who composed this speech which I am about to recite. For as to malevolent rumors spreading abroad that he has mixed together many Greek Plays while writing a few Latin ones, he does not deny that this is the case, and that he does not repent of so doing; and he affirms that he will do so again. He has the example of good Poets; after which example he thinks it is allowable for him to do what they have done. Then, as to a malevolent old Poet17 saying that he has suddenly applied himself to dramatic pursuits, relying on the genius of his friends,18 and not his own natural abilities; on that your judgment, your opinion, will prevail. Wherefore I do entreat you all, that the suggestions of our antagonists may not avail more than those of our favorers. Do you be favorable; grant the means of prospering to those who afford you the means of being spectators of new Plays; those, I mean, without faults: that he may not suppose this said in his behalf who lately made the public give way to a slave as he ran along in the street;19 why should he take a madman’s part? About his faults he will say more when he brings out some other new ones, unless he puts an end to his caviling. Attend with favorable feelings; grant me the opportunity that I may be allowed to act a quiet Play20 in silence; that the servant everlastingly running about, the angry old man, the gluttonous parasite, the impudent sharper, and the greedy procurer, may not have always to be performed by me with the utmost expense of voice, and the greatest exertion. For my sake come to the conclusion that this request is fair, that so some portion of my labor may be abridged. For nowadays, those who write new Plays do not spare an aged man. If there is any piece requiring exertion, they come running to me; but if it is a light one, it is taken to another Company. In the present one the style is pure. Do you make proof, what, in each character,21 my ability can effect. If I have never greedily set a high price upon my skill, and have come to the conclusion that this is my greatest gain, as far as possible to be subservient to your convenience, establish in me a precedent, that the young may be anxious rather to please you than themselves.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Chremes, and Menedemus with a spade in his hand, who falls to digging.

Chrem. Although this acquaintanceship between us is of very recent date, from the time in fact of your purchasing an estate here in the neighborhood, yet either your good qualities, or our being neighbors (which I take to be a sort of friendship), induces me to inform you, frankly and familiarly, that you appear to me to labor beyond your years, and beyond what your affairs require. For, in the name of Gods and men, what would you have? What can be your aim? You are, as I conjecture, sixty years of age, or more. No man in these parts has a better or a more valuable estate, no one more servants; and yet you discharge their duties just as diligently as if there were none at all. However early in the morning I go out, and however late in the evening I return home, I see you either digging, or plowing, or doing something, in fact, in the fields. You take respite not an instant, and are quite regardless of yourself. I am very sure that this is not done for your amusement. But really I am vexed how little work is done here.22 If you were to employ the time you spend in laboring yourself, in keeping your servants at work, you would profit much more.

Men. Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your own affairs, that you can attend to those of others—those which don’t concern you?

Chrem. I am a man,23 and nothing that concerns a man do I deem a matter of indifference to me. Suppose that I wish either to advise you in this matter, or to be informed myself: if what you do is right, that I may do the same; if it is not, then that I may dissuade you.

Men. It’s requisite for me to do so; do you as it is necessary for you to do.

Chrem. Is it requisite for any person to torment himself?

Men. It is for me.

Chrem. If you have any affliction, I could wish it otherwise. But prithee, what sorrow is this of yours? How have you deserved so ill of yourself?

Men. Alas! alas! (He begins to weep.)

Chrem. Do not weep, but make me acquainted with it, whatever it is. Do not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me, I tell you. Either by consolation, or by counsel, or by any means, I will aid you.

Men. Do you wish to know this matter?

Chrem. Yes, and for the reason I mentioned to you.

Men. I will tell you.

Chrem. But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake; don’t fatigue yourself.

Men. By no means.

Chrem. What can be your object? (Tries to take the rake from him.)

Men. Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no respite from my labor.

Chrem. I will not allow it, I tell you. (Taking the rake from him.)

Men. Ah! that’s not fair.

Chrem. (poising the rake.) Whew! such a heavy one as this, pray!

Men. Such are my deserts.

Chrem. Now speak. (Laying down the rake.)

Men. I have an only son,—a young man,—alas! why did I say—“I have?”—rather I should say, “I had” one, Chremes:—whether I have him now, or not, is uncertain.

Chrem. Why so?

Men. You shall know:—There is a poor old woman here, a stranger from Corinth:—her daughter, a young woman, he fell in love with, insomuch that he almost regarded her as his wife; all this took place unknown to me. When I discovered the matter, I began to reprove him, not with gentleness, nor in the way suited to the love-sick mind of a youth, but with violence, and after the usual method of fathers. I was daily reproaching him,—“Look you, do you expect to be allowed any longer to act thus, myself, your father, being alive; to be keeping a mistress pretty much as though your wife? You are mistaken, Clinia, and you don’t know me, if you fancy that. I am willing that you should be called my son, just as long as you do what becomes you; but if you do not do so, I shall find out how it becomes me to act toward you. This arises from nothing, in fact, but too much idleness. At your time of life, I did not devote my time to dalliance, but, in consequence of my poverty, departed hence for Asia, and there acquired in arms both riches and military glory.” At length the matter came to this,—the youth, from hearing the same things so often, and with such severity, was overcome. He supposed that I, through age and affection, had more judgment and foresight for him than himself. He went off to Asia, Chremes, to serve under the king.

Chrem. What is it you say?

Men. He departed without my knowledge—and has been gone these three months.

Chrem. Both are to be blamed—although I still think this step shows an ingenuous and enterprising disposition.

Men. When I learned this from those who were in the secret, I returned home sad, and with feelings almost overwhelmed and distracted through grief. I sit down; my servants run to me; they take off my shoes:24 then some make all haste to spread the couches,25 and to prepare a repast; each according to his ability did zealously what he could, in order to alleviate my sorrow. When I observed this, I began to reflect thus:—“What! are so many persons anxious for my sake alone, to pleasure myself only? Are so many female servants to provide me with dress?26 Shall I alone keep up such an expensive establishment, while my only son, who ought equally, or even more so, to enjoy these things—inasmuch as his age is better suited for the enjoyment of them—him, poor youth, have I driven away from home by my severity! Were I to do this, really I should deem myself deserving of any calamity. But so long as he leads this life of penury, banished from his country through my severity, I will revenge his wrongs upon myself, toiling, making money, saving, and laying up for him.” At once I set about it; I left nothing in the house, neither movables27 nor clothing; every thing I scraped together. Slaves, male and female, except those who could easily pay for their keep by working in the country, all of them I set up to auction and sold. I at once put up a bill to sell my house.28 I collected somewhere about fifteen talents, and purchased this farm; here I fatigue myself. I have come to this conclusion, Chremes, that I do my son a less injury, while I am unhappy; and that it is not right for me to enjoy any pleasure here, until such time as he returns home safe to share it with me.

Chrem. I believe you to be of an affectionate disposition toward your children,29 and him to be an obedient son, if one were to manage him rightly or prudently. But neither did you understand him sufficiently well, nor he you—a thing that happens where persons don’t live on terms of frankness together. You never showed him how highly you valued him, nor did he ever dare put that confidence in you which is due to a father. Had this been done, these troubles would never have befallen you.

Men. Such is the fact, I confess; the greatest fault is on my side.

Chrem. But still, Menedemus, I hope for the best, and I trust that he’ll be here safe before long.

Men. Oh that the Gods would grant it!

Chrem. They will do so. Now, if it is convenient to you—the festival of Bacchus30 is being kept here to-day—I wish you to give me your company.

Men. I can not.

Chrem. Why not? Do, pray, spare yourself a little while. Your absent son would wish you do so.

Men. It is not right that I, who have driven him hence to endure hardships, should now shun them myself.

Chrem. Is such your determination?

Men. It is.

Chrem. Then kindly fare you well.

Men. And you the same.

Goes into his house.

Scene II.

Chremes, alone.

Chrem. (to himself.) He has forced tears from me, and I do pity him. But as the day is far gone, I must remind Phania, this neighbor of mine, to come to dinner. I’ll go see whether he is at home. (Goes to Phania’s door, makes the inquiry, and returns.) There was no occasion for me to remind him: they tell me he has been some time already at my house; it’s I myself am making my guests wait. I’ll go in-doors immediately. But what means the noise at the door of my house? I wonder who’s coming out! I’ll step aside here.

He stands aside.

Scene III.

Enter Clitipho, from the house of Chremes.

Clit. (at the door, to Clinia within.) There is nothing, Clinia, for you to fear as yet: they have not been long by any means: and I am sure that she will be with you presently along with the messenger. Do at once dismiss these causeless apprehensions which are tormenting you.

Chrem. (apart.) Who is my son talking to?

Makes his appearance.

Clit. (to himself.) Here comes my father, whom I wished to see: I’ll accost him. Father, you have met me opportunely.

Chrem. What is the matter?

Clit. Do you know this neighbor of ours, Menedemus?

Chrem. Very well.

Clit. Do you know that he has a son?

Chrem. I have heard that he has; in Asia.

Clit. He is not in Asia, father; he is at our house.

Chrem. What is it you say?

Clit. Upon his arrival, after he had just landed from the ship, I immediately brought him to dine with us; for from our very childhood upward I have always been on intimate terms with him.

Chrem. You announce to me a great pleasure. How much I wish that Menedemus had accepted my invitation to make one of us: that at my house I might have been the first to surprise him, when not expecting it, with this delight!—and even yet there’s time enough——

Clit. Take care what you do; there is no necessity, father, for doing so.

Chrem. For what reason?

Clit. Why, because he is as yet undetermined what to do with himself. He is but just arrived. He fears every thing; his father’s displeasure, and how his mistress may be disposed toward him. He loves her to distraction: on her account, this trouble and going abroad took place.

Chrem. I know it.

Clit. He has just sent a servant into the city to her, and I ordered our Syrus to go with him.

Chrem. What does Clinia say?

Clit. What does he say? That he is wretched.

Chrem. Wretched? Whom could we less suppose so? What is there wanting for him to enjoy every thing that among men, in fact, are esteemed as blessings? Parents, a country in prosperity, friends, family, relations, riches? And yet, all these are just according to the disposition of him who possesses them. To him who knows how to use them, they are blessings; to him who does not use them rightly, they are evils.

Clit. Aye, but he always was a morose old man; and now I dread nothing more, father, than that in his displeasure he’ll be doing something to him more than is justifiable.

Chrem. What, he? (Aside.) But I’ll restrain myself; for that the other one should be in fear of his father is of service to him.31

Clit. What is it you are saying to yourself!

Chrem. I’ll tell you. However the case stood, Clinia ought still to have remained at home. Perhaps his father was a little stricter than he liked: he should have put up with it. For whom ought he to bear with, if he would not bear with his own father? Was it reasonable that he should live after his son’s humor, or his son after his? And as to charging him with harshness, it is not the fact. For the severities of fathers are generally of one character, those I mean who are in some degree reasonable men.32 They do not wish their sons to be always wenching; they do not wish them to be always carousing; they give a limited allowance; and yet all this tends to virtuous conduct. But when the mind, Clitipho, has once enslaved itself by vicious appetites, it must of necessity follow similar pursuits. This is a wise maxim, “to take warning from others of what may be to your own advantage.”

Clit. I believe so.

Chrem. I’ll now go hence in-doors, to see what we have for dinner. Do you, seeing what is the time of day, mind and take care not to be any where out of the way.

Goes into his house, and exit Clitipho.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. (to himself.) What partial judges are all fathers in regard to all of us young men, in thinking it reasonable for us to become old men all at once from boys, and not to participate in those things which youth is naturally inclined to. They regulate us by their own desires,—such as they now are,—not as they once were. If ever I have a son, he certainly shall find in me an indulgent father. For the means both of knowing and of pardoning33 his faults shall be found by me; not like mine, who by means of another person, discloses to me his own sentiments. I’m plagued to death,—when he drinks a little more than usual, what pranks of his own he does relate to me! Now he says, “Take warning from others of what may be to your advantage.” How shrewd! He certainly does not know how deaf I am at the moment when he’s telling his stories. Just now, the words of my mistress make more impression upon me. “Give me this, and bring me that,” she cries; I have nothing to say to her in answer, and no one is there more wretched than myself. But this Clinia, although he, as well, has cares enough of his own, still has a mistress of virtuous and modest breeding, and a stranger to the arts of a courtesan. Mine is a craving, saucy, haughty, extravagant creature, full of lofty airs. Then all that I have to give her is—fair words34—for I make it a point not to tell her that I have nothing. This misfortune I met with not long since, nor does my father as yet know any thing of the matter.

Exit.

Scene II.

Enter Clinia from the house of Chremes.

Clin. (to himself.) If my love-affairs had been prosperous for me, I am sure she would have been here by this; but I’m afraid that the damsel has been led astray here in my absence. Many things combine to strengthen this opinion in my mind; opportunity, the place, her age, a worthless mother, under whose control she is, with whom nothing but gain is precious.

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. Clinia!

Clin. Alas! wretched me!

Clit. Do, pray, take care that no one coming out of your father’s house sees you here by accident.

Clin. I will do so; but really my mind presages I know not what misfortune.

Clit. Do you persist in making up your mind upon that, before you know what is the fact?

Clin. Had no misfortune happened, she would have been here by this.

Clit. She’ll be here presently.

Clin. When will that presently be?

Clit. You don’t consider that it is a great way from here.35 Besides, you know the ways of women, while they are bestirring themselves, and while they are making preparations a whole year passes by.

Clin. O Clitipho, I’m afraid—

Clit. Take courage. Look, here comes Dromo, together with Syrus: they are close at hand.

They stand aside.

Scene III.

Enter Syrus and Dromo, conversing at a distance.

Syr. Do you say so?

Dro. ’Tis as I told you,—but in the mean time, while we’ve been carrying on our discourse, these women have been left behind.

Clit. (apart.) Don’t you hear, Clinia? Your mistress is close at hand.

Clin. (apart.) Why yes, I do hear now at last, and I see and revive, Clitipho.

Dro. No wonder; they are so encumbered; they are bringing a troop of female attendants36 with them.

Clin. (apart.) I’m undone! Whence come these female attendants?

Clit. (apart.) Do you ask me?

Syr. We ought not to have left them; what a quantity of things they are bringing!

Clin. (apart.) Ah me!

Syr. Jewels of gold, and clothes; it’s growing late too, and they don’t know the way. It was very foolish of us to leave them. Just go back, Dromo, and meet them. Make haste—why do you delay?

Exit Dromo.

Clin. (apart.) Woe unto wretched me!—from what high hopes am I fallen!

Clit. (apart.) What’s the matter? Why, what is it that troubles you?

Clin. (apart.) Do you ask what it is? Why, don’t you see? Attendants, jewels of gold, and clothes, her too, whom I left here with only one little servant girl. Whence do you suppose that they come?

Clit. (apart.) Oh! now at last I understand you.

Syr. (to himself.) Good Gods! what a multitude there is! Our house will hardly hold them, I’m sure. How much they will eat! how much they will drink! what will there be more wretched than our old gentleman? (Catching sight of Clinia and Clitipho.) But look, I espy the persons I was wanting.

Clin. (apart.) Oh Jupiter! Why, where is fidelity gone? While I, distractedly wandering, have abandoned my country for your sake, you, in the mean time, Antiphila, have been enriching yourself, and have forsaken me in these troubles, you for whose sake I am in extreme disgrace, and have been disobedient to my father; on whose account I am now ashamed and grieved, that he who used to lecture me about the manners of these women, advised me in vain, and was not able to wean me away from her:—which, however, I shall now do; whereas when it might have been advantageous to me to do so, I was unwilling. There is no being more wretched than I.

Syr. (to himself.) He certainly has been misled by our words which we have been speaking here. (Aloud.) Clinia, you imagine your mistress quite different from what she really is. For both her mode of life is the same, and her disposition toward you is the same as it always was; so far as we could form a judgment from the circumstances themselves.

Clin. How so, prithee? For nothing in the world could I rather wish for just now, than that I have suspected this without reason.

Syr. This, in the first place, then (that you may not be ignorant of any thing that concerns her); the old woman, who was formerly said to be her mother, was not so.—She is dead: this I overheard by accident from her, as we came along, while she was telling the other one.

Clit. Pray, who is the other one?

Syr. Stay; what I have begun I wish first to relate. Clitipho; I shall come to that afterward.

Clit. Make haste, then.

Syr. First of all, then, when we came to the house, Dromo knocked at the door; a certain old woman came out; when she opened the door, he directly rushed in; I followed; the old woman bolted the door, and returned to her wool. On this occasion might be known, Clinia, or else on none, in what pursuits she passed her life during your absence; when we thus came upon a female unexpectedly. For this circumstance then gave us an opportunity of judging of the course of her daily life; a thing which especially discovers what is the disposition of each individual. We found her industriously plying at the web; plainly clad in a mourning dress,37 on account of this old woman, I suppose, who was lately dead; without golden ornaments, dressed, besides, just like those who only dress for themselves, and patched up with no worthless woman’s trumpery.38 Her hair was loose, long, and thrown back negligently about her temples. (To Clinia.) Do you hold your peace.39

Clin. My dear Syrus, do not without cause throw me into ecstasies, I beseech you.

Syr. The old woman was spinning the woof:40 there was one little servant girl besides;—she was weaving41 together with them, covered with patched clothes, slovenly, and dirty with filthiness.

Clit. If this is true, Clinia, as I believe it is, who is there more fortunate than you? Do you mark this girl whom he speaks of, as dirty and drabbish? This, too, is a strong indication that the mistress is out of harm’s way, when her confidant is in such ill plight; for it is a rule with those who wish to gain access to the mistress, first to bribe the maid.

Clin. (to Syrus.) Go on, I beseech you; and beware of endeavoring to purchase favor by telling an untruth. What did she say, when you mentioned me?

Syr. When we told her that you had returned, and had requested her to come to you, the damsel instantly put away the web, and covered her face all over with tears; so that you might easily perceive that it really was caused by her affection for you.

Clin. So may the Deities bless me, I know not where I am for joy! I was so alarmed before.

Clit. But I was sure that there was no reason, Clinia. Come now, Syrus, tell me, in my turn, who this other lady is.

Syr. Your Bacchis, whom we are bringing.42

Clit. Ha! What! Bacchis? How now, you rascal! whither are you bringing her?

Syr. Whither am I bringing her? To our house, to be sure.

Clit. What! to my father’s?

Syr. To the very same.

Clit. Oh, the audacious impudence of the fellow!

Syr. Hark’ye, no great and memorable action is done without some risk.

Clit. Look now; are you seeking to gain credit for yourself, at the hazard of my character, you rascal, in a point, where, if you only make the slightest slip, I am ruined? What would you be doing with her?

Syr. But still—

Clit. Why “still?”

Syr. If you’ll give me leave, I’ll tell you.

Clin. Do give him leave.

Clit. I give him leave then.

Syr. This affair is now just as though when—

Clit. Plague on it, what roundabout story is he beginning to tell me?

Clin. Syrus, he says what’s right—do omit digressions; come to the point.

Syr. Really I can not hold my tongue. Clitipho, you are every way unjust, and can not possibly be endured.

Clin. Upon my faith, he ought to have a hearing. (To Clitipho.) Do be silent.

Syr. You wish to indulge in your amours; you wish to possess your mistress; you wish that to be procured wherewithal to make her presents; in getting this, you do not wish the risk to be your own. You are not wise to no purpose,—if indeed it is being wise to wish for that which can not happen. Either the one must be had with the other, or the one must be let alone with the other. Now, of these two alternatives, consider which one you would prefer; although this project which I have formed, I know to be both a wise and a safe one. For there is an opportunity for your mistress to be with you at your father’s house, without fear of a discovery; besides, by these self-same means, I shall find the money which you have promised her—to effect which, you have already made my ears deaf with entreating me. What would you have more?

Clit. If, indeed, this could be brought about—

Syr. If, indeed? You shall know it by experience.

Clit. Well, well, disclose this project of yours. What is it?

Syr. We will pretend that your mistress is his (pointing to Clinia).

Clit. Very fine! Tell me, what is he to do with his own? Is she, too, to be called his, as if one was not a sufficient discredit?

Syr. No—she shall be taken to your mother.

Clit. Why there?

Syr. It would be tedious, Clitipho, if I were to tell you why I do so; I have a good reason.

Clit. Stuff! I see no grounds sufficiently solid why it should be for my advantage to incur this risk.43 (Turning as if going.)

Syr. Stay; if there is this risk, I have another project, which you must both confess to be free from danger.

Clit. Find out something of that description, I beseech you.

Syr. By all means; I’ll go meet her, and tell her to return home.

Clit. Ha! what was it you said?

Syr. I’ll rid you at once of all fears, so that you may sleep at your ease upon either ear.44

Clit. What am I to do now?

Clin. What are you to do? The goods that—

Clit. Only tell me the truth, Syrus.

Syr. Dispatch quickly; you’ll be wishing just now too late and in vain. (Going.)

Clin. The Gods provide, enjoy while yet you may; for you know not—

Clit. (calling.) Syrus, I say!

Syr. (moving on.) Go on; I shall still do that which I said.45

Clin. Whether you may have another opportunity hereafter or ever again.

Clit. I’faith, that’s true. (Calling.) Syrus, Syrus, I say, harkye, harkye, Syrus!

Syr. (aside.) He warms a little. (To Clitipho.) What is it you want?

Clit. Come back, come back.

Syr. (coming back to him.) Here I am; tell me what you would have. You’ll be presently saying that this, too, doesn’t please you.

Clit. Nay, Syrus, I commit myself, and my love, and my reputation entirely to you: you are the seducer; take care you don’t deserve any blame.

Syr. It is ridiculous for you to give me that caution, Clitipho, as if my interest was less at stake in this affair than yours. Here, if any ill luck should perchance befall us, words will be in readiness for you, but for this individual blows (pointing to himself.) For that reason, this matter is by no means to be neglected on my part: but do prevail upon him (pointing to Clinia) to pretend that she is his own mistress.

Clin. You may rest assured I’ll do so. The matter has now come to that pass, that it is a case of necessity.

Clit. ’Tis with good reason that I love you, Clinia.

Clin. But she mustn’t be tripping at all.

Syr. She is thoroughly tutored in her part.

Clit. But this I wonder at, how you could so easily prevail upon her, who is wont to treat such great people46 with scorn.

Syr. I came to her at the proper moment, which in all things is of the first importance: for there I found a certain wretched captain soliciting her favors: she artfully managed the man, so as to inflame his eager passions by denial; and this, too, that it might be especially pleasing to yourself. But hark you, take care, will you, not to be imprudently impetuous. You know your father, how quick-sighted he is in these matters; and I know you, how unable you are to command yourself. Keep clear of words of double meaning,47 your sidelong looks, sighing, hemming, coughing, tittering.

Clit. You shall have to commend me.

Syr. Take care of that, please.

Clit. You yourself shall be surprised at me.

Syr. But how quickly the ladies have come up with us!

Clit. Where are they? (Syrus stands before him.) Why do you hold me back?

Syr. For the present she is nothing to you.

Clit. I know it, before my father; but now in the mean time—

Syr. Not a bit the more.

Clit. Do let me.

Syr. I will not let you, I tell you.

Clit. But only for a moment, pray.

Syr. I forbid it.

Clit. Only to salute her.

Syr. If you are wise, get you gone.

Clit. I’m off. But what’s he to do? (Pointing at Clinia.)

Syr. He will stay here.

Clit. O happy man!

Syr. Take yourself off.

Exit Clitipho.

Scene IV.

Enter Bacchis and Antiphila at a distance.

Bacchis. Upon my word, my dear Antiphila, I commend you, and think you fortunate in having made it your study that your manners should be conformable to those good looks of yours: and so may the Gods bless me, I do not at all wonder if every man is in love with you. For your discourse has been a proof to me what kind of disposition you possess. And when now I reflect in my mind upon your way of life, and that of all of you, in fact, who keep the public at a distance from yourselves, it is not surprising both that you are of that disposition, and that we are not; for it is your interest to be virtuous; those, with whom we are acquainted, will not allow us to be so. For our lovers, allured merely by our beauty, court us for that; when that has faded, they transfer their affections elsewhere; and unless we have made provision in the mean time for the future, we live in destitution. Now with you, when you have once resolved to pass your life with one man whose manners are especially kindred to your own, those persons48 become attached to you. By this kindly feeling, you are truly devoted to each other; and no calamity can ever possibly interrupt your love.

Anti. I know nothing about other women: I’m sure that I have, indeed, always used every endeavor to derive my own happiness from his happiness.

Clin. (apart, overhearing Antiphila.) Ah! ’tis for that reason, my Antiphila, that you alone have now caused me to return to my native country; for while I was absent from you, all other hardships which I encountered were light to me, save the being deprived of you.

Syr. (apart.) I believe it.

Clin. (apart.) Syrus, I can scarce endure it!49 Wretch that I am, that I should not be allowed to possess one of such a disposition at my own discretion!

Syr. Nay, so far as I understand your father, he will for a long time yet be giving you a hard task.

Bacch. Why, who is that young man that’s looking at us?

Anti. (seeing Clinia.) Ah! do support me, I entreat you!

Bacch. Prithee, what is the matter with you?

Anti. I shall die, alas! I shall die!

Bacch. Why are you thus surprised, Antiphila?

Anti. Is it Clinia that I see, or not?

Bacch. Whom do you see?

Clin. (running to embrace Antiphila.) Blessings on you, my life!

Anti. Oh my long-wished for Clinia, blessings on you!

Clin. How fare you, my love?

Anti. I’m overjoyed that you have returned safe.

Clin. And do I embrace you, Antiphila, so passionately longed for by my soul?

Syr. Go in-doors; for the old gentleman has been waiting for us some time.

They go into the house of Chremes.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Chremes from his house.

Chrem. (to himself.) It is now daybreak.50 Why do I delay to knock at my neighbor’s door, that he may learn from me the first that his son has returned? Although I am aware that the youth would not prefer this. But when I see him tormenting himself so miserably about his absence, can I conceal a joy so unhoped for, especially when there can be no danger to him from the discovery? I will not do so; but as far as I can I will assist the old man. As I see my son aiding his friend and year’s-mate, and acting as his confidant in his concerns, it is but right that we old men as well should assist each other.

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (to himself.) Assuredly I was either born with a disposition peculiarly suited for misery, or else that saying which I hear commonly repeated, that “time assuages human sorrow,” is false. For really my sorrow about my son increases daily; and the longer he is away from me, the more anxiously do I wish for him, and the more I miss him.

Chrem. (apart.) But I see him coming out of his house; I’ll go speak to him. (Aloud.) Menedemus, good-morrow; I bring you news, which you would especially desire to be imparted.

Men. Pray, have you heard any thing about my son, Chremes?

Chrem. He’s alive, and well.

Men. Why, where is he, pray?

Chrem. Here, at my house, at home.

Men. My son?

Chrem. Such is the fact.

Men. Come home?

Chrem. Certainly.

Men. My son, Clinia, come home?

Chrem. I say so.

Men. Let us go. Lead me to him, I beg of you.

Chrem. He does not wish you yet to know of his return, and he shuns your presence; he’s afraid that, on account of that fault, your former severity may even be increased.

Men. Did you not tell him how I was affected?51

Chrem. No—

Men. For what reason, Chremes?

Chrem. Because there you would judge extremely ill both for yourself and for him, if you were to show yourself of a spirit so weak and irresolute.

Men. I can not help it: enough already, enough, have I proved a rigorous father.

Chrem. Ah Menedemus! you are too precipitate in either extreme, either with profuseness or with parsimony too great. Into the same error will you fall from the one side as from the other. In the first place, formerly, rather than allow your son to visit a young woman, who was then content with a very little, and to whom any thing was acceptable, you frightened him away from here. After that, she began, quite against her inclination, to seek a subsistence upon the town. Now, when she can not be supported without a great expense, you are ready to give any thing. For, that you may know how perfectly she is trained to extravagance, in the first place, she has already brought with her more than ten female attendants, all laden with clothes and jewels of gold; if a satrap52 had been her admirer, he never could support her expenses, much less can you.

Men. Is she at your house?

Chrem. Is she, do you ask? I have felt it; for I have given her and her retinue one dinner; had I to give them another such, it would be all over with me; for, to pass by other matters, what a quantity of wine she did consume for me in tasting only,53 saying thus, “This wine is too acid,54 respected sir,55 do please look for something more mellow.” I opened all the casks, all the vessels;56 she kept all on the stir: and this but a single night. What do you suppose will become of you when they are constantly preying upon you? So may the Gods prosper me, Menedemus, I do pity your lot.

Men. Let him do what he will; let him take, waste, and squander; I’m determined to endure it, so long as I only have him with me.

Chrem. If it is your determination thus to act, I hold it to be of very great moment that he should not be aware that with a full knowledge you grant him this.

Men. What shall I do?

Chrem. Any thing, rather than what you are thinking of; supply him with money through some other person; suffer yourself to be imposed upon by the artifices of his servant: although I have smelt out this too, that they are about that, and are secretly planning it among them. Syrus is always whispering with that servant of yours;57 they impart their plans to the young men; and it were better for you to lose a talent this way, than a mina the other. The money is not the question now, but this—in what way we can supply it to the young man with the least danger. For if he once knows the state of your feelings, that you would sooner part with your life, and sooner with all your money, than allow your son to leave you; whew! what an inlet58 will you be opening for his debauchery! aye, and so much so, that henceforth to live can not be desirable to you. For we all become worse through indulgence. Whatever comes into his head, he’ll be wishing for; nor will he reflect whether that which he desires is right or wrong. You will not be able to endure your estate and him going to ruin. You will refuse to supply him: he will immediately have recourse to the means by which he finds that he has the greatest hold upon you, and threaten that he will immediately leave you.

Men. You seem to speak the truth, and just what is the fact.

Chrem. I’faith, I have not been sensible of sleep this night with my eyes,59 for thinking of this—how to restore your son to you.

Men. (taking his hand.) Give me your right hand. I request that you will still act in a like manner, Chremes.

Chrem. I am ready to serve you.

Men. Do you know what it is I now want you to do?

Chrem. Tell me.

Men. As you have perceived that they are laying a plan to deceive me, that they may hasten to complete it. I long to give him whatever he wants: I am now longing to behold him.

Chrem. I’ll lend my endeavors. This little business is in my way. Our neighbors Simus and Crito are disputing here about boundaries; they have chosen me for arbitrator. I’ll go and tell them that I can not possibly give them my attention to-day as I had stated I would. I’ll be here immediately.

Exit.

Men. Pray do. (To himself.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you! That the nature of all men should be so constituted, that they can see and judge of other men’s affairs better than their own! Is it because in our own concerns we are biased either with joy or grief in too great a degree? How much wiser now is he for me, than I have been for myself!

Re-enter Chremes.

Chrem. I have disengaged myself, that I might lend you my services at my leisure. Syrus must be found and instructed by me in this business. Some one, I know not who, is coming out of my house: do you step hence home, that they may not perceive60 that we are conferring together.

Menedemus goes into his house.

Scene II.

Enter Syrus from the house of Chremes.

Syr. (aloud to himself.) Run to and fro in every direction; still, money, you must be found: a trap must be laid for the old man.

Chrem. (apart, overhearing him.) Was I deceived in saying that they were planning this? That servant of Clinia’s is somewhat dull; therefore that province has been assigned to this one of ours.

Syr. (in a low voice.) Who’s that speaking? (Catches sight of Chremes.) I’m undone! Did he hear it, I wonder?

Chrem. Syrus.

Syr. Well—

Chrem. What are you doing here?

Syr. All right. Really, I am quite surprised at you, Chremes, up so early, after drinking so much yesterday.

Chrem. Not too much.

Syr. Not too much, say you? Really, you’ve seen the old age of an eagle,61 as the saying is.

Chrem. Pooh, pooh!

Syr. A pleasant and agreeable woman this Courtesan.

Chrem. Why, so she seemed to me, in fact.

Syr. And really of handsome appearance.

Chrem. Well enough.

Syr. Not like those of former days,62 but as times are now, very passable: nor do I in the least wonder that Clinia doats upon her. But he has a father—a certain covetous, miserable, and niggardly person—this neighbor of ours (pointing to the house). Do you know him? Yet, as if he was not abounding in wealth, his son ran away through want. Are you aware that it is the fact, as I am saying?

Chrem. How should I not be aware? A fellow that deserves the mill.

Syr. Who?

Chrem. That servant of the young gentleman, I mean.

Syr. (aside.) Syrus! I was sadly afraid for you.

Chrem. To suffer it to come to this!

Syr. What was he to do?

Chrem. Do you ask the question? He ought to have found some expedient, contrived some stratagem, by means of which there might have been something for the young man to give to his mistress, and thus have saved this crabbed old fellow in spite of himself.

Syr. You are surely joking.

Chrem. This ought to have been done by him, Syrus.

Syr. How now—pray, do you commend servants, who deceive their masters?

Chrem. Upon occasion—I certainly do commend them.

Syr. Quite right.

Chrem. Inasmuch as it often is the remedy for great disturbances. Then would this man’s only son have staid at home.

Syr. (aside.) Whether he says this in jest or in earnest, I don’t know; only, in fact, that he gives me additional zest for longing still more to trick him.

Chrem. And what is he now waiting for, Syrus? Is it until his father drives him away from here a second time, when he can no longer support her expenses?63 Has he no plot on foot against the old gentleman?

Syr. He is a stupid fellow.

Chrem. Then you ought to assist him—for the sake of the young man.

Syr. For my part, I can do so easily, if you command me; for I know well in what fashion it is usually done.

Chrem. So much the better, i’ faith.

Syr. ’Tis not my way to tell an untruth.

Chrem. Do it then.

Syr. But hark you! Just take care and remember this, in case any thing of this sort should perchance happen at a future time, such are human affairs!—your son might do the same.

Chrem. The necessity will not arise, I trust.

Syr. I’ faith, and I trust so too: nor do I say so now, because I have suspected him in any way; but in case, none the more64—You see what his age is; (aside) and truly, Chremes,65 if an occasion does happen, I may be able to handle you right handsomely.

Chrem. As to that, we’ll consider what is requisite when the occasion does happen. At present do you set about this matter.

Goes into his house.

Syr. (to himself.) Never on any occasion did I hear my master talk more to the purpose; nor at any time could I believe that I was authorized to play the rogue with greater impunity. I wonder who it is coming out of our house?

Stands aside.

Scene III.

Enter Chremes and Clitipho from the house of the former.

Chrem. Pray, what does this mean? What behavior is this, Clitipho? Is this acting as becomes you?

Clit. What have I done?

Chrem. Did I not see you just now putting your hand into this Courtesan’s bosom?

Syr. (apart.) It’s all up with us—I’m utterly undone!

Clit. What, I?

Chrem. With these self-same eyes I saw it—don’t deny it. Besides, you wrong him unworthily in not keeping your hands off: for indeed it is a gross affront to entertain a person, your friend, at your house, and to take liberties with his mistress. Yesterday, for instance, at wine, how rude you were—

Syr. (apart.) ’Tis the truth.66

Chrem. How annoying you were! So much so, that for my part, as the Gods may prosper me, I dreaded what in the end might be the consequence. I understand lovers. They resent highly things that you would not imagine.

Clit. But he has full confidence in me, father, that I would not do any thing of that kind.

Chrem. Be it so; still, at least, you ought to go somewhere for a little time away from their presence. Passion prompts to many a thing; your presence acts as a restraint upon doing them. I form a judgment from myself. There’s not one of my friends this day to whom I would venture, Clitipho, to disclose all my secrets. With one, his station forbids it; with another, I am ashamed of the action itself, lest I may appear a fool or devoid of shame; do you rest assured that he does the same.67 But it is our part to be sensible of this; and, when and where it is requisite, to show due complaisance.

Syr. (coming forward and whispering to Clitipho.) What is it he is saying?

Clit. (aside, to Syrus.) I’m utterly undone!

Syr. Clitipho, these same injunctions I gave you. You have acted the part of a prudent and discreet person.68

Clit. Hold your tongue, I beg.

Syr. Very good.

Chrem. (approaching them.) Syrus, I am ashamed of him.

Syr. I believe it; and not without reason. Why, he vexes myself even.

Clit. (to Syrus.) Do you persist, then?

Syr. I’ faith, I’m saying the truth, as it appears to me.

Clit. May I not go near them?

Chrem. How now—pray, is there but one way69 of going near them?

Syr. (aside.) Confusion! He’ll be betraying himself before I’ve got the money. (Aloud.) Chremes, will you give attention to me, who am but a silly person?

Chrem. What am I to do?

Syr. Bid him go somewhere out of the way.

Clit. Where am I to go?

Syr. Where you please; leave the place to them; be off and take a walk.

Clit. Take a walk! where?

Syr. Pshaw! Just as if there was no place to walk in. Why, then, go this way, that way, where you will.

Chrem. He says right, I’m of his opinion.

Clit. May the Gods extirpate you, Syrus, for thrusting me away from here.

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Then do you for the future keep those hands of yours within bounds. (Exit Clitipho.) Really now (to Chremes), what do you think? What do you imagine will become of him next, unless, so far as the Gods afford you the means, you watch him, correct and admonish him?

Chrem. I’ll take care of that.

Syr. But now, master, he must be looked after by you.

Chrem. It shall be done.

Syr. If you are wise,—for now he minds me less and less every day.

Chrem. What say you? What have you done, Syrus, about that matter which I was mentioning to you a short time since? Have you any plan that suits you, or not yet even?

Syr. You mean the design upon Menedemus? I have; I have just hit upon one.

Chrem. You are a clever fellow; what is it? Tell me.

Syr. I’ll tell you; but, as one matter arises, out of another——

Chrem. Why, what is it, Syrus?

Syr. This Courtesan is a very bad woman.

Chrem. So she seems.

Syr. Aye, if you did but know. O shocking! just see what she is hatching. There was a certain old woman here from Corinth,—this Bacchis lent her a thousand silver drachmæ.

Chrem. What then?

Syr. She is now dead: she has left a daughter, a young girl. She has been left with this Bacchis as a pledge for that sum.

Chrem. I understand you.

Syr. She has brought her hither along with her, her I mean who is now with your wife.70

Chrem. What then?

Syr. She is soliciting Clinia at once to advance her this money; she says, however, that this girl is to be a security, that, at a future time, she will repay the thousand pieces of money.

Chrem. And would she really be a security?71

Syr. Dear me, is it to be doubted? I think so.

Chrem. What then do you intend doing?

Syr. What, I? I shall go to Menedemus; I’ll tell him she is a captive from Caria, rich, and of noble family; if he redeems her, there will be a considerable profit in this transaction.

Chrem. You are in an error.

Syr. Why so?

Chrem. I’ll now answer you for Menedemus—I will not purchase her.

Syr. What is it you say? Do speak more agreeably to our wishes.

Chrem. But there is no occasion.

Syr. No occasion?

Chrem. Certainly not, i’ faith.

Syr. How so, I wonder?

Chrem. You shall soon know.72

Syr. Stop, stop; what is the reason that there is such a great noise at our door?

They retire out of sight.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Sostrata and a Nurse in haste from the house of Chremes, and Chremes and Syrus on the other side of the stage unperceived.

Sos. (holding up a ring and examining it.) Unless my fancy deceives me, surely this is the ring which I suspect it to be, the same with which my daughter was exposed.

Chrem. (apart.) Syrus, what is the meaning of these expressions?

Sos. Nurse, how is it? Does it not seem to you the same?

Nur. As for me, I said it was the same the very instant that you showed it me.

Sos. But have you now examined it thoroughly, my dear nurse?

Nur. Thoroughly.

Sos. Then go in-doors at once, and if she has now done bathing, bring me word. I’ll wait here in the mean time for my husband.

Syr. (apart.) She wants you, see what it is she wants; she is in a serious mood, I don’t know why; it is not without a cause—I fear what it may be.

Chrem. What it may be? I’ faith, she’ll now surely be announcing some important trifle, with a great parade.

Sos. (turning round.) Ha! my husband!

Chrem. Ha! my wife!

Sos. I was looking for you.

Chrem. Tell me what you want.

Sos. In the first place, this I beg of you, not to believe that I have ventured to do any thing contrary to your commands.

Chrem. Would you have me believe you in this, although so incredible? Well, I will believe you.

Syr. (aside.) This excuse portends I know not what offense.

Sos. Do you remember me being pregnant, and yourself declaring to me, most peremptorily, that if I should bring forth a girl, you would not have it brought up.

Chrem. I know what you have done, you have brought it up.

Syr. (aside.) Such is the fact, I’m sure: my young master has gained a loss73 in consequence.

Sos. Not at all; but there was here an elderly woman of Corinth, of no indifferent character; to her I gave it to be exposed.

Chrem. O Jupiter! that there should be such extreme folly in a person’s mind.

Sos. Alas! what have I done?

Chrem. And do you ask the question?

Sos. If I have acted wrong, my dear Chremes, I have done so in ignorance.

Chrem. This, indeed, I know for certain, even if you were to deny it, that in every thing you both speak and act ignorantly and foolishly: how many blunders you disclose in this single affair! For, in the first place, then, if you had been disposed to obey my orders, the child ought to have been dispatched; you ought not in words to have feigned her death, and in reality to have left hopes of her surviving. But that I pass over; compassion, maternal affection, I allow it. But how finely you did provide for the future! What was your meaning? Do reflect. It’s clear, beyond a doubt, that your daughter was betrayed by you to this old woman, either that through you she might make a living by her, or that she might be sold in open market as a slave. I suppose you reasoned thus: “any thing is enough, if only her life is saved:” what are you to do with those who understand neither law, nor right and justice? Be it for better or for worse, be it for them or against them, they see nothing except just what they please.

Sos. My dear Chremes, I have done wrong, I own; I am convinced. Now this I beg of you; inasmuch as you are more advanced in years than I, be so much the more ready to forgive; so that your justice may be some protection for my weakness.

Chrem. I’ll readily forgive you doing this, of course; but, Sostrata, my easy temper prompts you to do amiss. But, whatever this circumstance is, by reason of which this was begun upon, proceed to tell it.

Sos. As we women are all foolishly and wretchedly superstitious, when I delivered the child to her to be exposed, I drew a ring from off my finger, and ordered her to expose it, together with the child; that if she should die, she might not be without74 some portion of our possessions.

Chrem. That was right; thereby you proved the saving of yourself and her.75

Sos. (holding out the ring.) This is that ring.

Chrem. Whence did you get it?

Sos. From the young woman whom Bacchis brought here with her.

Syr. (aside.) Ha!

Chrem. What does she say?

Sos. She gave it me to keep for her, while she went to bathe. At first I paid no attention to it; but after I looked at it, I at once recognized it, and came running to you.

Chrem. What do you suspect now, or have you discovered, relative to her?

Sos. I don’t know; unless you inquire of herself whence she got it, if that can possibly be discovered.

Syr. (aside.) I’m undone! I see more hopes76 from this incident than I desire. If it is so, she certainly must be ours.

Chrem. Is this woman living to whom you delivered the child?

Sos. I don’t know.

Chrem. What account did she bring you at the time?

Sos. That she had done as I had ordered her.

Chrem. Tell me what is the woman’s name, that she may be inquired after.

Sos. Philtere.

Syr. (aside.) ’Tis the very same. It’s a wonder if she isn’t found, and I lost.

Chrem. Sostrata, follow me this way in-doors.

Sos. How much beyond my hopes has this matter turned out! How dreadfully afraid I was, Chremes, that you would now be of feelings as unrelenting as formerly you were on exposing the child.

Chrem. Many a time a man can not be77 such as he would be, if circumstances do not admit of it. Time has now so brought it about, that I should be glad of a daughter; formerly I wished for nothing less.

Chremes and Sostrata go into the house.

Scene II.

Syrus alone.

Syr. Unless my fancy deceives me,78 retribution79 will not be very, far off from me; so much by this incident are my forces now utterly driven into straits; unless I contrive by some means that the old man mayn’t come to know that this damsel is his son’s mistress. For as to entertaining any hopes about the money, or supposing I could cajole him, it’s useless; I shall be sufficiently triumphant, if I’m allowed to escape with my sides covered.80 I’m vexed that such a tempting morsel has been so suddenly snatched away from my jaws. What am I to do? Or what shall I devise? I must begin upon my plan over again. Nothing is so difficult, but that it may be found out by seeking. What now if I set about it after this fashion. (He considers.) That’s of no use. What, if after this fashion? I effect just about the same. But this I think will do. It can not. Yes! excellent. Bravo! I’ve found out the best of all—I’ faith, I do believe that after all I shall lay hold of this same runaway money.81

Scene III.

Enter Clinia at the other side of the stage.

Clin. (to himself.) Nothing can possibly henceforth befall me of such consequence as to cause me uneasiness; so extreme is this joy that has surprised me. Now then I shall give myself up entirely to my father, to be more frugal than even he could wish.

Syr. (apart.) I wasn’t mistaken; she has been discovered, so far as I understand from these words of his. (Advancing.) I am rejoiced that this matter has turned out for you so much to your wish.

Clin. O my dear Syrus, have you heard of it, pray?

Syr. How shouldn’t I, when I was present all the while?

Clin. Did you ever hear of any thing falling out so fortunately for any one?

Syr. Never.

Clin. And, so may the Gods prosper me, I do not now rejoice so much on my own account as hers, whom I know to be deserving of any honor.

Syr. I believe it: but now, Clinia, come, attend to me in my turn. For your friend’s business as well,—it must be seen to—that it is placed in a state of security, lest the old gentleman should now come to know any thing about his mistress.

Clin. O Jupiter!

Syr. Do be quiet.

Clin. My Antiphila will be mine.

Syr. Do you still interrupt me thus?

Clin. What can I do? My dear Syrus, I’m transported with joy! Do bear with me.

Syr. I’ faith, I really do bear with you.

Clin. We are blest with the life of the Gods.

Syr. I’m taking pains to no purpose, I doubt.

Clin. Speak; I hear you.

Syr. But still you’ll not mind it.

Clin. I will.

Syr. This must be seen to, I say, that your friend’s business as well is placed in a state of security. For if you now go away from us, and leave Bacchis here, our old man will immediately come to know that she is Clitipho’s mistress; if you take her away with you, it will be concealed just as much as it has been hitherto concealed.

Clin. But still, Syrus, nothing can make more against my marriage than this; for with what face am I to address my father about it? You understand what I mean?

Syr. Why not?

Clin. What can I say? What excuse can I make?

Syr. Nay, I don’t want you to dissemble; tell him the whole case just as it really is.

Clin. What is it you say?

Syr. I bid you do this; tell him that you are in love with her, and want her for a wife: that this Bacchis is Clitipho’s mistress.

Clin. You require a thing that is fair and reasonable, and easy to be done. And I suppose, then, you would have me request my father to keep it a secret from your old man.

Syr. On the contrary; to tell him directly the matter just as it is.

Clin. What? Are you quite in your senses or sober? Why, you were for ruining him outright. For how could he be in a state of security? Tell me that.

Syr. For my part, I yield the palm to this device. Here I do pride myself exultingly, in having in myself such exquisite resources, and power of address so great, as to deceive them both by telling the truth: so that when your old man tells ours that she is his son’s mistress, he’ll still not believe him.

Clin. But yet, by these means you again cut off all hopes of my marriage; for as long as Chremes believes that she is my mistress, he’ll not give me his daughter. Perhaps you care little what becomes of me, so long as you provide for him.

Syr. What the plague, do you suppose I want this pretense to be kept up for an age? ’Tis but for a single day, only till I have secured the money: you be quiet; I ask no more.

Clin. Is that sufficient? If his father should come to know of it, pray, what then?

Syr. What if I have recourse to those who say, “What now if the sky were to fall?”82

Clin. I’m afraid to go about it.

Syr. You, afraid! As if it was not in your power to clear yourself at any time you like, and discover the whole matter.

Clin. Well, well; let Bacchis be brought over to our house.

Syr. Capital! she is coming out of doors.

Scene IV.

Enter Bacchis and Phrygia, from the house of Chremes.

Bacch. (pretending not to see Clinia and Syrus.) To a very fine purpose,83 upon my faith, have the promises of Syrus brought me hither, who agreed to lend me ten minæ. If now he deceives me, oft as he may entreat me to come, he shall come in vain. Or else, when I’ve promised to come, and fixed the time, when he has carried word back for certain, and Clitipho is on the stretch of expectation, I’ll disappoint him and not come. Syrus will make atonement to me with his back.

Clin. (apart, to Syrus.) She promises you very fairly.

Syr. (to Clinia.) But do you think she is in jest? She’ll do it, if I don’t take care.

Bacch. (aside.) They’re asleep84—I’faith, I’ll rouse them. (Aloud.) My dear Phrygia, did you hear about the country-seat of Charinus, which that man was showing us just now?

Phry. I heard of it.

Bacch. (aloud.) That it was the next to the farm here on the right-hand side.85

Phry. I remember.

Bacch. (aloud) Run thither post-haste; the Captain is keeping the feast of Bacchus86 at his house.

Syr. (apart.) What is she going to be at?

Bacch. (aloud.) Tell him I am here very much against my inclination, and am detained; but that by some means or other I’ll give them the slip and come to him.

Phrygia moves.

Syr. (coming forward.) Upon my faith, I’m ruined! Bacchis, stay, stay; prithee, where are you sending her? Order her to stop.

Bacch. (to Phrygia.) Be off.

Syr. Why, the money’s ready.

Bacch. Why, then I’ll stay.

Phrygia returns.

Syr. And it will be given you presently.

Bacch. Just when you please; do I press you?

Syr. But do you know what you are to do, pray?

Bacch. What?

Syr. You must now go over to the house of Menedemus, and your equipage must be taken over thither.

Bacch. What scheme are you upon, you rascal?

Syr. What, I? Coining money to give you.

Bacch. Do you think me a proper person for you to play upon?

Syr. It’s not without a purpose.

Bacch. (pointing to the house.) Why, have I any business then with you here?

Syr. O no; I’m only going to give you what’s your own.

Bacch. Then let’s be going.87

Syr. Follow this way. (Goes to the door of Menedemus, and calls.) Ho there! Dromo.

Enter Dromo from the house.

Dro. Who is it wants me?

Syr. Syrus.

Dro. What’s the matter?

Syr. Take over all the attendants of Bacchis to your house here immediately.

Dro. Why so?

Syr. Ask no questions. Let them take what they brought here with them. The old gentleman will hope his expenses are lightened by their departure; for sure he little knows how much loss this trifling gain will bring him. You, Dromo, if you are wise, know nothing of what you do know.

Dro. You shall own that I’m dumb.

Clinia, Bacchis, and Phrygia go into the house of Menedemus, and Dromo follows with Bacchis’s retinue and baggage.

Scene V.

Enter Chremes from his house.

Chrem. (to himself.) So may the Deities prosper me, I am now concerned for the fate of Menedemus, that so great a misfortune should have befallen him. To be maintaining that woman with such a retinue! Although I am well aware he’ll not be sensible of it for some days to come, his son was so greatly missed by him; but when he sees such a vast expense incurred by him every day at home, and no limit to it, he’ll wish that this son would leave him a second time. See—here comes Syrus most opportunely.

Syr. (to himself, as he comes forward.) Why delay to accost him?

Chrem. Syrus.

Syr. Well.

Chrem. How go matters?

Syr. I’ve been wishing for some time for you to be thrown in my way.

Chrem. You seem, then, to have effected something, I know not what, with the old gentleman.

Syr. As to what we were talking of a short time since? No sooner said than done.

Chrem. In real earnest?

Syr. In real.

Chrem. Upon my faith, I can not forbear patting your head for it. Come here, Syrus; I’ll do you some good turn for this matter, and with pleasure. (Patting his head.)

Syr. But if you knew how cleverly it came into my head——

Chrem. Pshaw! Do you boast because it has turned out according to your wishes?

Syr. On my word, not I, indeed; I am telling the truth.

Chrem. Tell me how it is.

Syr. Clinia has told Menedemus, that this Bacchis is your Clitipho’s mistress, and that he has taken her thither with him in order that you might not come to know of it.

Chrem. Very good.

Syr. Tell me, please, what you think of it.

Chrem. Extremely good, I declare.

Syr. Why yes, pretty fair. But listen, what a piece of policy still remains. He is then to say that he has seen your daughter—that her beauty charmed him as soon as he beheld her; and that he desires her for a wife.

Chrem. What, her that has just been discovered?

Syr. The same; and, in fact, he’ll request that she may be asked for.

Chrem. For what purpose, Syrus? For I don’t altogether comprehend it.

Syr. O dear, you are so dull.

Chrem. Perhaps so.

Syr. Money will be given him for the wedding—with which golden trinkets and clothes——do you understand me?

Chrem. To buy them——?

Syr. Just so.

Chrem. But I neither give nor betroth my daughter to him.

Syr. But why?

Chrem. Why, do you ask me? To a fellow——

Syr. Just as you please. I don’t mean that in reality you should give her to him, but that you should pretend it.

Chrem. Pretending is not in my way; do you mix up these plots of yours, so as not to mix me up in them. Do you think that I’ll betroth my daughter to a person to whom I will not marry her?

Syr. I imagined so.

Chrem. By no means.

Syr. It might have been cleverly managed; and I undertook this affair for the very reason, that a short time since you so urgently requested it.

Chrem. I believe you.

Syr. But for my part, Chremes, I take it well and good, either way.

Chrem. But still, I especially wish you to do your best for it to be brought about; but in some other way.

Syr. It shall be done: some other method must be thought of; but as to what I was telling you of,—about the money which she owes to Bacchis,—that must now be repaid her. And you will not, of course, now be having recourse to this method; “What have I to do with it? Was it lent to me? Did I give any orders? Had she the power to pawn my daughter without my consent?” They quote that saying, Chremes, with good reason, “Rigorous law88 is often rigorous injustice.”

Chrem. I will not do so.

Syr. On the contrary, though others were at liberty, you are not at liberty; all think that you are in good and very easy circumstances.

Chrem. Nay rather, I’ll at once carry it to her myself.

Syr. Why no; request your son in preference.

Chrem. For what reason?

Syr. Why, because the suspicion of being in love with her has been transferred to him with Menedemus.

Chrem. What then?

Syr. Because it will seem to be more like probability when he gives it her; and at the same time I shall effect more easily what I wish. Here he comes too; go, and bring out the money.

Chrem. I’ll bring it.

Goes into his house.

Scene VI.

Enter Clitipho.

Clit. (to himself.) There is nothing so easy but that it becomes difficult when you do it with reluctance. As this walk of mine, for instance, though not fatiguing, it has reduced me to weariness. And now I dread nothing more than that I should be packed off somewhere hence once again, that I may not have access to Bacchis. May then all the Gods and Goddesses, as many as exist, confound you, Syrus, with these stratagems and plots of yours. You are always devising something of this kind, by means of which to torture me.

Syr. Will you not away with you—to where you deserve? How nearly had your forwardness proved my ruin!

Clit. Upon my faith, I wish it had been so; just what you deserve.

Syr. Deserve? How so? Really, I’m glad that I’ve heard this from you before you had the money which I was just going to give you.

Clit. What then would you have me to say to you? You’ve made a fool of me; brought my mistress hither, whom I’m not allowed to touch——

Syr. Well, I’m not angry then. But do you know where Bacchis is just now?

Clit. At our house.

Syr. No.

Clit. Where then?

Syr. At Clinia’s.

Clit. I’m ruined!

Syr. Be of good heart; you shall presently carry to her the money that you promised her.

Clit. You do prate away.—Where from?

Syr. From your own father.

Clit. Perhaps you are joking with me.

Syr. The thing itself will prove it.

Clit. Indeed, then, I am a lucky man. Syrus, I do love you from my heart.

Syr. But your father’s coming out. Take care not to express surprise at any thing, for what reason it is done; give way at the proper moment; do what he orders, and say but little.

Scene VII.

Enter Chremes from the house, with a bag of money.

Chrem. Where’s Clitipho now?

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Say—here I am.

Clit. Here am I.

Chrem. (to Syrus.) Have you told him how it is?

Syr. I’ve told him pretty well every thing.

Chrem. Take this money, and carry it. (Holding out the bag.)

Syr. (aside to Clitipho.) Go—why do you stand still, you stone; why don’t you take it?

Clit. Very well, give it me. (Receives the bag.)

Syr. (to Clitipho.) Follow me this way directly. (To Chremes.) You in the mean while will wait here for us till we return; for there’s no occasion for us to stay there long.

Clitipho and Syrus go into the house of Menedemus.

Chrem. (to himself.) My daughter, in fact, has now had ten minæ from me, which I consider as paid for her board; another ten will follow these for clothes; and then she will require two talents for her portion. How many things, both just and unjust, are sanctioned by custom!89 Now I’m obliged, neglecting my business, to look out for some one on whom to bestow my property, that has been acquired by my labor.

Scene VIII.

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (to Clinia within.) My son, I now think myself the happiest of all men, since I find that you have returned to a rational mode of life.

Chrem. (aside.) How much he is mistaken!

Men. Chremes, you are the very person I wanted; preserve, so far as in you lies, my son, myself, and my family.

Chrem. Tell me what you would have me do.

Men. You have this day found a daughter.

Chrem. What then?

Men. Clinia wishes her to be given him for a wife.

Chrem. Prithee, what kind of a person are you?

Men. Why?

Chrem. Have you already forgotten what passed between us, concerning a scheme, that by that method some money might be got out of you?

Men. I remember.

Chrem. That self-same thing they are now about.

Men. What do you tell me, Chremes? Why surely, this Courtesan, who is at my house, is Clitipho’s mistress.

Chrem. So they say, and you believe it all; and they say that he is desirous of a wife, in order that, when I have betrothed her, you may give him money, with which to provide gold trinkets and clothing, and other things that are requisite.

Men. That is it, no doubt; that money will be given to his mistress.

Chrem. Of course it is to be given.

Men. Alas! in vain then, unhappy man, have I been overjoyed; still however, I had rather any thing than be deprived of him. What answer now shall I report from you, Chremes, so that he may not perceive that I have found it out, and take it to heart?

Chrem. To heart, indeed! you are too indulgent to him, Menedemus.

Men. Let me go on; I have now begun: assist me in this throughout, Chremes.

Chrem. Say then, that you have seen me, and have treated about the marriage.

Men. I’ll say so—what then?

Chrem. That I will do every thing; that as a son-in-law he meets my approbation; in fine, too, if you like, tell him also that she has been promised him.

Men. Well, that’s what I wanted—

Chrem. That he may the sooner ask of you, and you may as soon as possible give him what you wish.

Men. It is my wish.

Chrem. Assuredly, before very long, according as I view this matter, you’ll have enough of him. But, however that may be, if you are wise, you’ll give to him cautiously, and a little at a time.

Men. I’ll do so.

Chrem. Go in-doors and see how much he requires. I shall be at home, if you should want me for any thing.

Men. I certainly do want you; for I shall let you know whatever I do.

They go into their respective houses.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (to himself.) I am quite aware that I am not so overwise, or so very quick-sighted; but this assistant, prompter, and director90 of mine, Chremes, outdoes me in that. Any one of those epithets which are applied to a fool is suited to myself, such as dolt, post, ass,91 lump of lead; to him not one can apply; his stupidity surpasses them all.

Enter Chremes, speaking to Sostrata within.

Chrem. Hold now, do, wife, leave off dinning the Gods with thanksgivings that your daughter has been discovered; unless you judge of them by your own disposition, and think that they understand nothing, unless the same thing has been told them a hundred times. But, in the mean time, why does my son linger there so long with Syrus?

Men. What persons do you say are lingering?

Chrem. Ha! Menedemus, you have come opportunely. Tell me, have you told Clinia what I said?

Men. Every thing.

Chrem. What did he say?

Men. He began to rejoice, just like people do who wish to be married.

Chrem. (laughing.) Ha! ha! ha!

Men. Why are you laughing?

Chrem. The sly tricks of my servant, Syrus, just came into my mind.

Men. Did they?

Chrem. The rogue can even mould the countenances of people.92

Men. That my son is pretending that he is overjoyed, is it that you mean?

Chrem. Just so. (Laughing.)

Men. The very same thing came into my mind.

Chrem. A crafty knave!

Men. Still more would you think such to be the fact, if you knew more.

Chrem. Do you say so?

Men. Do you give attention then?

Chrem. Just stop—first I want to know this, what money you have squandered; for when you told your son that she was promised, of course Dromo would at once throw in a word that golden jewels, clothes, and attendants would be needed for the bride, in order that you might give the money.

Men. No.

Chrem. How, no?

Men. No, I tell you.

Chrem. Nor yet your son himself?

Men. Not in the slightest, Chremes. He was only the more pressing on this one point, that the match might be concluded to-day.

Chrem. You say what’s surprising. What did my servant Syrus do? Didn’t even he say any thing?

Men. Nothing at all.

Chrem. For what reason, I don’t know.

Men. For my part, I wonder at that, when you know other things so well. But this same Syrus has moulded your son,93 too, to such perfection, that there could not be even the slightest suspicion that she is Clinia’s mistress!

Chrem. What do you say?

Men. Not to mention, then, their kissing and embracing; that I count nothing.

Chrem. What more could be done to carry on the cheat?

Men. Pshaw!

Chrem. What do you mean?

Men. Only listen. In the inner part of my house there is a certain room at the back; into this a bed was brought, and was made up with bed-clothes.

Chrem. What took place after this?

Men. No sooner said than done, thither went Clitipho.

Chrem. Alone?

Men. Alone.

Chrem. I’m alarmed.

Men. Bacchis followed directly.

Chrem. Alone?

Men. Alone.

Chrem. I’m undone!

Men. When they had gone into the room, they shut the door.

Chrem. Well—did Clinia see all this going on?

Men. How shouldn’t he? He was with me.

Chrem. Bacchis is my son’s mistress, Menedemus—I’m undone.

Men. Why so?

Chrem. I have hardly substance to suffice for ten days.94

Men. What! are you alarmed at it, because he is paying attention to his friend?

Chrem. His “she-friend” rather.95

Men. If he really is paying it.

Chrem. Is it a matter of doubt to you? Do you suppose that there is any person of so accommodating and tame a spirit as to suffer his own mistress, himself looking on, to—

Men. (chuckling and speaking ironically.) Why not? That I may be imposed upon the more easily.

Chrem. Do you laugh at me? You have good reason. How angry I now am with myself! How many things gave proof, whereby, had I not been a stone, I might have been fully sensible of this? What was it I saw? Alas! wretch that I am! But assuredly they shall not escape my vengeance if I live; for this instant—

Men. Can you not contain yourself? Have you no respect for yourself? Am I not a sufficient example to you?

Chrem. For very anger, Menedemus, I am not myself.

Men. For you to talk in that manner! Is it not a shame for you to be giving advice to others, to show wisdom abroad and yet be able to do nothing for yourself?

Chrem. What shall I do?

Men. That which you said I failed to do: make him sensible that you are his father; make him venture to intrust every thing to you, to seek and to ask of you; so that he may look for no other resources and forsake you.96

Chrem. Nay, I had much rather he would go any where in the world, than by his debaucheries here reduce his father to beggary! For if I go on supplying his extravagance, Menedemus, in that case my circumstances will undoubtedly be soon reduced to the level of your rake.

Men. What evils you will bring upon yourself in this affair, if you don’t act with caution! You’ll show yourself severe, and still pardon him at last; that too with an ill grace.

Chrem. Ah! you don’t know how vexed I am.

Men. Just as you please. What about that which I desire—that she may be married to my son? Unless there is any other step that you would prefer.

Chrem. On the contrary, both the son-in-law and the connection are to my taste.

Men. What portion shall I say that you have named for your daughter? Why are you silent?

Chrem. Portion?

Men. I say so.

Chrem. Alas!

Men. Chremes, don’t be at all afraid to speak, if it is but a small one. The portion is no consideration at all with us.

Chrem. I did think that two talents were sufficient, according to my means. But if you wish me to be saved, and my estate and my son, you must say to this effect, that I have settled all my property on her as her portion.

Men. What scheme are you upon?

Chrem. Pretend that you wonder at this, and at the same time ask him the reason why I do so.

Men. Why, really, I can’t conceive the reason for your doing so.

Chrem. Why do I do so? To check his feelings, which are now hurried away by luxury and wantonness, and to bring him down so as not to know which way to turn himself.

Men. What is your design?

Chrem. Let me alone, and give me leave to have my own way in this matter.

Men. I do give you leave: is this your desire?

Chrem. It is so.

Men. Then be it so.

Chrem. And now let your son prepare to fetch the bride. The other one shall be schooled in such language as befits children. But Syrus——

Men. What of him?

Chrem. What? If I live, I will have him so handsomely dressed, so well combed out, that he shall always remember me as long as he lives; to imagine that I’m to be a laughing-stock and a plaything for him! So may the Gods bless me! he would not have dared to do to a widow-woman the things which he has done to me.97

They go into their respective houses.

Scene II.

Enter Menedemus, with Clitipho and Syrus.

Clit. Prithee, is it really the fact, Menedemus, that my father can, in so short a space of time, have cast off all the natural affection of a parent for me? For what crime? What so great enormity have I, to my misfortune, committed? Young men generally do the same.

Men. I am aware that this must be much more harsh and severe to you, on whom it falls; but yet I take it no less amiss than you. How it is so I know not, nor can I account for it, except that from my heart I wish you well.

Clit. Did not you say that my father was waiting here?

Enter Chremes from his house.

Men. See, here he is.

Menedemus goes into his house.

Chrem. Why are you blaming me, Clitipho? Whatever I have done in this matter, I had a view to you and your imprudence. When I saw that you were of a careless disposition, and held the pleasures of the moment of the first importance, and did not look forward to the future, I took measures that you might neither want nor be able to waste this which I have. When, through your own conduct, it was not allowed me to give it you, to whom I ought before all, I had recourse to those who were your nearest relations; to them I have made over and intrusted every thing.98 There you’ll always find a refuge for your folly; food, clothing, and a roof under which to betake yourself.

Clit. Ah me!

Chrem. It is better than that, you being my heir, Bacchis should possess this estate of mine.

Syr. (apart.) I’m ruined irrevocably!—Of what mischief have I, wretch that I am, unthinkingly been the cause?

Clit. Would I were dead!

Chrem. Prithee, first learn what it is to live. When you know that, if life displeases you, then try the other.

Syr. Master, may I be allowed——?

Chrem. Say on.

Syr. But may I safely?

Chrem. Say on.

Syr. What injustice or what madness is this, that that in which I have offended, should be to his detriment?

Chrem. It’s all over.99 Don’t you mix yourself up in it; no one accuses you, Syrus, nor need you look out for an altar,100 or for an intercessor for yourself.

Syr. What is your design?

Chrem. I am not at all angry either with you (to Syrus), or with you (to Clitipho); nor is it fair that you should be so with me for what I am doing.

He goes into his house.

Syr. He’s gone. I wish I had asked him——

Clit. What, Syrus?

Syr. Where I am to get my subsistence; he has so utterly cast us adrift. You are to have it, for the present, at your sister’s, I find.

Clit. Has it then come to this pass, Syrus—that I am to be in danger even of starving?

Syr. So we only live, there’s hope——

Clit. What hope?

Syr. That we shall be hungry enough.

Clit. Do you jest in a matter so serious, and not give me any assistance with your advice?

Syr. On the contrary, I’m both now thinking of that, and have been about it all the time your father was speaking just now; and so far as I can perceive——

Clit. What?

Syr. It will not be wanting long. (He meditates.)

Clit. What is it, then?

Syr. It is this—I think that you are not their son.

Clit. How’s that, Syrus? Are you quite in your senses?

Syr. I’ll tell you what’s come into my mind; be you the judge. While they had you alone, while they had no other source of joy more nearly to affect them, they indulged you, they lavished upon you. Now a daughter has been found, a pretense has been found in fact on which to turn you adrift.

Clit. It’s very probable.

Syr. Do you suppose that he is so angry on account of this fault?

Clit. I do not think so.

Syr. Now consider another thing. All mothers are wont to be advocates for their sons when in fault, and to aid them against a father’s severity; ’tis not so here.

Clit. You say true; what then shall I now do, Syrus?

Syr. Question them on this suspicion; mention the matter without reserve; either, if it is not true, you’ll soon bring them both to compassion, or else you’ll soon find out whose son you are.

Clit. You give good advice; I’ll do so.

He goes into the home of Chremes.

Syr. (to himself.) Most fortunately did this come into my mind. For the less hope the young man entertains, the greater the difficulty with which he’ll bring his father to his own terms. I’m not sure even, that he may not take a wife, and then no thanks for Syrus. But what is this? The old man’s coming out of doors; I’ll be off. What has so far happened, I am surprised at, that he didn’t order me to be carried off from here: now I’ll away to Menedemus here, I’ll secure him as my intercessor; I can put no trust in our old man.

Goes into the house of Menedemus.

Scene III.

Enter Chremes and Sostrata from the house.

Sos. Really, sir, if you don’t take care, you’ll be causing some mischief to your son; and indeed I do wonder at it, my husband, how any thing so foolish could ever come into your head.

Chrem. Oh, you persist in being the woman? Did I ever wish for any one thing in all my life, Sostrata, but that you were my contradicter on that occasion? And yet if I were now to ask you what it is that I have done amiss, or why you act thus, you would not know in what point you are now so obstinately opposing me in your folly.

Sos. I, not know?

Chrem. Yes, rather, I should have said you do know; inasmuch as either expression amounts to the same thing.101

Sos. Alas! you are unreasonable to expect me to be silent in a matter of such importance.

Chrem. I don’t expect it; talk on then, I shall still do it not a bit the less.

Sos. Will you do it?

Chrem. Certainly.

Sos. Don’t you see how much evil you will be causing by that course?—He suspects himself to be a foundling.

Chrem. Do you say so?

Sos. Assuredly it will be so.

Chrem. Admit it.

Sos. Hold now—prithee, let that be for our enemies. Am I to admit that he is not my son who really is?

Chrem. What! are you afraid that you can not prove that he is yours, whenever you please?

Sos. Because my daughter has been found?102

Chrem. No; but for a reason why it should be much sooner believed—because he is just like you in disposition, you will easily prove that he is your child; for he is exactly like you; why, he has not a single vice left him but you have just the same. Then, besides, no woman could have been the mother of such a son but yourself. But he’s coming out of doors, and how demure! When you understand the matter, you may form your own conclusions.

Scene IV.

Enter Clitipho from the house of Chremes.

Clit. If there ever was any time, mother, when I caused you pleasure, being called your son by your own desire, I beseech you to remember it, and now to take compassion on me in my distress. A thing I beg and request—do discover to me my parents.

Sos. I conjure you, my son, not to entertain that notion in your mind, that you are another person’s child.

Clit. I am.

Sos. Wretch that I am! (Turning to Chremes.) Was it this that you wanted, pray? (To Clitipho.) So may you be the survivor of me and of him, you are my son and his; and henceforth, if you love me, take care that I never hear that speech from you again.

Chrem. But I say, if you fear me, take care how I find these propensities existing in you.

Clit. What propensities?

Chrem. If you wish to know, I’ll tell you; being a trifler, an idler, a cheat, a glutton, a debauchee, a spendthrift—Believe me, and believe that you are our son.

Clit. This is not the language of a parent.

Chrem. If you had been born from my head, Clitipho, just as they say Minerva was from Jove’s, none the more on that account would I suffer myself to be disgraced by your profligacy.103

Sos. May the Gods forbid it.

Chrem. I don’t know as to the Gods;104 so far as I shall be enabled, I will carefully prevent it. You are seeking that which you possess—parents; that which you are in want of you don’t seek—in what way to pay obedience to a father, and to preserve what he acquired by his industry. That you by trickery should bring before my eyes—I am ashamed to mention the unseemly word in her presence (pointing to Sostrata), but you were not in any degree ashamed to act thus.

Clit. (aside.) Alas! how thoroughly displeased I now am with myself! How much ashamed! nor do I know how to make a beginning to pacify him.

Scene V.

Enter Menedemus from his house.

Men. (to himself.) Why really, Chremes is treating his son too harshly and too unkindly. I’m come out, therefore, to make peace between them. Most opportunely I see them both.

Chrem. Well, Menedemus, why don’t you order my daughter to be sent for, and close with the offer105 of the portion that I mentioned?

Sos. My husband, I entreat you not to do it.

Clit. Father, I entreat you to forgive me.

Men. Forgive him, Chremes; do let them prevail upon you.

Chrem. Am I knowingly to make my property a present to Bacchis? I’ll not do it.

Men. Why, we would not suffer it.

Clit. If you desire me to live, father, do forgive me.

Sos. Do, my dear Chremes.

Men. Come, Chremes, pray, don’t be so obdurate.

Chrem. What am I to do here? I see I am not allowed to carry this through, as I had intended.

Men. You are acting as becomes you.

Chrem. On this condition, then, I’ll do it; if he does that which I think it right he should do.

Clit. Father, I’ll do any thing; command me.

Chrem. You must take a wife.

Clit. Father——

Chrem. I’ll hear nothing.

Men. I’ll take it upon myself; he shall do so.

Chrem. I don’t hear any thing from him as yet.

Clit. (aside.) I’m undone!

Sos. Do you hesitate, Clitipho?

Chrem. Nay, just as he likes.

Men. He’ll do it all.

Sos. This course, while you are making a beginning, is disagreeable, and while you are unacquainted with it. When you have become acquainted with it, it will become easy.

Clit. I’ll do it, father.

Sos. My son, upon my honor I’ll give you that charming girl, whom you may soon become attached to, the daughter of our neighbor Phanocrata.

Clit. What! that red-haired girl, with cat’s eyes, freckled face,106 and hooked nose? I can not, father.

Chrem. Heyday! how nice he is! You would fancy he had set his mind upon it.

Sos. I’ll name another.

Clit. Why no—since I must marry, I myself have one that I should pretty nearly make choice of.

Sos. Now, son, I commend you.

Clit. The daughter of Archonides here.

Sos. I’m quite agreeable.

Clit. Father, this now remains.

Chrem. What is it?

Clit. I want you to pardon Syrus for what he has done for my sake.

Chrem. Be it so. (To the Audience.) Fare you well, and grant us your applause.

FOOTNOTES

1. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

2. From μενὸς, “strength,” and δῆμος, “the people.”

3. From κλίνω, “to incline,” or from κλινὴ, “the marriage-bed.”

4. From κλειτὸς, “illustrious,” and φῶς, “light.”

5. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

6. From Syria, his native country.

7. From σώζω, “to preserve,” or “save.”

8. From ἀντὶ, “in return,” and φιλῶ, “to love.”

9. From Bacchus, the God of Wine.

10. From Phrygia, her native country.

11. Being Consuls)—M. Juventius Thalna and Ti. Sempronius Gracchus were Consuls in the year from the Building of the City 589, and B.C. 164.

12. Assigned to an old man)—Ver. 1. He refers to the fact that the Prologue was in general spoken by young men, whereas it is here spoken by L. Ambivius Turpio, the leader of the Company, a man stricken in years. The Prologue was generally not recited by a person who performed a character in the opening Scene.

13. That I will first explain to you)—Ver. 3. His meaning seems to be, that he will first tell them the reason why he, who is to take a part in the opening Scene, speaks the Prologue, which is usually spoken by a young man who does not take part in that Scene; and that he will then proceed to speak in character (eloquor), as Chremes, in the first Scene. His reason for being chosen to speak the Prologue, is that he may be a pleader (orator) for the Poet, a task which would be likely to be better performed by him than by a younger man.

14. From an entire Greek one)—Ver. 4. In contradistinction to such Plays as the Andria, as to which it was a subject of complaint that it had been formed out of a mixture (contaminatus) of the Andrian and Perinthian of Menander.

15. Which from a two-fold plot)—Ver. 6. Vollbehr suggests that the meaning of this line is, that though it is but one Play, it has a two-fold plot—the intrigues of two young men with two mistresses, and the follies of two old men. As this Play is supposed to represent the events of two successive days, the night intervening, it has been suggested that the reading is “duplex—ex argumento—simplici;” the Play is “two-fold, with but one plot,” as extending to two successive days. The Play derives its name from the Greek words, ἑαυτὸν, “himself,” and τιμωρουμενὸς, “tormenting.”

16. To be a Pleader)—Ver. 11. He is to be the pleader and advocate of the Poet, to influence the Audience in his favor, and against his adversaries; and not to explain the plot of the Play. Colman has the following observation: “It is impossible not to regret that there are not above ten lines of the Self-Tormentor preserved among the Fragments of Menander. We are so deeply interested by what we see of that character in Terence, that one can not but be curious to inquire in what manner the Greek Poet sustained it through five Acts. The Roman author, though he has adopted the title of the Greek Play, has so altered the fable, that Menedemus is soon thrown into the background, and Chremes is brought forward as the principal object; or, to vary the allusion a little, the Menedemus of Terence seems to be a drawing in miniature copied from a full length, as large as the life, by Menander.”

17. A malevolent old Poet)—Ver. 22. He alludes to his old enemy, Luscus Lavinius, referred to in the preceding Prologue.

18. The genius of his friends)—Ver. 24. He alludes to a report which had been spread, that his friends Lælius and Scipio had published their own compositions under his name. Servilius is also mentioned by Eugraphius as another of his patrons respecting whom similar stories were circulated.

19. As he ran alone in the street)—Ver. 31. He probably does not intend to censure this practice entirely in Comedy, but to remind the Audience that in some recent Play of Luscus Lavinius this had been the sole stirring incident introduced. Plautus introduces Mercury running in the guise of Sosia, in the fourth Scene of the Amphitryon, l. 987, and exclaiming, “For surely, why, faith, should I, a God, be any less allowed to threaten the public, if it doesn’t get out of my way, than a slave in the Comedies?” This practice can not, however, be intended to be here censured by Plautus, as he is guilty of it in three other instances. In the Mercator, Acanthio runs to his master Charinus, to tell him that his mistress Pasicompsa has been seen in the ship by his father Demipho; in the Stichus, Pinacium, a slave, runs to inform his mistress Philumena that her husband has arrived in port, on his return from Asia; and in the Mostellaria, Tranio, in haste, brings information of the unexpected arrival of Theuropides. The “currens servus” is also mentioned in the Prologue to the Andria, l. 36. See the soliloquy of Stasimus, in the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 1007.

20. A quiet Play)—Ver. 36. “Statariam.” See the spurious Prologue to the Bacchides of Plautus, l. 10, and the Note to the passage in Bohn’s Translation. The Comedy of the Romans was either “stataria”, “motoria”, or “mixta”. “Stataria” was a Comedy which was calm and peaceable, such as the Cistellaria of Plautus; “motoria” was one full of action and disturbance, like his Amphitryon; while the “Comœdia mixta” was a mixture of both, such as the Eunuchus of Terence.

21. What in each character)—Ver. 47. “In utramque partem ingenium quid possit meum.” This line is entirely omitted in Vollbehr’s edition; but it appears to be merely a typographical error.

22. How little work is done here)—Ver. 72. Vollbehr thinks that his meaning is, that he is quite vexed to see so little progress made, in spite of his neighbor’s continual vexation and turmoil, and that, as he says in the next line, he is of opinion that if he were to cease working himself, and were to overlook his servants, he would get far more done. It is more generally thought to be an objection which Chremes suggests that Menedemus may possibly make.

23. I am a man)—Ver. 77. “Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto.” St. Augustine says, that at the delivery of this sentiment, the Theatre resounded with applause; and deservedly, indeed, for it is replete with the very essence of benevolence and disregard of self. Cicero quotes the passage in his work De Officiis, B. i., c. 9. The remarks of Sir Richard Steele upon this passage, in the Spectator, No. 502, are worthy to be transcribed at length. “The Play was the Self-Tormentor. It is from the beginning to the end a perfect picture of human life, but I did not observe in the whole one passage that could raise a laugh. How well-disposed must that people be, who could be entertained with satisfaction by so sober and polite mirth! In the first Scene of the Comedy, when one of the old men accuses the other of impertinence for interposing in his affairs, he answers, ‘I am a man, and can not help feeling any sorrow that can arrive at man.’ It is said this sentence was received with an universal applause. There can not be a greater argument of the general good understanding of a people, than their sudden consent to give their approbation of a sentiment which has no emotion in it. If it were spoken with ever so great skill in the actor, the manner of uttering that sentence could have nothing in it which could strike any but people of the greatest humanity—nay, people elegant and skillful in observation upon it. It is possible that he may have laid his hand on his heart, and with a winning insinuation in his countenance, expressed to his neighbor that he was a man who made his case his own; yet I will engage, a player in Covent Garden might hit such an attitude a thousand times before he would have been regarded.”

24. Take off my shoes)—Ver. 124. As to the “socci,” or low shoes of the ancients, see the Notes to the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 720, in Bohn’s Translation. It was the especial duty of certain slaves to take off the shoes of their masters.

25. To spread the couches)—Ver. 125. The “lecti” or “couches” upon which the ancients reclined at meals, have been enlarged upon in the Notes to Plautus, where full reference is also made to the “coena” or “dinner,” and other meals of the Romans.

26. Provide me with dress)—Ver. 130. It was the custom for the mistress and female servants in each family to make the clothes of the master. Thus in the Fasti of Ovid, B. ii., l. 746, Lucretia is found amidst her female servants, making a cloak, or “lacerna,” for her husband. Suetonius says that Augustus refused to wear any garments not woven by his female relations. Cooke seems to think that “vestiant” alludes to the very act of putting the clothes upon a person. He says, “The better sort of people had eating-dresses, which are here alluded to. These dresses were light garments, to put on as soon as they had bathed. They commonly bathed before eating, and the chief meal was in the evening.” This, however, does not seem to be the meaning of the passage, although Colman has adopted it. We may here remark that the censure here described is not unlike that mentioned in the Prologue to the Mercator of Plautus, as administered by Demænetus to his son Charinus.

27. Neither movables)—Ver. 141. “Vas” is here used as a general name for articles of furniture. This line appears to be copied almost literally from one of Menander, which still exists.

28. To sell my house)—Ver. 145. On the mode of advertising houses to let or be sold among the Romans, see the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 168, and the Note to the passage in Bohn’s Translation.

29. Toward your children)—Ver. 151. The plural “liberos” is here used to signify the one son which Menedemus has. So in the Hecyra, l. 217, the same word is used to signify but one daughter. This was a common mode of expression in the times of the earlier Latin authors.

30. Festival of Bacchus, “Dionysia”)—Ver. 162. It is generally supposed that there were four Festivals called the Dionysia, during the year, at Athens. The first was the Rural, or Lesser Dionysia, κατ᾽ ἀγροὺς, a vintage festival, which was celebrated in the “Demi” or boroughs of Attica, in honor of Bacchus, in the month Poseidon. This was the most ancient of the Festivals, and was held with the greatest merriment and freedom; the slaves then enjoyed the same amount of liberty as they did at the Saturnalia at Rome. The second Festival, which was called the Lensea, from ληνὸς, a wine-press, was celebrated in the month Gamelion, with Scenic contests in Tragedy and Comedy. The third Dionysian Festival was the Anthesteria, or “Spring feast,” being celebrated during three days in the month Anthesterion. The first day was called πιθοίγια, or “the Opening of the casks,” as on that day the casks were opened to taste the wine of the preceding year. The second day was called χοες, from χοῦς, “a cup,” and was probably devoted to drinking. The third day was called χυτροὶ, from χυτρὸς, “a pot,” as on it persons offered pots with flower-seeds or cooked vegetables to Dionysus or Bacchus. The fourth Attic festival of Dionysius was celebrated in the month Elaphebolion, and was called the Dionysia ἐν ἄστει, Αστικὰ, or Μεγαλὰ, the “City” or “great” festival. It was celebrated with great magnificence, processions and dramatic representations forming part of the ceremonial. From Greece, by way of Sicily, the Bacchanalia, or festivals of Bacchus, were introduced into Rome, where they became the scenes of and pretext for every kind of vice and debauchery, until at length they were put down in the year B.C. 187, with a strong hand, by the Consuls Spurius Posthumius Albinus and Q. Marcius Philippus; from which period the words “bacchor” and “bacchator” became synonymous with the practice of every kind of vice and turpitude that could outrage common decency. See a very full account of the Dionysia and the Bacchanalia in Dr. Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities.

31. Is of service to him)—Ver. 199. He means that it is to the advantage of Clitipho that Clinia should be seen to stand in awe of his father.

32. Reasonable men)—Ver. 205. “Homo,” “a man,” is here put for men in general who are fathers.

33. Of knowing and of pardoning)—Ver. 218. There is a jingle intended here in the resemblance of the words “cognoscendi,” “knowing,” and “ignoscendi,” “pardoning.”

34. Is—fair words)—Ver. 228. “Recte est.” It is supposed that he pauses before uttering these words, which mean “very well,” or “very good,” implying the giving an assent without making a promise; he tells the reason, in saying that he has scruples or prejudices against confessing that he has got nothing to give her.

35. Great way from here)—Ver. 239. That is, from the place where they are, in the country, to Athens.

36. Troop of female attendants)—Ver. 245. The train and expenses of a courtesan of high station are admirably depicted in the speech of Lysiteles, in the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 252.

37. In a mourning dress)—Ver. 286. Among the Greeks, in general, mourning for the dead seems to have lasted till the thirtieth day after the funeral, and during that period black dresses were worn. The Romans also wore mourning for the dead, which seems, in the time of the Republic, to have been black or dark blue for either sex. Under the Empire the men continued to wear black, but the women wore white. No jewels or ornaments were worn upon these occasions.

38. With no worthless woman’s trumpery)—Ver. 289. By “nullâ malâ re muliebri” he clearly means that they did not find her painted up with the cosmetics which some women were in the habit of using. Such preparations for the face as white-lead, wax, antimony, or vermilion, well deserve the name of “mala res.” A host of these cosmetics will be found described in Ovid’s Fragment “On the Care of the Complexion,” and much information upon this subject is given in various passages in the Art of Love. In the Remedy of Love, l. 351, Ovid speaks of these practices in the following terms: “At the moment, too, when she shall be smearing her face with the cosmetics laid up on it, you may come into the presence of your mistress, and don’t let shame prevent you. You will find there boxes, and a thousand colors of objects; and you will see ‘oesypum,’ the ointment of the fleece, trickling down and flowing upon her heated bosom. These drugs, Phineus, smell like thy tables; not once alone has sickness been caused by this to my stomach.” Lucretius also, in his Fourth Book, l. 1168, speaks of a female who “covers herself with noxious odors, and whom her female attendants fly from to a distance, and chuckle by stealth.” See also the Mostellaria of Plautus, Act I., Scene 3, l. 135, where Philematium is introduced making her toilet on the stage.

39. Do hold your peace)—Ver. 291. “Pax,” literally “peace!” in the sense of “Hush!” “Be quiet!” See the Notes to the Trinummus of Plautus, ll. 889-891, in Bohn’s Translation.

40. The woof)—Ver. 293. See an interesting passage on the ancient weaving, in the Metamorphoses of Ovid, B. vi., l. 54, et seq. See also the Epistle of Penelope to Ulysses, in the Heroides of Ovid, l. 10, and the Note in Bohn’s English Translation.

41. She was weaving)—Ver. 294. This line and part of the next are supposed to have been translated almost literally from some lines, the composition of Menander, which are still extant.

42. Your Bacchis, whom we are bringing)—Ver. 310. Colman has the following remark: “Here we enter upon the other part of the table, which the Poet has most artfully complicated with the main subject by making Syrus bring Clitipho’s mistress along with Antiphila. This part of the story, we know, was not in Menander.”

43. Incur this risk)—Ver. 337. As to his own mistress.

44. Upon either ear)—Ver. 342. “In aurem utramvis,” a proverbial expression, implying an easy and secure repose. It is also used by Plautus, and is found in a fragment of the Πλοκιὸν, or Necklace, a Comedy of Menander.

45. Still do that which I said)—Ver. 346. “Perge porro, tamen istue ago.” Stallbaum observes that the meaning is: “Although I’m going off, I’m still attending to what you’re saying.” According to Schmieder and others, it means: “Call on just as you please, I shall persist in sending Bacchis away.”

46. Such great people)—Ver. 363. “Quos,” literally, “What persons!”

47. Words of double meaning)—Ver. 372. “Inversa verba, eversas cervices tuas.” “Inversa verba” clearly means, words with a double meaning, or substituted for others by previous arrangement, like correspondence by cipher. Lucretius uses the words in this sense, B. i., l. 643. A full account of the secret signs and correspondence in use among the ancients will be found in the 16th and 17th Epistles of the Heroides of Ovid, in his Amours, B. i., El. 4, and in various passages of the Art of Love. See also the Asinaria of Plautus, l. 780. It is not known for certain what “eversa cervix” here means; it may mean the turning of the neck in some particular manner by way of a hint or to give a sidelong look, or it may allude to the act of snatching a kiss on the sly, which might lead to a discovery.

48. A man whose manners—those persons)—Ver. 393. “Cujus—hi;” a change of number by the use of the figure Enallage.

49. I can scarce endure it)—Ver. 400. Colman has the following remark on this passage: “Madame Dacier, contrary to the authority of all editions and MSS., adopts a conceit of her father’s in this place, and places this speech to Clitipho, whom she supposes to have retired to a hiding-place, where he might overhear the conversation, and from whence he peeps out to make this speech to Syrus. This she calls an agreeable jeu de théâtre, and doubts not but all lovers of Terence will be obliged to her father for so ingenious a remark; but it is to be feared that critical sagacity will not be so lavish of acknowledgments as filial piety. There does not appear the least foundation for this remark in the Scene, nor has the Poet given us the least room to doubt of Clitipho being actually departed. To me, instead of an agreeable jeu de théâtre, it appears a most absurd and ridiculous device; particularly vicious in this place, as it most injudiciously tends to interrupt the course of Clinia’s more interesting passion, so admirably delineated in this little Scene.”

50. It is now daybreak)—Ver. 410. Though this is the only Play which includes more than one day in the action, it is not the only one in which the day is represented as breaking. The Amphitryon and the Curculio of Plautus commence before daybreak, and the action is carried on into the middle of the day. Madame Dacier absolutely considers it as a fact beyond all doubt, that the Roman Audience went home after the first two Acts of the Play, and returned for the representation of the third the next morning at daybreak. Scaliger was of the same opinion; but it is not generally entertained by Commentators.

51. How I was affected)—Ver. 436. “Ut essem,” literally, “How I was.”

52. If a satrap)—Ver. 452. “Satrapa” was a Persian word signifying “a ruler of a province.” The name was considered as synonymous with “possessor of wealth almost inexhaustible.”

53. In tasting only)—Ver. 457. “Pytiso” was the name given to the nasty practice of tasting wine, and then spitting it out; offensive in a man, but infinitely more so in a woman. It seems in those times to have been done by persons who wished to give themselves airs in the houses of private persons; at the present day it is probably confined to wine-vaults and sale-rooms where wine is put up to auction, and even there it is practiced much more than is either necessary or agreeable. Doubtless Bacchis did it to show her exquisite taste in the matter of wines.

54. Is too acid)—Ver. 458. “Asperum;” meaning that the wine was not old enough for her palate. The great fault of the Greek wines was their tartness, for which reason sea-water was mixed with them all except the Chian, which was the highest class of wine.

55. Respected sir)—Ver. 459. “Pater,” literally “father;” a title by which the young generally addressed aged persons who were strangers to them.

56. All the casks, all the vessels)—Ver. 460. “Dolia omnia, omnes serias.” The finer kinds of wine were drawn off from the “dolia,” or large vessels, into the “amphoræ,” which, like the “dolia,” were made of earth, and sometimes of glass. The mouths of the vessels were stopped tight by a plug of wood or cork, which was made impervious to the atmosphere by being rubbed over with a composition of pitch, clay, wax, or gypsum. On the outside, the title of the wine was painted, and among the Romans the date of the vintage was denoted by the names of the Consuls then in office. When the vessels were of glass, small tickets or labels, called “pittacia,” were suspended from them, stating to a similar effect. The “seriæ” were much the same as the “dolia,” perhaps somewhat smaller; they were both long, bell-mouthed vessels of earthen-ware, formed of the best clay, and lined with pitch while hot from the furnace. “Seriæ” were also used to contain oil and other liquids; and in the Captivi of Plautus the word is applied to pans used for the purpose of salting meat. “Relino” signifies the act of taking the seal of pitch or wax off the stopper of the wine-vessel.

57. With that servant of yours)—Ver. 473. Dromo.

58. What an inlet)—Ver. 482. “Fenestram;” literally, “a window.”

59. This night with my eyes)—Ver. 491. Colman has the following Note here: “Hedelin obstinately contends from this passage, that neither Chremes nor any of his family went to bed the whole night; the contrary of which is evident, as Menage observes, from the two next Scenes. For why should Syrus take notice of his being up so early, if he had never retired to rest? Or would Chremes have reproached Clitipho for his behavior the night before, had the feast never been interrupted? Eugraphius’s interpretation of these words is natural and obvious, who explains them to signify that the anxiety of Chremes to restore Clinia to Menedemus broke his rest.”

60. That they may not perceive)—Ver. 511. Madame Dacier observes that Chremes seizes this as a very plausible and necessary pretense to engage Menedemus to return home, and not to his labors in the field, as he had at first intended.

61. Old age of an eagle)—Ver. 521. This was a proverbial expression, signifying a hale and vigorous old age. It has been suggested, too, that it alludes to the practice of some old men, who drink more than they eat. It was vulgarly said that eagles never die of old age, and that when, by reason of their beaks growing inward, they are unable to feed upon their prey, they live by sucking the blood.

62. Not like those of former days)—Ver. 524. Syrus, by showing himself an admirer of the good old times, a “laudator temporis acti,” is wishful to flatter the vanity of Chremes, as it is a feeling common to old age, perhaps by no means an unamiable one, to think former times better than the present. Aged people feel grateful to those happy hours when their hopes were bright, and every thing was viewed from the sunny side of life.

63. Can no longer support her expenses)—Ver. 544. He refers to Menedemus and Bacchis.

64. But in case, none the more)—Ver. 555. “Sed si quid, ne quid.” An instance of Aposiopesis, signifying “But if any thing does happen, don’t you blame me.”

65. And truly, Chremes)—Ver. 557. Some suppose that this is said in apparent candor by Syrus, in order the more readily to throw Chremes off his guard. Other Commentators, again, fancy these words to be said by Syrus in a low voice, aside, which seems not improbable; it being a just retribution on Chremes for his recommendation, however well intended: in that case, Chremes probably overhears it, if we may judge from his answer.

66. ’Tis the truth)—Ver. 568. “Factum.” “Done for” is anothor translation which this word will here admit of.

67. That he does the same)—Ver. 577. Clinia.

68. Of a prudent and discreet person)—Ver. 580. This is said ironically.

69. Is there but one way)—Ver. 583. And that an immodest one.

70. With your wife)—Ver. 604. Madame Dacier remarks, that as Antiphila is shortly to be acknowledged as the daughter of Chremes, she is not therefore in company with the other women at the feast, who are Courtesans, but with the wife of Chremes, and consequently free from reproach or scandal.

71. Would she really be a security)—Ver. 606. The question of Chremes seems directed to the fact whether the girl is of value sufficient to be good security for the thousand drachmæ.

72. You shall soon know)—Ver. 612. Madame Dacier suggests that Chremes is prevented by his wife’s coming from making a proposal to advance the money himself, on the supposition that it will be a lucrative speculation. This notion is contradicted by Colman, who adds the following note from Eugraphius: “Syrus pretends to have concerted this plot against Menedemus, in order to trick him out of some money to be given to Clinia’s supposed mistress. Chremes, however, does not approve of this: yet it serves to carry on the plot; for when Antiphila proves afterward to be the daughter of Chremes, he necessarily becomes the debtor of Bacchis, and is obliged to lay down the sum for which he imagines his daughter is pledged.”

73. Has gained a loss)—Ver. 628. He alludes to Clitipho, who, by the discovery of his sister, would not come in for such a large share of his father’s property, and would consequently, as Syrus observes, gain a loss.

74. That she might not be without)—Ver. 652. Madame Dacier observes upon this passage, that the ancients thought themselves guilty of a heinous offense if they suffered their children to die without having bestowed on them some of their property; it was consequently the custom of the women, before exposing children, to attach to them some jewel or trinket among their clothes, hoping thereby to avoid incurring the guilt above mentioned, and to ease their consciences.

75. Saving of yourself and her)—Ver. 653. Madame Dacier says that the meaning of this passage is this: Chremes tells his wife that by having given this ring, she has done two good acts instead of one—she has both cleared her conscience and saved the child; for had there been no ring or token exposed with the infant, the finder would not have been at the trouble of taking care of it, but might have left it to perish, never suspecting it would be inquired after, or himself liberally rewarded for having preserved it.

76. I see more hopes)—Ver. 659. Syrus is now alarmed that Antiphila should so soon be acknowledged as the daughter of Chremes, lest he may lose the opportunity of obtaining the money, and be punished as well, in case the imposition is detected, and Bacchis discovered to be the mistress of Clitipho and not of Clinia.

77. A man can not be)—Ver. 666. This he says by way of palliating the cruelty he was guilty of in his orders to have the child put to death.

78. Unless my fancy deceives me)—Ver. 668. “Nisi me animus fallit.” He comically repeats the very same words with which Sostrata commenced in the last Scene.

79. Retribution)—Ver. 668. “Infortunium!” was the name by which the slaves commonly denoted a beating. Colman has the following remark here: “Madame Dacier, and most of the later critics who have implicitly followed her, tell us that in the interval between the third and fourth Acts, Syrus has been present at the interview between Chremes and Antiphila within. The only difficulty in this doctrine is how to reconcile it to the apparent ignorance of Syrus, which he discovers at the entrance of Clinia. But this objection, says she, is easily answered. Syrus having partly heard Antiphila’s story, and finding things likely to take an unfavorable turn, retires to consider what is best to be done. But surely this is a most unnatural impatience at so critical a conjuncture; and, after all, would it not be better to take up the matter just where Terence has left it, and to suppose that Syrus knew nothing more of the affair than what might be collected from the late conversation between Chremes and Sostrata, at which we know he was present? This at once accounts for his apprehensions, which he betrayed even during that Scene, as well as for his imperfect knowledge of the real state of the case, till apprised of the whole by Clinia.”

80. With my sides covered)—Ver. 673. He most probably alludes to the custom of tying up the slaves by their hands, after stripping them naked, when of course their “latera” or “sides” would be exposed, and come in for a share of the lashes.

81. Runaway money)—Ver. 678. “Fugitivum argentum.” Madame Dacier suggests that this is a bad translation of the words of Menander, which were “ἀποστρέψειν τὸν δραπέταν χρυσὸν” where “χρυσὸς” signified both “gold” and the name of a slave.

82. If the sky were to fall)—Ver. 719. He means those who create unnecessary difficulties in their imagination. Colman quotes the following remark from Patrick: “There is a remarkable passage in Arrian’s Account of Alexander, lib. iv., where he tells us that some embassadors from the Celtic, being asked by Alexander what in the world they dreaded most, answered, ‘That they feared lest the sky should fall [upon them].’ Alexander, who expected to hear himself named, was surprised at an answer which signified that they thought themselves beyond the reach of all human power, plainly implying that nothing could hurt them, unless he would suppose impossibilities, or a total destruction of nature.” Aristotle, in his Physics, B. iv., informs us that it was the early notion of ignorant nations that the sky was supported on the shoulders of Atlas, and that when he let go of it, it would fall.

83. To a very fine purpose)—Ver. 723. “Satis pol proterve,” &c. C. Lælius was said to have assisted Terence in the composition of his Plays, and in confirmation of this, the following story is told by Cornelius Nepos: “C. Lælius, happening to pass the Matronalia [a Festival on the first of March, when the husband, for once in the year, was bound to obey the wife] at his villa near Puteoli, was told that dinner was waiting, but still neglected the summons. At last, when he made his appearance, he excused himself by saying that he had been in a particular vein of composition, and quoted certain lines which occur in the Heautontimorumenos, namely, those beginning ‘Satis pol proterve me Syri promissa huc induxerunt.’”

84. They’re asleep)—Ver. 730. “Dormiunt.” This is clearly used figuratively, though Hedelin interprets it literally.

85. Farm here on the right-hand side)—Ver. 732. Cooke suggests that the Poet makes Bacchis call the house of Charinus “villa,” and that of Chremes “fundus” (which signifies “a farm-house,” or “farm”), for the purpose of exalting the one and depreciating the other in the hearing of Syrus.

86. The feast of Bacchus)—Ver. 733. This passage goes far to prove that the Dionysia here mentioned as being celebrated, were those κατ᾽ ἀγρους, or the “rural Dionysia.”

87. Let’s be going)—Ver. 742. Colman here remarks to the following effect: “There is some difficulty in this and the next speech in the original, and the Commentators have been puzzled to make sense of them. It seems to me that the Poet’s intention is no more than this: Bacchis expresses some reluctance to act under the direction of Syrus, but is at length prevailed on, finding that he can by those means contrive to pay her the money which he has promised her.”

88. Rigorous law)—Ver. 796. Cicero mentions the same proverb in his work De Officiis, B. i., ch. 10, substituting the word “injuria” for “malitia.” “‘Extreme law, extreme injustice,’ is now become a stale proverb in discourse.” The same sentiment is found in the Fragments of Menander.

89. Are sanctioned by custom)—Ver. 839. He inveighs, perhaps justly, against the tyranny of custom; but in selecting this occasion for doing so, he does not manifest any great affection for his newly-found daughter.

90. Assistant, prompter, and director)—Ver. 875. The three terms here used are borrowed from the stage. “Adjutor” was the person who assisted the performers either by voice or gesture; “monitor” was the prompter; and “præmonstrator” was the person who in the rehearsal trained the actor in his part.

91. Dolt, post, ass)—Ver. 877. There is a similar passage in the Bacchides of Plautus, l. 1087. “Whoever there are in any place whatsoever, whoever have been, and whoever shall be in time to come, fools, blockheads, idiots, dolts, sots, oafs, lubbers, I singly by far exceed them all in folly and absurd ways.”

92. Mould the countenances of people)—Ver. 887. He means that Syrus not only lays his plots well, but teaches the performers to put on countenances suitable to the several parts they are to act.

93. Has moulded your son)—Ver. 898. “Mire finxit.” He sarcastically uses the same word, “fingo,” which Chremes himself employed in l. 887.

94. Substance to suffice for ten days)—Ver. 909. “Familia” here means “property,” as producing sustenance. Colman, however, has translated the passage: “Mine is scarce a ten-days’ family.”

95. His she-friend rather)—Ver. 911. Menedemus speaks of “amico,” a male friend, which Chremes plays upon by saying “amicae,” which literally meant a she-friend, and was the usual name by which decent people called a mistress.

96. And forsake you)—Ver. 924. Madame Dacier observes here, that one of the great beauties of this Scene consists in Chremes retorting on Menedemus the very advice given by himself at the beginning of the Play.

97. Which he has done to me)—Ver. 954. Colman has the following Note: “The departure of Menedemus here is very abrupt, seeming to be in the midst of a conversation; and his re-entrance with Clitipho, already supposed to be apprised of what has passed between the two old gentlemen, is equally precipitate. Menage imagines that some verses are lost here. Madame Dacier strains hard to defend the Poet, and fills up the void of time by her old expedient of making the Audience wait to see Chremes walk impatiently to and fro, till a sufficient time is elapsed for Menedemus to have given Clitipho a summary account of the cause of his father’s anger. The truth is, that a too strict observance of the unity of place will necessarily produce such absurdities; and there are several other instances of the like nature in Terence.”

98. Intrusted every thing)—Ver. 966. This is an early instance of a trusteeship and a guardianship.

99. It’s all over)—Ver. 974. “Ilicet,” literally, “you may go away.” This was the formal word with which funeral ceremonies and trials at law were concluded.

100. Look out for an altar)—Ver. 975. He alludes to the practice of slaves taking refuge at altars when they had committed any fault, and then suing for pardon through a “precator” or “mediator.” See the Mostellaria of Plautus, l. 1074, where Tranio takes refuge at the altar from the vengeance of his master, Theuropides.

101. Amounts to the same thing)—Ver. 1010. “Quam quidem redit ad integrum eadem oratio;” meaning, “it amounts to one and the same thing,” or, “it is all the same thing,” whether you do or whether you don’t know.

102. Because my daughter has been found)—Ver. 1018. This sentence has given much trouble to the Commentators. Colman has the following just remarks upon it: “Madame Dacier, as well as all the rest of the Commentators, has stuck at these words. Most of them imagine she means to say, that the discovery of Antiphila is a plain proof that she is not barren. Madame Dacier supposes that she intimates such a proof to be easy, because Clitipho and Antiphila were extremely alike; which sense she thinks immediately confirmed by the answer of Chremes. I can not agree with any of them, and think that the whole difficulty of the passage here, as in many other places, is entirely of their own making. Sostrata could not refer to the reply of Chremes, because she could not possibly tell what it would be; but her own speech is intended as an answer to his preceding one, which she takes as a sneer on her late wonderful discovery of a daughter; imagining that he means to insinuate that she could at any time with equal ease make out the proofs of the birth of her son. The elliptical mode of expression so usual with Terence, together with the refinements of Commentators, seem to have created all the obscurity.”

103. By your profligacy)—Ver. 1036. It is probably this ebullition of Comic anger which is referred to by Horace, in his Art of Poetry:

“Interdum tamen et vocem Comœdia tollit,

Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore:”

“Yet sometimes Comedy as well raises her voice, and enraged Chremes censures in swelling phrase.”

104. I don’t know as to the Gods)—Ver. 1037. “Deos nescio.” The Critic Lambinis, in his letter to Charles the Ninth of France, accuses Terence of impiety in this passage. Madame Dacier has, however, well observed, that the meaning is not “I care not for the Gods,” but “I know not what the Gods will do.”

105. And close with the offer)—Ver. 1048. “Firmas.” This ratification or affirmation would be made by Menedemus using the formal word “Accipio,” “I accept.”

106. Freckled face)—Ver. 1060. Many take “sparso ore” here to mean “wide-mouthed.” Lemonnier thinks that must be the meaning, as he has analyzed the other features of her countenance. There is, however, no reason why he should not speak of her complexion; and it seems, not improbably, to have the same meaning as the phrase “os lentiginosum,” “a freckled face.”

ADELPHI;
THE BROTHERS,

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Demea,1 Brother, aged Athenian.

Micio,2 Brother, aged Athenian.

Hegio,3 an aged Athenian, kinsman of Sostrata.

Æschinus,4 son of Demea, adopted by Micio.

Ctesipho,5 another son of Demea.

Sannio,6 a Procurer.

Geta,7 servant of Sostrata.

Parmeno,8 servant of Micio.

Syrus,9 servant of Micio.

Dromo,10 servant of Micio.

Pamphila,11 a young woman beloved by Æschinus.

Sostrata,12 a widow, mother of Pamphila.

Canthara,13 a Nurse.

A Music-girl.

Scene.—Athens; before the houses of Micio and Sostrata.

THE SUBJECT.

Micio and Demea are two brothers of dissimilar tempers. Demea is married, and lives a country life, while his brother remains single, and resides in Athens. Demea has two sons, the elder of whom, Æschinus, has been adopted by Micio. Being allowed by his indulgent uncle to gratify his inclinations without restraint, Æschinus has debauched Pamphila, the daughter of a widow named Sostrata. Having, however, promised to marry the young woman, he has been pardoned for the offense, and it has been kept strictly secret. Ctesipho, who lives in the country with his father under great restraint, on visiting the city, falls in love with a certain Music-girl, who belongs to the Procurer Sannio. To screen his brother, Æschinus takes the responsibility of the affair on himself, and succeeds in carrying off the girl for him. Demea, upon hearing of this, censures Micio for his ill-timed indulgence, the bad effects of which are thus exemplified in Æschinus; and at the same time lauds the steady conduct and frugality of Ctesipho, who has been brought up under his own supervision. Shortly after this, Sostrata hears the story about the Music-girl, at the very time that her daughter Pamphila is in labor. She naturally supposes that Æschinus has deserted her daughter for another, and hastens to acquaint Hegio, her kinsman, with the fact. Meantime Demea learns that Ctesipho has taken part in carrying off the Music-girl, whereon Syrus invents a story, and screens Ctesipho for the moment. Demea is next informed by Hegio of the conduct of Æschinus toward Pamphila. Wishing to find his brother, he is purposely sent on a fruitless errand by Syrus, on which he wanders all over the city to no purpose. Micio having now been informed by Hegio, and knowing that the intentions of Æschinus toward Pamphila are not changed, accompanies him to the house of Sostrata, whom he consoles by his promise that Æschinus shall marry her daughter. Demea then returns from his search, and, rushing into Micio’s house, finds his son Ctesipho there carousing; on which he exclaims vehemently against Micio, who uses his best endeavors to soothe him, and finally with success. He now determines to become kind and considerate for the future. At his request, Pamphila is brought to Micio’s house; and the nuptials are celebrated. Micio, at the earnest request of Demea and Æschinus, marries Sostrata; Hegio has a competency allowed him; and Syrus and his wife Phrygia are made free. The Play concludes with a serious warning from Demea, who advises his relatives not to squander their means in riotous living; but, on the contrary, to bear admonition and to submit to restraint in a spirit of moderation and thankfulness.

THE TITLE OF THE PLAY.

Performed at the Funeral Games of Æmilius Paulus,14 which were celebrated by Q. Fabius Maximus and P. Cornelius Africanus. L. Atilius Prænestinus and Minutius Prothimus performed it. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius, composed the music for Sarranian flutes.15 Taken from the Greek of Menander, L. Anicius and M. Cornelius being Consuls.16

ADELPHI;
THE BROTHERS,

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

As Demea has two sons, young men, he gives Æschinus to his brother Micio to be adopted by him; but he retains Ctesipho: him, captivated with the charms of a Music-girl, and under a harsh and strict father, his brother Æschinus screens; the scandal of the affair and the amour he takes upon himself; at last, he carries the Music-girl away from the Procurer. This same Æschinus has previously debauched a poor woman, a citizen of Athens, and has given his word that she shall be his wife. Demea upbraids him, and is greatly vexed; afterward, however, when the truth is discovered, Æschinus marries the girl who has been debauched; and, his harsh father Demea now softened, Ctesipho retains the Music-girl.

THE PROLOGUE.

Since the Poet has found that his writings are carped at by unfair critics, and that his adversaries represent in a bad light the Play that we are about to perform, he shall give information about himself; you shall be the judges whether this ought to be esteemed to his praise or to his discredit. The Synapothnescontes17 is a Comedy of Diphilus;18 Plautus made it into a Play called the “Commorientes.” In the Greek, there is a young man, who, at the early part of the Play, carries off a Courtesan from a Procurer; that part Plautus has entirely left out. This portion he has adopted in the Adelphi, and has transferred it, translated word for word. This new Play we are about to perform; determine then whether you think a theft has been committed, or a passage has been restored to notice which has been passed over in neglect. For as to what these malevolent persons say, that men of noble rank assist him, and are always writing in conjunction with him—that which they deem to be a heavy crimination, he takes to be the highest praise; since he pleases those who please you all and the public; the aid of whom in war, in peace, in private business,19 each one has availed himself of, on his own occasion, without any haughtiness on their part. Now then, do not expect the plot of the Play; the old men20 who come first will disclose it in part; a part in the representation they will make known. Do you cause your impartial attention to increase the industry of the Poet in writing.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Micio, calling to a servant within.

Mic. Storax! Æschinus has not returned home from the entertainment last night, nor any of the servants who went to fetch him.21 (To himself.) Really, they say it with reason, if you are absent any where, or if you stay abroad at any time, ’twere better for that to happen which your wife says against you, and which in her passion she imagines in her mind, than the things which fond parents fancy. A wife, if you stay long abroad, either imagines that you are in love or are beloved, or that you are drinking and indulging your inclination, and that you only are taking your pleasure, while she herself is miserable. As for myself, in consequence of my son not having returned home, what do I imagine? In what ways am I not disturbed? For fear lest he may either have taken cold,22 or have fallen down somewhere, or have broken some limb. Oh dear! that any man should take it into his head, or find out what is dearer to him than he is to himself! And yet he is not my son, but my brother’s. He is quite different in disposition. I, from my very youth upward, have lived a comfortable town life, and taken my ease; and, what they esteem a piece of luck, I have never had a wife. He, on the contrary to all this, has spent his life in the country, and has always lived laboriously and penuriously. He married a wife, and has two sons. This one, the elder of them, I have adopted. I have brought him up from an infant, and considered and loved him as my own. In him I centre my delight; this object alone is dear to me. On the other hand, I take all due care that he may hold me equally dear. I give—I overlook; I do not judge it necessary to exert my authority in every thing; in fine, the things that youth prompts to, and that others do unknown to their fathers, I have used my son not to conceal from me. For he, who, as the practice is, will dare to tell a lie to or to deceive his father, will still more dare to do so to others. I think it better to restrain children through a sense of shame and liberal treatment, than through fear. On these points my brother does not agree with me, nor do they please him. He often comes to me exclaiming, “What are you about, Micio? Why do you ruin for us this youth? Why does he intrigue? Why does he drink? Why do you supply him with the means for these goings on? You indulge him with too much dress; you are very inconsiderate.” He himself is too strict, beyond what is just and reasonable; and he is very much mistaken, in my opinion, at all events, who thinks that an authority is more firm or more lasting which is established by force, than that which is founded on affection. Such is my mode of reasoning;

and thus do I persuade myself. He, who, compelled by harsh treatment, does his duty, so long as he thinks it will be known, is on his guard: if he hopes that it will be concealed, he again returns to his natural bent. He whom you have secured by kindness, acts from inclination; he is anxious to return like for like; present and absent, he will be the same. This is the duty of a parent, to accustom a son to do what is right rather of his own choice, than through fear of another. In this the father differs from the master: he who can not do this, let him confess that he does not know how to govern children. But is not this the very man of whom I was speaking? Surely it is he. I don’t know why it is I see him out of spirits; I suppose he’ll now be scolding as usual. Demea, I am glad to see you well.23

Scene II.

Enter Demea.

Dem. Oh,—opportunely met; you are the very man I was looking for.24

Mic. Why are you out of spirits?

Dem. Do you ask me, when we have such a son as Æschinus,25 why I’m out of spirits?

Mic. (aside.) Did I not say it would be so? (To Demea.) What has he been doing?

Dem. What has he been doing? He, who is ashamed of nothing, and fears no one, nor thinks that any law can control him. But I pass by what has been previously done: what a thing he has just perpetrated!

Mic. Why, what is it?

Dem. He has broken open a door,26 and forced his way into another person’s house, beaten to death the master himself, and all the household, and carried off a wench whom he had a fancy for. All people are exclaiming that it was a most disgraceful proceeding. How many, Micio, told me of this as I was coming here? It is in every body’s mouth. In fine, if an example must be cited, does he not see his brother giving his attention to business, and living frugally and soberly in the country? No action of his is like this. When I say this to him, Micio, I say it to you. You allow him to be corrupted.

Mic. Never is there any thing more unreasonable than a man who wants experience, who thinks nothing right except what he himself has done.

Dem. What is the meaning of that?

Mic. Because, Demea, you misjudge these matters. It is no heinous crime, believe me, for a young man to intrigue or to drink; it is not; nor yet for him to break open a door. If neither I nor you did so, it was poverty that did not allow us to do so. Do you now claim that as a merit to yourself, which you then did from necessity? That is unfair; for if we had had the means to do so, we should have done the same. And, if you were a man, you would now suffer that other son of yours to act thus now, while his age will excuse it, rather than, when he has got you, after long wishing it, out of the way, he should still do so, at a future day, and at an age more unsuited.

Dem. O Jupiter! You, sir, are driving me to distraction. Is it not a heinous thing for a young man to do these things?

Mic. Oh! do listen to me, and do not everlastingly din me upon this subject. You gave me your son to adopt; he became mine; if he offends in any thing, Demea, he offends against me: in that case I shall bear the greater part of the inconvenience. Does he feast,27 does he drink, does he smell of perfumes,28—it is at my cost. Does he intrigue, money shall be found by me, so long as it suits me; when it shall be no longer convenient, probably he’ll be shut out of doors.29 Has he broken open a door—it shall be replaced; has he torn any one’s clothes—they shall be mended. Thanks to the Gods, I both have means for doing this, and these things are not as yet an annoyance. In fine, either desist, or else find some arbitrator between us: I will show that in this matter you are the most to blame.

Dem. Ah me! Learn to be a father from those who are really so.

Mic. You are his father by nature, I by my anxiety.

Dem. You, feel any anxiety?

Mic. Oh dear,—if you persist, I’ll leave you.

Dem. Is it thus you act?

Mic. Am I so often to hear about the same thing?

Dem. I have some concern for my son.

Mic. I have some concern for him too; but, Demea, let us each be concerned for his own share—you for the one, and I for the other. For, to concern yourself about both is almost the same thing as to demand him back again, whom you intrusted to me.

Dem. Alas, Micio!

Mic. So it seems to me.

Dem. What am I to say to this? If it pleases you, henceforth—let him spend, squander, and destroy; it’s nothing to me. If I say one word after this——

Mic. Again angry, Demea?

Dem. Won’t you believe me? Do I demand him back whom I have intrusted? I am concerned for him; I am not a stranger in blood; if I do interpose—well, well, I have done. You desire me to concern myself for one of them,—I do concern myself; and I give thanks to the Gods, he is just as I would have him; that fellow of yours will find it out at a future day: I don’t wish to say any thing more harsh against him.

Exit.

Scene III.

Micio alone.

Mic. These things are30 not nothing at all, nor yet all just as he says; still they do give me some uneasiness; but I was unwilling to show him that I took them amiss, for he is such a man; when I would pacify him, I steadily oppose and resist him; and in spite of it he hardly puts up with it like other men; but if I were to inflame, or even to humor his anger, I should certainly be as mad as himself. And yet Æschinus has done me some injustice in this affair. What courtesan has he not intrigued with? Or to which of them has he not made some present? At last, he recently told me that he wished to take a wife,31 I suppose he was just then tired of them all. I was in hopes that the warmth of youth had now subsided; I was delighted. But look now, he is at it again; however, I am determined to know it, whatever it is, and to go meet the fellow, if he is at the Forum.

Exit.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.

Enter Æschinus and Parmeno with the Music-Girl, followed by Sannio and a crowd of people.

San. I beseech you, fellow-citizens, do give aid to a miserable and innocent man; do assist the distressed.

Æsch. (to the Girl.) Be quiet, and now then stand here just where you are. Why do you look back? There’s no danger; he shall never touch you while I am here.

San. I’ll have her, in spite of all.

Æsch. Though he is a villain, he’ll not risk, to-day, getting a second beating.

San. Hear me, Aeschinus, that you may not say that you were in ignorance of my calling; I am a Procurer.32

Æsch. I know it.

San. And of as high a character as any one ever was. When you shall be excusing yourself by-and-by, how that you wish this injury had not been done me, I shall not value it this (snapping his fingers). Depend upon it, I’ll prosecute my rights; and you shall never pay with words for the evil that you have done me in deed. I know those ways of yours: “I wish it hadn’t happened; I’ll take my oath that you did not deserve this injustice;” while I myself have been treated in a disgraceful manner.

Æsch. (to Parmeno.) Go first with all dispatch and open the door.

Parmeno opens the door.

San. But you will avail nothing by this.

Æsch. (To the Girl.) Now then, step in.

San. (coming between.) But I’ll not let her.

Æsch. Step this way, Parmeno; you are gone too far that way; here (pointing), stand close by him; there, that’s what I want. Now then, take care you don’t move your eyes in any direction from mine, that there may be no delay if I give you the sign, to your fist being instantly planted in his jaws.

San. I’d have him then try that.

Æsch. (to Parmeno.) Now then, observe me.

Par. (to Sannio.) Let go the woman. (Strikes him.)

San. Oh! scandalous deed!

Æsch. He shall repeat it, if you don’t take care. (Parmeno strikes him again.)

San. Oh shocking!

Æsch. (to Parmeno.) I didn’t give the sign; but still make your mistakes on that side in preference. Now then, go.

Parmeno goes with the Music-Girl into Micio’s house.

San. What is the meaning of this? Have you the sway here, Aeschinus?

Æsch. If I had it, you should be exalted for your deserts.

San. What business have you with me?

Æsch. None.

San. How then, do you know who I am?

Æsch. I don’t want to.

San. Have I touched any thing of yours?

Æsch. If you had touched it, you’d have got a drubbing.

San. What greater right then have you to take my property, for which I paid my money? Answer me that.

Æsch. It were better for you not to be making a disturbance here before the house; for if you persist in being impertinent, you shall be dragged in at once, and there you shall be lashed to death with whips.

San. A free man, with whips?

Æsch. So it shall be.

San. Oh, you shameless fellow! Is this the place where they say there is equal liberty for all?

Æsch. If you have now raved enough, Procurer, now then listen, if you please.

San. Why, is it I that have been raving, or you against me?

Æsch. Leave alone all that, and come to the point.

San. What point? Where am I to come to?

Æsch. Are you willing now that I should say something that concerns you?

San. With all my heart, only so it be something that’s fair.

Æsch. Very fine! a Procurer wishing me not to say what’s unfair.

San. I am a Procurer,33 I confess it—the common bane of youth—a perjurer, a public nuisance; still, no injury has befallen you from me.

Æsch. Why, faith, that remains to come——

San. Pray, Æschinus, do come back to the point at which you set out.

Æsch. You bought her for twenty minæ; and may your bargain never thrive! That sum shall be given for her.

San. What if I don’t choose to sell her to you? Will you compel me?

Æsch. By no means.

San. I was afraid you would.

Æsch. Neither do I think that a woman can be sold who is free; for I claim her by action of freedom.34 Now consider which you choose; take the money, or prepare yourself for the action. Think of it, Procurer, till I return.35

He goes into the house of Micio.

Scene II.

Sannio alone.

San. (to himself.) O supreme Jupiter! I do by no means wonder that men run mad through ill usage. He has dragged me out of my house, beaten me, taken my property away against my will, and has given me, unfortunate wretch, more than five hundred blows. In return for all this ill usage he demands the girl to be made over to him for just the same price at which she was bought. But however, since he has so well deserved of me, be it so: he demands what is his due. Very well, I consent then, provided he only gives the money. But I suspect this; when I have said that I will sell her for so much, he’ll be getting witnesses forthwith that I have sold her.36 As to getting the money, it’s all a dream. Call again by and by; come back to-morrow. I could bear with that too, hard as it is, if he would only pay it. But I consider this to be the fact; when you take up this trade, you must brook and bear in silence the affronts of these young fellows. However, no one will pay me; it’s in vain for me to be reckoning upon that.

Scene III.

Enter Syrus, from the house of Micio.

Syr. (speaking to Æschinus within.) Say no more; I myself will arrange with him; I’ll make him glad to take the money at once, and say besides that he has been fairly dealt with. (Addressing Sannio.) Sannio, how is this, that I hear you have been having some dispute or other with my master?

San. I never saw a dispute on more unequal terms37 than the one that has happened to-day between us; I, with being thumped, he, with beating me, were both of us quite tired.

Syr. Your own fault.

San. What could I do?

Syr. You ought to have yielded to the young man.

San. How could I more so, when to-day I have even afforded my face to his blows?

Syr. Well—are you aware of what I tell you? To slight money on some occasions is sometimes the surest gain. What!—were you afraid, you greatest simpleton alive, if you had parted with ever so little38 of your right, and had humored the young man, that he would not repay you with interest?

San. I do not pay ready money for hope.

Syr. Then you’ll never make a fortune. Get out with you, Sannio; you don’t know how to take in mankind.

San. I believe that to be the better plan—but I was never so cunning as not, whenever I was able to get it, to prefer getting ready money.

Syr. Come, come, I know your spirit; as if twenty minæ were any thing at all to you in comparison to obliging him; besides, they say that you are setting out for Cyprus——

San. (aside.) Hah!

Syr. That you have been buying up many things to take thither; and that the vessel is hired. This I know, your mind is in suspense; however, when you return thence, I hope you’ll settle the matter.

San. Not a foot do I stir: Heavens! I’m undone! (Aside.) It was upon this hope they devised their project.

Syr. (aside.) He is alarmed. I’ve brought the fellow into a fix.

San. (aside.) Oh, what villainy!—Just look at that; how he has nicked me in the very joint.39 Several women have been purchased, and other things as well, for me to take to Cyprus.40 If I don’t get there to the fair, my loss will be very great. Then if I postpone this business, and settle it when I come back from there, it will be of no use; the matter will be quite forgotten. “Come at last?” they’ll say. “Why did you delay it? Where have you been?” So that I had better lose it altogether than either stay here so long, or be suing for it then.

Syr. Have you by this reckoned41 up what you calculate will be your profits?

San. Is this honorable of him? Ought Æschinus to attempt this? Ought he to endeavor to take her away from me by downright violence?

Syr. (aside.) He gives ground. (To Sannio.) I have this one proposal to make; see if you fully approve of it. Rather than you should run the risk, Sannio, of getting or losing the whole, halve it. He will manage to scrape together ten minæ42 from some quarter or other.

San. Ah me! unfortunate wretch, I am now in danger of even losing part of the principal. Has he no shame? He has loosened all my teeth; my head, too, is full of bumps with his cuffs; and would he defraud me as well? I shall go nowhere.

Syr. Just as you please. Have you any thing more to say before I go?

San. Why yes, Syrus, i’ faith, I have this to request. Whatever the matters that are past, rather than go to law, let what is my own be returned me; at least, Syrus, the sum she cost me. I know that you have not hitherto made trial of my friendship; you will have no occasion to say that I am unmindful or ungrateful.

Syr. I’ll do the best I can. But I see Ctesipho; he’s in high spirits about his mistress.

San. What about what I was asking you?

Syr. Stay a little.

Scene IV.

Enter Ctesipho, at the other side of the stage.

Ctes. From any man, when you stand in need of it, you are glad to receive a service; but of a truth it is doubly acceptable, if he does you a kindness who ought to do so. O brother, brother, how can I sufficiently commend you? This I am quite sure of; I can never speak of you in such high terms but that your deserts will surpass it. For I am of opinion that I possess this one thing in especial beyond all others, a brother than whom no individual is more highly endowed with the highest qualities.

Syr. O Ctesipho!

Ctes. O Syrus, where is Æschinus?

Syr. Why, look—he’s at home, waiting for you.

Ctes. (speaking joyously.) Ha!

Syr. What’s the matter?

Ctes. What’s the matter? ’Tis through him, Syrus, that I am now alive—generous creature! Has he not deemed every thing of secondary importance to himself in comparison with my happiness? The reproach, the discredit, my own amour and imprudence, he has taken upon himself. There can be nothing beyond this; but what means that noise at the door?

Syr. Stay, stay; ’tis Æschinus himself coming out.

Scene V.

Enter Æschinus, from the house of Micio.

Æsch. Where is that villain?

San. (aside.) He’s looking for me.43 Is he bringing any thing with him? Confusion! I don’t see any thing.

Æsch. (to Ctesipho.) Ha! well met; you are the very man I was looking for. How goes it, Ctesipho? All is safe: away then with your melancholy.

Ctes. By my troth, I certainly will away with it, when I have such a brother as you. O my dear Æschinus! O my brother! Alas! I am unwilling to praise you any more to your face, lest you should think I do so rather for flattery than through gratitude.

Æsch. Go to, you simpleton! as though we didn’t by this time understand each other, Ctesipho. This grieves me, that we knew of it almost too late, and that the matter had come to such a pass, that if all mankind had wished they could not possibly have assisted you.

Ctes. I felt ashamed.

Æsch. Pooh! that is folly, not shame; about such a trifling matter to be almost flying the country!44 ’Tis shocking to be mentioned; I pray the Gods may forbid it!

Ctes. I did wrong.

Æsch. (in a lower voice.) What says Sannio to us at last?

Syr. He is pacified at last.

Æsch. I’ll go to the Forum to pay him off; you, Ctesipho, step in-doors to her.

San. (aside to Syrus.) Syrus, do urge the matter.

Syr. (to Æschinus.) Let us be off, for he is in haste for Cyprus.45

San. Not particularly so; although still, I’m stopping here doing nothing at all.

Syr. It shall be paid, don’t fear.

San. But he is to pay it all.

Syr. He shall pay it all; only hold your tongue and follow us this way.

San. I’ll follow.

Ctes. (as Syrus is going.) Harkye, harkye, Syrus.

Syr. (turning back.) Well now, what is it?

Ctes. (aside.) Pray do discharge that most abominable fellow as soon as possible; for fear, in case he should become more angry, by some means or other this matter should reach my father, and then I should be ruined forever.

Syr. That shall not happen, be of good heart; meanwhile enjoy yourself in-doors with her, and onder the couches46 to be spread for us, and the other things to be got ready. As soon as this business is settled, I shall come home with the provisions.

Ctes. Pray do so. Since this has turned out so well, let us make a cheerful day of it.

Ctesipho goes into the house of Micio; and exeunt Æschinus and Syrus, followed by Sannio.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Sostrata and Canthara, from the house of the former.

Sos. Prithee, my dear nurse, how is it like to end?

Can. Like to end, do you ask? I’troth, right well, I trust.

Sos. Her pains are just beginning, my dear.

Can. You are in a fright now, just as though you had never been present on such an occasion—never been in labor yourself.

Sos. Unfortunate woman that I am! I have not a person at home; we are quite alone; Geta too is absent. I have no one to go for the midwife, or to fetch Æschinus.

Can. I’faith, he’ll certainly be here just now, for he never lets a day pass without visiting us.

Sos. He is my sole comfort in my afflictions.

Can. Things could not have happened, mistress, more for the advantage of your daughter than they have, seeing that violence was offered her; so far as he is concerned, it is most lucky,—such a person, of such disposition and feelings, a member of so respectable a family.

Sos. It is indeed as you say; I entreat the Gods that he may be preserved to us.

They stand apart, on seeing Geta.

Scene II.

Enter Geta, on the other side of the stage.

Geta (to himself.) Now such is our condition, that if all were to combine all their counsels, and to seek a remedy for this mischief that has befallen myself, my mistress, and her daughter, they could find no relief. Oh wretched me! so many calamities beset us on a sudden, we can not possibly extricate ourselves. Violence, poverty, oppression, desertion, infamy! What an age is this! O shocking villainy! O accursed race! O impious man!—

Sos. Unhappy me! How is it that I see Geta hurrying along thus terrified?

Geta (continuing.) Whom neither promises, nor oaths, nor compassion could move or soften; nor yet the fact that the delivery was nigh at hand of the unfortunate woman on whom he had so shamefully committed violence.

Sos. (apart to Canthara.) I don’t well understand what he is talking about.

Can. Pray, let us go nearer to him, Sostrata.

Geta (continuing.) Ah wretched me! I am scarcely master of my senses, I am so inflamed with anger. There is nothing that I would like better than for all that family to be thrown in my way, that I might give vent to all my wrath upon them while this wound is still fresh. I could be content with any punishment, so I might only wreak my vengeance on them. First, I would stop the breath of the old fellow himself who gave being to this monster; then as for his prompter, Syrus, out upon him! how I would tear him piecemeal! I would snatch him by the middle up aloft, and dash him head downward upon the earth, so that with his brains he would bestrew the road: I would pull out the eyes of the young fellow himself, and afterward hurl him headlong over some precipice. The others I would rush upon, drive, drag, crush, and trample them under foot. But why do I delay at once to acquaint my mistress with this calamity? (Moves as if going.)

Sos. (to Canthara.) Let us call him back. Geta——

Geta. Well—leave me alone,47 whoever you are.

Sos. ’Tis I,—Sostrata.

Geta (turning round.) Why, where are you? You are the very person I am looking for. I was in quest of you; it’s very fortunate you have met me.

Sos. What’s the matter? Why are you trembling?

Geta. Alas! Alas!

Sos. My dear Geta, why in such haste? Do take breath.

Geta. Quite—(pauses.)

Sos. Why, what means this “quite”?

Geta. Undone—It’s all over with us.

Sos. Say, then, I entreat you, what is the matter.

Geta. Now——

Sos. What “now,” Geta?

Geta. Æschinus——

Sos. What about him?

Geta. Has abandoned our family.

Sos. Then I am undone! Why so?

Geta. He has attached himself to another woman.

Sos. Woe unto wretched me!

Geta. And he makes no secret of it; he himself has carried her off openly from a procurer.

Sos. Are you quite sure of this?

Geta. Quite sure; I saw it myself, Sostrata, with these same eyes.

Sos. Ah wretched me! What is one now to believe, or whom believe? Our own Æschinus, the very life of us all, in whom all our hopes and comforts were centred! Who used to swear he could never live a single day without her! Who used to say, that he would place the infant on his father’s knees,48 and thus entreat that he might be allowed to make her his wife!

Geta. Dear mistress, forbear weeping, and rather consider what must be done for the future in this matter. Shall we submit to it, or shall we tell it to any person?

Can. Pooh, pooh! are you in your senses, my good man? Does this seem to you a business to be made known to any one?

Geta. I, indeed, have no wish for it. In the first place, then, that his feelings are estranged from us, the thing itself declares. Now, if we make this known, he’ll deny it, I’m quite sure; your reputation and your daughter’s character will then be in danger. On the other hand, if he were fully to confess it, as he is in love with another woman, it would not be to her advantage to be given to him. Therefore, under either circumstance, there is need of silence.

Sos. Oh! by no means in the world! I’ll not do it.

Geta. What is it you say?

Sos. I’ll make it known.

Geta. Ha, my dear Sostrata, take care what you do!

Sos. The matter can not possibly be in a worse position than it is at present. In the first place, she has no portion; then, besides, that which was as good as a portion, her honor, is lost: she can not be given in marriage as a virgin. This resource is left; if he should deny it, I have a ring which he lost as evidence of the truth. In fine, Geta, as I am fully conscious that no blame attaches to me, and that neither interest nor any consideration unworthy of her or of myself has had a share in this matter, I will make trial——

Geta. What am I to say to this? I agree, as you speak for the best.

Sos. You be off as fast as possible, and relate all the matter just as it has happened to her kinsman Hegio; for he was the best friend of our lamented Simulus, and has shown especial regard for us.

Geta. (aside.) Aye, faith, because nobody else takes any notice of us.

Sos. Do you, my dear Canthara, run with all haste, and fetch the midwife, so that, when she is wanted, we may not have to wait for her.

Sostrata goes into the house, and exit Geta and Canthara.

Scene III.

Enter Demea.

Dem. (to himself.) Utterly undone! I hear that Ctesipho was with Æschinus at the carrying off of this girl. This sorrow still remains for unhappy me, should Æschinus be able to seduce him, even him, who promises so fair, to a course of debauchery. Where am I to inquire for him? I doubt he has been carried off to some bad house; that profligate has persuaded him, I’m quite sure. But look—I see Syrus coming this way, I shall now know from him where he is. But, i’faith, he is one of the gang; if he perceives that I am looking for him, the rascal will never tell me. I’ll not let him know what I want.

Scene IV.

Enter Syrus, at the other side of the stage.

Syr. (to himself.) We just now told the old gentleman the whole affair just as it happened; I never did see any one more delighted.

Dem. (apart.) O Jupiter! the folly of the man!

Syr. (continuing.) He commended his son. To me, who put them upon this project, he gave thanks——

Dem. (apart) I shall burst asunder.

Syr. (continuing.) He told down the money instantly, and gave me half a mina besides to spend. That was laid out quite to my liking.

Dem. (apart.) Very fine—if you would wish a thing to be nicely managed, intrust it to this fellow.

Syr. (overhearing him.) Ha, Demea! I didn’t see you; how goes it?

Dem. How should it go? I can not enough wonder at your mode of living here.

Syr. Why, really silly enough, and, to speak without disguise, altogether absurd. (Calls at the door of Micio’s house.) Dromo, clean the rest of the fish; let the largest conger-eel play a little in the water; when I come back it shall be boned;49 not before.

Dem. Is profligacy like this——

Syr. As for myself, it isn’t to my taste, and I often exclaim against it. (Calls at the door.) Stephanio, take care that the salt fish is well soaked.

Dem. Ye Gods, by our trust in you! is he doing this for any purpose of his own, or does he think it creditable to ruin his son? Wretch that I am! methinks I already see the day when Æschinus will be running away for want, to serve somewhere or other as a soldier.50

Syr. O Demea! that is wisdom indeed,—not only to look at the present moment, but also to look forward to what’s to come.

Dem. Well—is this Music-girl still with you?

Syr. Why, yes, she’s in-doors.

Dem. How now—is he going to keep her at home?

Syr. I believe so; such is his madness!

Dem. Is it possible?

Syr. An imprudent lenity in his father, and a vicious indulgence.

Dem. Really, I am ashamed and grieved at my brother.

Syr. Demea! between you there is a great—I do not say it because you are here present—a too great difference. You are, every bit of you, nothing but wisdom; he a mere dreamer. Would you indeed have suffered that son of yours to act thus?

Dem. I, suffer him? Would I not have smelt it out six months before he attempted it?

Syr. Need I be told by you of your foresight?

Dem. I pray he may only continue the same he is at present!

Syr. Just as each person wishes his son to be, so he turns out.

Dem. What news of him? Have you seen him to-day?

Syr. What, your son? (Aside.) I’ll pack him off into the country. (To Demea.) I fancy he’s busy at the farm long before this.

Dem. Are you quite sure he is there?

Syr. What!—when I saw him part of the way myself——

Dem. Very good. I was afraid he might be loitering here.

Syr. And extremely angry too.

Dem. Why so?

Syr. He attacked his brother in the Forum with strong language about this Music-girl.

Dem. Do you really say so?

Syr. Oh dear, he didn’t at all mince the matter; for just as the money was being counted out, the gentleman came upon us by chance, and began exclaiming, “Oh Æschinus, that you should perpetrate these enormities! that you should be guilty of actions so disgraceful to our family!”

Dem. Oh, I shall weep for joy.

Syr. “By this you are not squandering your money only, but your reputation.”

Dem. May he be preserved to me! I trust he will be like his forefathers. (Weeping.)

Syr. (aside.) Heyday!

Dem. Syrus, he is full of these maxims.

Syr. (aside.) Strange, indeed! He had the means at home of learning them.

Dem. I do every thing I can; I spare no pains; I train him up to it: in fine, I bid him look into the lives of men, as though into a mirror, and from others to take an example for himself. Do this, I say——

Syr. Quite right.

Dem. Avoid that——

Syr. Very shrewd.

Dem. This is praiseworthy——

Syr. That’s the thing.

Dem. That is considered blamable——

Syr. Extremely good.

Dem. And then, moreover——

Syr. Upon my honor, I have not the leisure to listen to you just at present: I have got some fish just to my taste, and must take care they are not spoiled; for that would be as much a crime in me, as for you, Demea, not to observe those maxims which you have just been mentioning; and so far as I can, I lay down precepts for my fellow-servants on the very same plan; “this is too salt, that is quite burned up, this is not washed enough, that is very well done; remember and do so another time.” I carefully instruct them so far as I can to the best of my capacity. In short, Demea, I bid them look into their sauce-pans as though into a mirror,51 and suggest to them what they ought to do. I am sensible these things are trifling which we do; but what is one to do? According as the man is, so must you humor him. Do you wish any thing else?

Dem. That more wisdom may be granted you.

Syr. You will be going off into the country, I suppose?

Dem. Directly.

Syr. For what should you do here, where, if you do give any good precepts, no one will regard them?

Goes into Micio’s house.

Scene V.

Demea, alone.

Dem. (to himself.) I certainly will be off, as he on whose account I came hither has gone into the country. I have a care for him: that alone is my own concern, since my brother will have it so; let him look to the other himself. But who is it I see yonder at a distance? Isn’t it Hegio of our tribe?52 If I see right, i’faith, it is he. Ah, a man I have been friendly with from a child! Good Gods! we certainly have a great dearth of citizens of that stamp nowadays, with the old-fashioned virtue and honesty. Not in a hurry will any misfortune accrue to the public from him. How glad I am to find some remnants of this race even still remaining; now I feel some pleasure in living. I’ll wait here for him, to ask him how he is, and have some conversation with him.

Scene VI.

Enter Hegio and Geta, conversing, at a distance.

Heg. Oh immortal Gods! a disgraceful action, Geta! What is it you tell me?

Geta. Such is the fact.

Heg. That so ignoble a deed should come from that family! Oh Æschinus, assuredly you haven’t taken after your father in that!

Dem. (apart.) Why surely, he has heard this about the Music-girl; that gives him concern, though a stranger; this father of his thinks nothing of it. Ah me! I wish he were somewhere close at hand to overhear this.

Heg. Unless they do as they ought to do, they shall not come off so easily.

Geta. All our hopes, Hegio, are centred in you; you we have for our only friend; you are our protector, our father. The old man, Simulus, when dying, recommended us to you; if you forsake us, we are undone.

Heg. Beware how you mention that; I neither will do it, nor do I think thaat; with due regard to the ties of relationship, I could.

Dem. (apart.) I’ll accost him. (Approaches Hegio.) Hegio, I bid you welcome right heartily.

Heg. (starting.) Oh! I you are the very man I was looking for. Greetings to you, Demea.

Dem. Why, what’s the matter?

Heg. Your eldest son Æschinus, whom you gave to your brother to adopt, has been acting the part of neither an honest man nor a gentleman.

Dem. What has he been doing?

Heg. You knew my friend and year’s-mate, Simulus?

Dem. Why not?

Heg. He has debauched his daughter, a virgin.

Dem. Hah!

Heg. Stay, Demea. You have not yet heard the worst.

Dem. Is there any thing still worse?

Heg. Worse, by far: for this indeed might in some measure have been borne with. The hour of night prompted him; passion, wine, young blood; ’tis human nature. When he was sensible of what he had done, he came voluntarily to the girl’s mother, weeping, praying, entreating, pledging his honor, vowing that he would take her home.53 The affair was pardoned, hushed, up, his word taken. The girl from that intercourse became pregnant: this is the tenth month. He, worthy fellow, has provided himself, if it please the Gods, with a Music-girl to live with; the other he has cast off.

Dem. Do you say this for certain?

Heg. The mother of the young woman is among us,54 the young woman too; the fact speaks for itself; this Geta, besides, according to the common run of servants, not a bad one or of idle habits; he supports them; alone, maintains the whole family; take him, bind him,55 examine him upon the matter.

Geta. Aye, faith, put me to the torture, Demea, if such is not the fact: besides, he will not deny it. Confront me with him.

Dem. (aside.) I am ashamed; and what to do, or how to answer him, I don’t know.

Pam. (crying out within the house of Sostrata.) Ah me! I am racked with pains! Juno Lucina,56 bring aid, save me, I beseech thee!

Heg. Hold; is she in labor, pray?

Geta. No doubt of it, Hegio.

Heg. Ah! she is now imploring your protection, Demea; let her obtain from you spontaneously what the power of the law compels you to give. I do entreat the Gods that what befits you may at once be done. But if your sentiments are otherwise, Demea, I will defend both them and him who is dead to the utmost of my power. He was my kinsman:57 we were brought up together from children, we were companions in the wars and at home, together we experienced the hardships of poverty. I will therefore exert myself, strive, use all methods, in fine lay down my life, rather than forsake these women. What answer do you give me?

Dem. I’ll go find my brother, Hegio: the advice he gives me upon this matter I’ll follow.58

Heg. But, Demea, take you care and reflect upon this: the more easy you are in your circumstances, the more powerful, wealthy, affluent, and noble you are, so much the more ought you with equanimity to observe the dictates of justice, if you would have yourselves esteemed as men of probity.

Dem. Go back now;59 every thing shall be done that is proper to be done.

Heg. It becomes you to act thus. Geta, show me in to Sostrata.

Follows Geta into Sostrata’s house.

Dem. (to himself.) Not without warning on my part have these things happened: I only wish it may end here; but this immoderate indulgence will undoubtedly lead to some great misfortune. I’ll go find my brother, and vent these feelings upon him.

Exit.

Scene VII.

Enter Hegio, from Sostrata’s house, and speaking to her within.

Heg. Be of good heart,60 Sostrata, and take care and console her as far as you can. I’ll go find Micio, if he is at the Forum, and acquaint him with the whole circumstances in their order; if so it is that he will do his duty by you, let him do so; but if his sentiments are otherwise about this matter, let him give me his answer, that I may know at once what I am to do.

Exit.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Ctesipho and Syrus from the house of Micio.

Ctes. My father gone into the country, say you?

Syr. (with a careless air.) Some time since.

Ctes. Do tell me, I beseech you.

Syr. He is at the farm at this very moment,61 I warrant—hard at some work or other.

Ctes. I really wish, provided it be done with no prejudice to his health, I wish that he may so effectually tire himself, that, for the next three days together, he may be unable to arise from his bed.

Syr. So be it, and any thing still better than that,62 if possible.

Ctes. Just so; for I do most confoundedly wish to pass this whole day in merry-making as I have begun it; and for no reason do I detest that farm so heartily as for its being so near town. If it were at a greater distance, night would overtake him there before he could return hither again. Now, when he doesn’t find me there, he’ll come running back here, I’m quite sure; he’ll be asking me where I have been, that I have not seen him all this day: what am I to say?

Syr. Does nothing suggest itself to your mind?

Ctes. Nothing whatever.

Syr. So much the worse63—have you no client, friend, or guest?

Ctes. I have; what then?

Syr. You have been engaged with them.

Ctes. When I have not been engaged? That can never do.

Syr. It may.

Ctes. During the daytime; but if I pass the night here, what excuse can I make, Syrus?

Syr. Dear me, how much I do wish it was the custom for one to be engaged with friends at night as well! But you be easy; I know his humor perfectly well. When he raves the most violently, I can make him as gentle as a lamb.

Ctes. In what way?

Syr. He loves to hear you praised: I make a god of you to him, and recount your virtues.

Ctes. What, mine?

Syr. Yours; immediately the tears fall from him as from a child, for very joy. (Starting.) Hah! take care——

Ctes. Why, what’s the matter?

Syr. The wolf in the fable64——

Ctes. What! my father?

Syr. His own self.

Ctes. What shall we do, Syrus?

Syr. You only be off in-doors, I’ll see to that.

Ctes. If he makes any inquiries, you have seen me nowhere; do you hear?

Syr. Can you not be quiet?

They retreat to the door of Micio’s house, and Ctesipho stands in the doorway.

Scene II.

Enter Demea, on the other side of the stage.

Dem. (to himself.) I certainly am an unfortunate man. In the first place, I can find my brother nowhere; and then, in the next place, while looking for him, I met a day-laborer65 from the farm; he says that my son is not in the country, and what to do I know not——

Ctes. (apart.) Syrus!

Syr. (apart.) What’s the matter?

Ctes. (apart.) Is he looking for me?

Syr. (apart.) Yes.

Ctes. (apart.) Undone!

Syr. (apart.) Nay, do be of good heart.

Dem. (to himself.) Plague on it! what ill luck is this? I can not really account for it, unless I suppose myself only born for the purpose of enduring misery. I am the first to feel our misfortunes; the first to know of them all; then the first to carry the news; I am the only one, if any thing does go wrong, to take it to heart.

Syr. (apart.) I’m amused at him; he says that he is the first to know of every thing, while he is the only one ignorant of every thing.

Dem. (to himself.) I’ve now come back; and I’ll go see whether perchance my brother has yet returned.

Ctes. (apart.) Syrus, pray do take care that he doesn’t suddenly rush in upon us here.

Syr. (apart.) Now will you hold your tongue? I’ll take care.

Ctes. (apart.) Never this day will I depend on your management for that, upon my faith; for I’ll shut myself up with her in some cupboard66—that’s the safest.

Goes into the house.

Syr. (apart.) Do so, still I’ll get rid of him.

Dem. (seeing Syrus.) But see! there’s that rascal, Syrus.

Syr. (aloud, pretending not to see Demea.) Really, upon my faith, no person can stay here, if this is to be the case! For my part, I should like to know how many masters I have—what a cursed condition this is!

Dem. What’s he whining about? What does he mean? How say you, good sir, is my brother at home?

Syr. What the plague do you talk to me about, “good sir”? I’m quite distracted!

Dem. What’s the matter with you?

Syr. Do you ask the question? Ctesipho has been beating me, poor wretch, and that Music-girl, almost to death.

Dem. Ha! what is it you tell me?

Syr. Aye, see how he has cut my lip. (Pretends to point to it.)

Dem. For what reason?

Syr. He says that she was bought by my advice.

Dem. Did not you tell me, a short time since, that you had seen him on his way into the country?

Syr. I did; but he afterward came back, raving like a madman; he spared nobody—ought he not to have been ashamed to beat an old man? Him whom, only the other day, I used to carry about in my arms when thus high? (Showing.)

Dem. I commend him; O Ctesipho, you take after your father. Well, I do pronounce you a man.

Syr. Commend him? Assuredly he will keep his hands to himself in future, if he’s wise.

Dem. ’Twas done with spirit.

Syr. Very much so, to be beating a poor woman, and me, a slave, who didn’t dare strike him in return; heyday! very spirited indeed!

Dem. He could not have done better: he thought the same as I did, that you were the principal in this affair. But is my brother within?

Syr. He is not.

Dem. I’m thinking where to look for him.

Syr. I know where he is—but I shall not tell you at present.

Dem. Ha! what’s that you say?

Syr. I do say so.

Dem. Then I’ll break your head for you this instant.

Syr. I can’t tell the person’s name he’s gone to, but I know the place where he lives.

Dem. Tell me the place then.

Syr. Do you know the portico down this way, just by the shambles? (Pointing in the direction.)

Dem. How should I but know it?

Syr. Go straight along, right up that street; when you come there, there is a descent right opposite that goes downward, go straight down that; afterward, on this side (extending one hand), there is a chapel: close by it is a narrow lane, where there’s also a great wild fig-tree.

Dem. I know it.

Syr. Go through that—

Dem. But that lane is not a thoroughfare.

Syr. I’ faith, that’s true; dear, dear, would you take me to be in my senses?67 I made a mistake. Return to the portico; indeed that will be a much nearer way, and there is less going round about: you know the house of Cratinus, the rich man?

Dem. I know it.

Syr. When you have passed that, keep straight along that street on the left hand;68 when you come to the Temple of Diana, turn to the right; before you come to the city gate,69 just by that pond, there is a baker’s shop, and opposite to it a joiner’s; there he is.

Dem. What is he doing there?

Syr. He has given some couches to be made, with oaken legs, for use in the open air.70

Dem. For you to carouse upon! Very fine! But why do I delay going to him?

Exit.

Scene III.

Syrus alone.

Syr. Go, by all means. I’ll work you to day, you skeleton,71 as you deserve. Æschinus loiters intolerably; the breakfast’s spoiling; and as for Ctesipho, he’s head and ears in love.72 I shall now think of myself, for I’ll be off at once, and pick out the very nicest bit, and, leisurely sipping my cups,73 I’ll lengthen out the day.

Goes into the house.

Scene IV.

Enter Micio and Hegio.

Mic. I can see no reason here, Hegio, that I should be so greatly commended. I do my duty; the wrong that has originated with us I redress. Unless, perhaps, you thought me one of that class of men who think that an injury is purposely done them if you expostulate about any thing they have done; and yet are themselves the first to accuse. Because I have not acted thus, do you return me thanks?

Heg. Oh, far from it; I never led myself to believe you to be otherwise than you are; but I beg, Micio, that you will go with me to the mother of the young woman, and repeat to her the same; what you have told me, do you yourself tell the woman, that this suspicion of Æschinus’s fidelity was incurred on his brother’s account, and that this Music-girl was for him.

Mic. If you think I ought, or if there is a necessity for doing so, let us go.

Heg. You act with kindness; for you’ll then both have relieved her mind who is now languishing in sorrow and affliction, and have discharged your duty. But if you think otherwise, I will tell her myself what you have been saying to me.

Mic. Nay, I’ll go as well.

Heg. You act with kindness; all who are in distressed circumstances are suspicious,74 to I know not what degree; they take every thing too readily as an affront; they fancy themselves trifled with on account of their helpless condition; therefore it will be more satisfactory for you to justify him to them yourself.

They go into the house of Sostrata.

Scene V.

Enter Æschinus.

I am quite distracted in mind! for this misfortune so unexpectedly to befall me, that I neither know what to do with myself, or how to act! My limbs are enfeebled through fear, my faculties bewildered with apprehension; no counsel is able to find a place within my breast. Alas! how to extricate myself from this perplexity I know not; so strong a suspicion has taken possession of them about me; not without some reason too: Sostrata believes that I have purchased this Music-girl for myself: the old woman informed me of that. For by accident, when she was sent for the midwife, I saw her, and at once went up to her. “How is Pamphila?” I inquired; “is her delivery at hand? Is it for that she is sending for the midwife?” “Away, away, Æschinus,” cries she; “you have deceived us long enough; already have your promises disappointed us sufficiently.” “Ha!” said I; “pray what is the meaning of this?” “Farewell,” she cries; “keep to her who is your choice.” I instantly guessed what it was they suspected, but still I checked myself, that I might not be telling that gossip any thing about my brother, whereby it might be divulged. Now what am I to do? Shall I say she is for my brother, a thing that ought by no means to be repeated any where? However, let that pass. It is possible it might go no further. I am afraid they would not believe it, so many probabilities concur against it: ’twas I myself carried her off; ’twas I, my own self, that paid the money for her; ’twas my own house she was carried to. This I confess has been entirely my own fault. Ought I not to have disclosed this affair, just as it happened, to my father? I might have obtained his consent to marry her. I have been too negligent hitherto; henceforth, then, arouse yourself, Æschinus. This then is the first thing; to go to them and clear myself. I’ll approach the door. (Advances to the door of Sostrata’s house.) Confusion! I always tremble most dreadfully when I go to knock at that door. (Knocking and calling to them within.) Ho there, ho there! it is Æschinus; open the door immediately, some one. (The door opens.) Some person, I know not who, is coming out; I’ll step aside here. (He stands apart.)

Scene VI.

Enter Micio from the house of Sostrata.

Mic. (speaking at the door to Sostrata.) Do as I told you, Sostrata; I’ll go find Æschinus, that he may know how these matters have been settled. (Looking round.) But who was it knocking at the door?

Æsch. (apart.) Heavens, it is my father!—I am undone!

Mic. Æschinus!

Æsch. (aside.) What can be his business here?

Mic. Was it you knocking at this door? (Aside.) He is silent. Why shouldn’t I rally him a little? It would be as well, as he was never willing to trust me with this secret. (To Æschinus.) Don’t you answer me?

Æsch. (confusedly.) It wasn’t I knocked at that door, that I know of.

Mic. Just so; for I wondered what business you could have here. (Apart.) He blushes; all’s well.

Æsch. Pray tell me, father, what business have you there?

Mic. Why, none of my own; but a certain friend of mine just now brought me hither from the Forum to give him some assistance.

Æsch. Why?

Mic. I’ll tell you. There are some women living here; in impoverished circumstances, as I suppose you don’t know them; and, in fact, I’m quite sure, for it is not long since they removed to this place.

Æsch. Well, what next?

Mic. There is a girl living with her mother.

Æsch. Go on.

Mic. This girl has lost her father; this friend of mine is her next of kin; the law obliges him to marry her.75

Æsch. (aside.) Undone!

Mic. What’s the matter?

Æsch. Nothing. Very well: proceed.

Mic. He has come to take her with him; for he lives at Miletus.

Æsch. What! To take the girl away with him?

Mic. Such is the fact.

Æsch. All the way to Miletus, pray?76

Mic. Yes.

Æsch. (aside.) I’m overwhelmed with grief. (To Micio.) But what of them? What do they say?

Mic. What do you suppose they should? Why, nothing at all. The mother has trumped up a tale, that there is a child by some other man, I know not who, and she does not state the name; she says that he was the first, and that she ought not to be given to the other.

Æsch. Well now, does not this seem just to you after all?

Mic. No.

Æsch. Why not, pray? Is the other to be carrying her away from here?

Mic. Why should he not take her?

Æsch. You have acted harshly and unfeelingly, and even, if, father, I may speak my sentiments more plainly, unhandsomely.

Mic. Why so?

Æsch. Do you ask me? Pray, what do you think must be the state of mind of the man who was first connected with her, who, to his misfortune, may perhaps still love her to distraction, when he sees her torn away from before his face, and borne off from his sight forever? An unworthy action, father!

Mic. On what grounds is it so? Who betrothed her?77 Who gave her away? When and to whom was she married? Who was the author of all this? Why did he connect himself with a woman who belonged to another?

Æsch. Was it to be expected that a young woman of her age should sit at home, waiting till a kinsman of hers should come from a distance? This, my father, you ought to have represented, and have insisted on it.

Mic. Ridiculous! Was I to have pleaded against him whom I was to support? But what’s all this, Æschinus, to us? What have we to do with them? Let us begone:——What’s the matter? Why these tears?

Æsch. (weeping.) Father, I beseech you, listen to me.

Mic. Æschinus, I have heard and know it all; for I love you, and therefore every thing you do is the more a care to me.

Æsch. So do I wish you to find me deserving of your love, as long as you live, my dear father, as I am sincerely sorry for the offense I have committed, and am ashamed to see you.

Mic. Upon my word I believe it, for I know your ingenuous disposition: but I am afraid that you are too inconsiderate. In what city, pray, do you suppose you live? You have debauched a virgin, whom it was not lawful for you to touch. In the first place then that was a great offense; great, but still natural. Others, and even men of worth, have frequently done the same. But after it happened, pray, did you show any circumspection? Or did you use any foresight as to what was to be done, or how it was to be done? If you were ashamed to tell me of it, by what means was I to come to know it? While you were at a loss upon these points, ten months have been lost. So far indeed as lay in your power, you have periled both yourself and this poor girl, and the child. What did you imagine—that the Gods would set these matters to rights for you while you were asleep, and that she would be brought home to your chamber without any exertions of your own? I would not have you to be equally negligent in other affairs. Be of good heart, you shall have her for your wife.

Æsch. Hah!

Mic. Be of good heart, I tell you.

Æsch. Father, are you now jesting with me, pray?

Mic. I, jesting with you! For what reason?

Æsch. I don’t know; but so anxiously do I wish this to be true, that I am the more afraid it may not be.

Mic. Go home, and pray to the Gods that you may have your wife; be off.

Æsch. What! have my wife now?

Mic. Now.

Æsch. Now?

Mic. Now, as soon as possible.

Æsch. May all the Gods detest me, father, if I do not love you better than even my very eyes!

Mic. What! better than her?

Æsch. Quite as well.

Mic. Very kind of you!

Æsch. Well, where is this Milesian?

Mic. Departed, vanished, gone on board ship; but why do you delay?

Æsch. Father, do you rather go and pray to the Gods; for I know, for certain, that they will rather be propitious to you,78 as being a much better man than I am.

Mic. I’ll go in-doors, that what is requisite may be prepared. You do as I said, if you are wise.

Goes into his house.

Scene VII.

Æschinus alone.

Æsch. What can be the meaning of this? Is this being a father, or this being a son? If he had been a brother or familiar companion, how could he have been more complaisant! Is he not worthy to be beloved? Is he not to be imprinted in my very bosom? Well then, the more does he impose an obligation on me by his kindness, to take due precaution not inconsiderately to do any thing that he may not wish. But why do I delay going in-doors this instant, that I may not myself delay my own nuptials?

Goes into the house of Micio.

Scene VIII.

Enter Demea.

I am quite tired with walking: May the great Jupiter confound you, Syrus, together with your directions! I have crawled the whole city over; to the gate, to the pond—where not? There was no joiner’s shop there; not a soul could say he had seen my brother; but now I’m determined to sit and wait at his house till he returns.

Scene IX.

Enter Micio from his house.

Mic. (speaking to the people within.) I’ll go and tell them there’s no delay on our part.

Dem. But see here’s the very man: O Micio, I have been seeking you this long time.

Mic. Why, what’s the matter?

Dem. I’m bringing you some new and great enormities of that hopeful youth.

Mic. Just look at that!

Dem. Fresh ones, of blackest dye.

Mic. There now—at it again.

Dem. Ah, Micio! you little know what sort of person he is.

Mic. I do.

Dem. O simpleton! you are dreaming that I’m talking about the Music-girl; this crime is against a virgin and a citizen.

Mic. I know it.

Dem. So then, you know it, and put up with it!

Mic. Why not put up with it?

Dem. Tell me, pray, don’t you exclaim about it? Don’t you go distracted?

Mic. Not I: certainly I had rather79——

Dem. There has been a child born.

Mic. May the Gods be propitious to it.

Dem. The girl has no fortune.

Mic. So I have heard.

Dem. And he—must he marry her without one?

Mic. Of course.

Dem. What is to be done then?

Mic. Why, what the case itself points out: the young woman must be brought hither.

Dem. O Jupiter! must that be the way then?

Mic. What can I do else?

Dem. What can you do? If in reality this causes you no concern, to pretend it were surely the duty of a man.

Mic. But I have already betrothed the young woman to him; the matter is settled: the marriage takes place to-day. I have removed all apprehensions. This is rather the duty of a man.

Dem. But does the affair please you, Micio?

Mic. If I were able to alter it, no; now, as I can not, I bear it with patience. The life of man is just like playing with dice:80 if that which you most want to throw does not turn up, what turns up by chance you must correct by art.

Dem. O rare corrector! of course it is by your art that twenty minæ have been thrown away for a Music-girl; who, as soon as possible, must be got rid of at any price; and if not for money, why then for nothing.

Mic. Not at all, and indeed I have no wish to sell her.

Dem. What will you do with her then?

Mic. She shall be at my house.

Dem. For heaven’s sake, a courtesan and a matron in the same house!

Mic. Why not?

Dem. Do you imagine you are in your senses?

Mic. Really I do think so.

Dem. So may the Gods prosper me, I now see your folly; I believe you are going to do so that you may have somebody to practice music with.

Mic. Why not?

Dem. And the new-made bride to be learning too?

Mic. Of course.

Dem. Having hold of the rope,81 you will be dancing with them.

Mic. Like enough; and you too along with us, if there’s need.

Dem. Ah me! are you not ashamed of this?

Mic. Demea, do, for once, lay aside this anger of yours, and show yourself as you ought at your son’s wedding, cheerful and good-humored. I’ll just step over to them, and return immediately.

Goes into Sostrata’s house.

Scene X.

Demea alone.

Dem. O Jupiter! here’s a life! here are manners! here’s madness! A wife to be coming without a fortune! A music-wench in the house! A house full of wastefulness! A young man ruined by extravagance! An old man in his dotage!—Should Salvation herself82 desire it, she certainly could not save this family.

Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Syrus, drunk, and Demea, on the opposite side of the stage.

Syr. Upon my faith, my dear little Syrus, you have taken delicate care of yourself, and have done your duty83 with exquisite taste; be off with you. But since I’ve had my fill of every thing in-doors, I have felt disposed to take a walk.

Dem. (apart.) Just look at that—there’s an instance of their good training!

Syr. (to himself.) But see, here comes our old man. (Addressing him.) What’s the matter? Why out of spirits?

Dem. Oh you rascal!

Syr. Hold now; are you spouting your sage maxims here?

Dem. If you were my servant——

Syr. Why, you would be a rich man, Demea, and improve your estate.

Dem. I would take care that you should be an example to all the rest.

Syr. For what reason? What have I done?

Dem. Do you ask me? in the midst of this confusion, and during the greatest mischief, which is hardly yet set right, you have been getting drunk, you villain, as though things had been going on well.

Syr. (aside.) Really, I wish I hadn’t come out.

Scene II.

Enter Dromo in haste, from the house of Micio.

Dro. Halloo, Syrus! Ctesipho desires you’ll come back.

Syr. Get you gone.

Pushes him back into the house.

Dem. What is it he says about Ctesipho?

Syr. Nothing.

Dem. How now, you hang-dog, is Ctesipho in the house?

Syr. He is not.

Dem. Then why does he mention him?

Syr. It’s another person; a little diminutive Parasite. Don’t you know him?

Dem. I will know him before long. (Going to the door.)

Syr. (stopping him.) What are you about? Whither are you going?

Dem. (struggling.) Let me alone.

Syr. (holding him.) Don’t, I tell you.

Dem. Won’t you keep your hands off, whip-scoundrel? Or would you like me to knock your brains out this instant?

Rushes into the house.

Syr. He’s gone! no very pleasant boon-companion, upon my faith, particularly to Ctesipho. What am I to do now? Why, even get into some corner till this tempest is lulled, and sleep off this drop of wine. That’s my plan.

Goes into the house, staggering.

Scene III.

Enter Micio, from the house of Sostrata.

Mic. (to Sostrata, within.) Every thing’s ready with us, as I told you, Sostrata, when you like.—Who, I wonder, is making my door fly open with such fury?

Enter Demea in haste, from the house of Micio.

Dem. Alas! what shall I do? How behave? In what terms exclaim, or how make my complaint? O heavens! O earth! O seas of Neptune!

Mic. (apart.) Here’s for you! he has discovered all about the affair; and of course is now raving about it; a quarrel is the consequence; I must assist him,84 however. Dem. See, here comes the common corrupter of my children.

Mic. Pray moderate your passion, and recover yourself.

Dem. I have moderated it; I am myself; I forbear all reproaches; let us come to the point: was this agreed upon between us,—proposed by yourself, in fact,—that you were not to concern yourself about my son, nor I about yours? Answer me.

Mic. It is the fact,—I don’t deny it.

Dem. Why is he now carousing at your house? Why are you harboring my son? Why do you purchase a mistress for him, Micio? Is it at all fair, that I should have any less justice from you, than you from me? Since I do not concern myself about your son, don’t you concern yourself about mine.

Mic. You don’t reason fairly.

Dem. No?

Mic. For surely it is a maxim of old, that among themselves all things are common to friends.

Dem. Smartly said; you’ve got that speech up for the occasion.

Mic. Listen to a few words, unless it is disagreeable, Demea. In the first place, if the extravagance your sons are guilty of distresses you, pray do reason with yourself. You formerly brought up the two suitably to your circumstances, thinking that your own property would have to suffice for them both; and, of course, you then thought that I should marry. Adhere to that same old rule of yours,—save, scrape together, and be thrifty for them; take care to leave them as much as possible, and take that credit to yourself: my fortune, which has come to them beyond their expectation, allow them to enjoy; of your captial there will be no diminution; what comes from this quarter, set it all down as so much gain. If you think proper impartially to consider these matters in your mind, Demea, you will save me and yourself, and them, considerable uneasiness.

Dem. I don’t speak about the expense; their morals—

Mic. Hold; I understand you; that point I was coming to.85 There are in men, Demea, many signs from which a conjecture is easily formed; so that when two persons do the same thing, you may often say, this one may be allowed to do it with impunity, the other may not; not that the thing itself is different, but that he is who does it. I see signs in them, so as to feel confident that they will turn out as we wish. I see that they have good sense and understanding, that they have modesty upon occasion, and are affectionate to each other; you may infer that their bent and disposition is of a pliant nature; at any time you like you may reclaim them. But still, you may be apprehensive that they will be somewhat too apt to neglect their interests. O my dear Demea, in all other things we grow wiser with age; this sole vice does old age bring upon men: we are all more solicitous about our own interests than we need be; and in this respect age will make them sharp enough.

Dem. Only take care, Micio, that these fine reasonings of yours, and this easy disposition of yours, do not ruin us in the end.

Mic. Say no more; there’s no danger of that. Now think no further of these matters. Put yourself to-day into my hands; smooth your brow.

Dem. Why, as the occasion requires it, I must do so; but to-morrow I shall be off with my son into the country at daybreak.

Mic. Aye, to-night, for my share; only keep yourself in good-humor for the day.

Dem. I’ll carry off that Music-girl along with me as well.

Mic. You will gain your point; by that means you will keep your son fast there; only take care to secure her.

Dem. I’ll see to that; and what with cooking and grinding, I’ll take care she shall be well covered with ashes, smoke, and meal; besides all this, at the very mid-day86 I’ll set her gathering stubble; I’ll make her as burned and as black as a coal.

Mic. You quite delight me; now you seem to me to be wise; and for my part I would then compel my son to go to bed with her, even though he should be unwilling.

Dem. Do you banter me? Happy man, to have such a temper! I feel—

Mic. Ah! at it again!

Dem. I’ll have done then at once.

Mic. Go in-doors then, and let’s devote this day to the object87 to which it belongs.

Goes into the house.

Scene IV.

Demea alone.

Dem. Never was there any person of ever such well-trained habits of life, but that experience, age, and custom are always bringing him something new, or suggesting something; so much so, that what you believe you know you don’t know, and what you have fancied of first importance to you, on making trial you reject; and this is my case at present: for the rigid life I have hitherto led, my race nearly run, I now renounce. Why so?—I have found, by experience, that there is nothing better for a man than an easy temper and complacency. That this is the truth, it is easy for any one to understand on comparing me with my brother. He has always spent his life in ease and gayety; mild, gentle, offensive to no one, having a smile for all, he has lived for himself, and has spent his money for himself; all men speak well of him, all love him. I, again, a rustic, a rigid, cross, self-denying, morose and thrifty person, married a wife; what misery I entailed in consequence! Sons were born—a fresh care. And just look, while I have been studying to do as much as possible for them, I have worn out my life and years in saving; now, in the decline of my days, the return I get from them for my pains is their dislike. He, on the other hand, without any trouble on his part, enjoys a father’s comforts; they love him; me they shun; him they trust with all their secrets, are fond of him, are always with him. I am forsaken; they wish him to live; but my death, forsooth, they are longing for. Thus, after bringing them up with all possible pains, at a trifling cost he has made them his own; thus I bear all the misery, he enjoys the pleasure. Well, then, henceforward let us try, on the other hand, whether I can’t speak kindly and act complaisantly, as he challenges me to it: I also want myself to be loved and highly valued by my friends. If that is to be effected by giving and indulging, I will not be behind him. If our means fail, that least concerns me, as I am the eldest.88

Scene V.

Enter Syrus.

Syr. Hark you, Demea, your brother begs you will not go out of the way.

Dem. Who is it?—O Syrus, my friend,89 save you! how are you? How goes it with you ?

Syr. Very well.

Dem. Very good. (Aside.) I have now for the first time used these three expressions contrary to my nature,—“O Syrus, my friend, how are you?—how goes it with you?” (To Syrus.) You show yourself far from an unworthy servant, and I shall gladly do you a service.

Syr. I thank you.

Dem. Yes, Syrus, it is the truth; and you shall be convinced of it by experience before long.

Scene VI.

Enter Geta, from the house of Sostrata.

Geta (to Sostrata, within). Mistress, I am going to see after them, that they may send for the damsel as soon as possible; but see, here’s Demea. (Accosting him.) Save you!

Dem. O, what’s your name?

Geta. Geta.

Dem. Geta, I have this day come to the conclusion that you are a man of very great worth, for I look upon him as an undoubtedly good servant who has a care for his master; as I have found to be your case, Geta; and for that reason, if any opportunity should offer, I would gladly do you a service. (Aside.) I am practicing the affable, and it succeeds very well.

Geta. You are kind, sir, to think so.

Dem. (aside.) Getting on by degrees—I’ll first make the lower classes my own.

Scene VII.

Enter Æschinus, from the house of Micio.

Æsch. (to himself.) They really are killing me while too intent on performing the nuptials with all ceremony; the whole day is being wasted in their preparations.

Dem. Æschinus! how goes it?

Æsch. Ha, my father! are you here?

Dem. Your father, indeed, both by affection and by nature; as I love you more than my very eyes; but why don’t you send for your wife?

Æsch. So I wish to do; but I am waiting for the music-girl90 and people to sing the nuptial song.

Dem. Come now, are you willing to listen to an old fellow like me?

Æsch. What is it?

Dem. Let those things alone, the nuptial song, the crowds, the torches,91 and the music-girls, and order the stone wall in the garden92 here to be pulled down with all dispatch, and bring her over that way; make but one house of the two; bring the mother and all the domestics over to our house.

Æsch. With all my heart, kindest father.

Dem. (aside.) Well done! now I am called “kind.” My brother’s house will become a thoroughfare; he will be bringing home a multitude, incurring expense in many ways: what matters it to me? I, as the kind Demea, shall get into favor. Now then, bid that Babylonian93 pay down his twenty minæ. (To Syrus.) Syrus, do you delay to go and do it?

Syr. What am I to do?

Dem. Pull down the wall: and you, Geta, go and bring them across.

Geta. May the Gods bless you, Demea, as I see you so sincere a well-wisher to our family.

Geta and Syrus go into Micio’s house.

Dem. I think they deserve it. What say you, Æschinus, as to this plan?

Æsch. I quite agree to it.

Dem. It is much more proper than that she, being sick and lying-in, should be brought hither through the street.

Æsch. Why, my dear father, I never did see any thing better contrived.

Dem. It’s my way; but see, here’s Micio coming out.

Scene VIII.

Enter Micio, from his house.

Mic. (speaking to Geta, within.) Does my brother order it? Where is he? (To Demea.) Is this your order, Demea?

Dem. Certainly, I do order it, and in this matter, and in every thing else, wish especially to make this family one with ourselves, to oblige, serve, and unite them.

Æsch. Father, pray let it be so.

Mic. I do not oppose it.

Dem. On the contrary, i’ faith, it is what we ought to do: in the first place, she is the mother of his wife (pointing to Æschinus).

Mic. She is. What then?

Dem. An honest and respectable woman.

Mic. So they say.

Dem. Advanced in years.

Mic. I am aware of it.

Dem. Through her years, she is long past child-bearing; there is no one to take care of her; she is a lone woman.

Mic. (aside.) What can be his meaning?

Dem. It is right you should marry her; and that you, Æschinus, should use your endeavors to effect it.

Mic. I, marry her, indeed?

Dem. You.

Mic. I?

Dem. You, I say.

Mic. You are trifling!

Dem. Æschinus, if you are a man, he’ll do it. 

Æsch. My dear father——

Mic. What, ass! do you attend to him?

Dem. ’Tis all in vain; it can not be otherwise.

Mic. You are mad!

Æsch. Do let me prevail on you, my father.

Mic. Are you out of your senses? Take yourself off.94

Dem. Come, do oblige your son.

Mic. Are you quite in your right mind? Am I, in my five-and-sixtieth year, to be marrying at last? A decrepit old woman too? Do you advise me to do this?

Æsch. Do; I have promised it.95

Mic. Promised, indeed; be generous at your own cost, young man.

Dem. Come, what if he should ask a still greater favor?

Mic. As if this was not the greatest!

Dem. Do comply.

Æsch. Don’t make any difficulty.

Dem. Do promise.

Mic. Will you not have done?

Æsch. Not until I have prevailed upon you.

Mic. Really, this is downright force.96

Dem. Act with heartiness, Micio.

Mic. Although this seems to me97 to be wrong, foolish, absurd, and repugnant to my mode of life, yet, if you so strongly wish it, be it so.

Æsch. You act obligingly.

Dem. With reason I love you; but——

Mic. What?

Dem. I will tell you, when my wish has been complied with.

Mic. What now? What remains to be done?

Dem. Hegio here is their nearest relation; he is a connection of ours and poor; we ought to do some good for him.

Mic. Do what?

Dem. There is a little farm here in the suburbs, which you let out; let us give it him to live upon.

Mic. But is it a little one?

Dem. If it were a large one, still it ought to be done; he has been as it were a father to her; he is a worthy man, and connected with us; it would be properly bestowed. In fine, I now adopt that proverb which you, Micio, a short time ago repeated with sense and wisdom—it is the common vice of all, in old age, to be too intent upon our own interests. This stain we ought to avoid: it is a true maxim, and ought to be observed in deed.

Mic. What am I to say to this? Well then, as he desires it (pointing to Æschinus), it shall be given him.

Æsch. My father!

Dem. Now, Micio, you are indeed my brother, both in spirit and in body.

Mic. I am glad of it.

Dem. (aside.) I foil him at his own weapon.98

Scene IX.

Enter Syrus, from the house.

Syr. It has been done as you ordered, Demea.

Dem. You are a worthy fellow. Upon my faith,—in my opinion, at least,—I think Syrus ought at once to be made free.

Mic. He free! For what reason?

Dem. For many.

Syr. O my dear Demea! upon my word, you are a worthy man! I have strictly taken care of both these sons of yours, from childhood; I have taught, advised, and carefully instructed them in every thing I could.

Dem. The thing is evident; and then besides all this, to cater for them, secretly bring home a wench, prepare a morning entertainment;99 these are the accomplishments of no ordinary person.

Syr. O, what a delightful man!

Dem. Last of all, he assisted to-day in purchasing this Music-wench—he had the management of it; it is right he should be rewarded; other servants will be encouraged thereby: besides, he (pointing to Æschinus) desires it to be so.

Mic. (to Æschinus.) Do you desire this to be done?

Æsch. I do wish it.

Mic. Why then, if you desire it, just come hither, Syrus, to me (performing the ceremony of manumission); be a free man.100

Syr. You act generously; I return my thanks to you all;—and to you, Demea, in particular.

Dem. I congratulate you.

Æsch. And I.

Syr. I believe you. I wish that this joy were made complete—that I could see my wife, Phrygia,101 free as well.

Dem. Really, a most excellent woman.

Syr. And the first to suckle your grandchild, his son, today (pointing to Æschinus).

Dem. Why really, in seriousness, if she was the first to do so, there is no doubt she ought to be made free.

Mic. What, for doing that?

Dem. For doing that; in fine, receive the amount from me102 at which she is valued.

Syr. May all the Gods always grant you, Demea, all you desire.

Mic. Syrus, you have thrived pretty well to-day.

Dem. If, in addition, Micio, you will do your duty, and lend him a little ready money in hand for present use, he will soon repay you.

Mic. Less than this (snapping his fingers).

Æsch. He is a deserving fellow.

Syr. Upon my word, I will repay it; only lend it me.

Æsch. Do, father.

Mic. I’ll consider of it afterward.

Dem. He’ll do it, Syrus.

Syr. O most worthy man!

Æsch. O most kind-hearted father!

Mic. How is this? What has so suddenly changed your disposition, Demea? What caprice is this? What means this sudden liberality?103

Dem. I will tell you:—That I may convince you of this, Micio, that the fact that they consider you an easy and kind-hearted man, does not proceed from your real life, nor, indeed, from a regard for virtue and justice; but from your humoring, indulging, and pampering them. Now therefore, Æschinus, if my mode of life has been displeasing to you, because I do not quite humor you in every thing, just or unjust, I have done: squander, buy, do what you please. But if you would rather have one to reprove and correct those faults, the results of which, by reason of your youth, you can not see, which you pursue too ardently, and are thoughtless upon, and in due season to direct you; behold me ready to do it for you.

Æsch. Father, we leave it to you; you best know what ought to be done. But what is to be done about my brother?

Dem. I consent. Let him have his mistress:104 with her let him make an end of his follies.

Mic. That’s right. (To the Audience.) Grant us your applause.

FOOTNOTES

1. From δημὸς, “the people.”

2. From Μικιὼν, a Greek proper name.

3. From ἑγεῖσθαι, “to lead,” or “take charge of.”

4. From αισχὸς, “disgrace.”

5. From κτησὶς, “a patrimony,” and φῶς, “light.”

6. From σαννὸς, “foolish.”

7. One of the nation of the Getæ.

8. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

9. From Syria, his native country.

10. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

11. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

12. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Heautontimorumenos.

13. From κανθαρὸς “a cup.”

14. Of Æmilius Paulus)—This Play (from the Greek Ἀδελφοὶ “The Brothers”) was performed at the Funeral Games of Lucius Æmilius Paulus, who was surnamed Macedonicus, from having gained a victory over Perseus, King of Macedon. He was so poor at the time of his decease, that they were obliged to sell his estate in order to pay his widow her dower. The Q. Fabius Maximus and P. Cornelius Africanus here mentioned were not, as some have thought, the Curale Ædiles, but two sons of Æmilius Paulus, who had taken the surnames of the families into which they had been adopted.

15. Sarranian flutes)—The “Sarranian” or “Tyrian” pipes, or flutes, are supposed to have been of a quick and mirthful tone; Madame Dacier has consequently with much justice suggested that the representation being on the occasion of a funeral, the title has not come down to us in a complete form, and that it was performed with the Lydian, or grave, solemn pipe, alternately with the Tyrian. This opinion is also strengthened by the fact that Donatus expressly says that it was performed to the music of Lydian flutes.

16. Being Consuls)—L. Anicius Gallus and M. Cornelius Cethegus were Consuls in the year from the Building of the City 592, and B.C. 161.

17. Synapothnescontes)—Ver. 6. Signifying “persons dying together.” The “Commorientes” of Plautus is lost. It has been doubted by some, despite these words of Terence, if Plautus ever did write such a Play.

18. Of Diphilus)—Ver. 6. Diphilus was a Greek Poet, contemporary with Menander.

19. In war, in peace, in private business)—Ver. 20. According to Donatus, by the words “in bello,” Terence is supposed to refer to his friend and patron Scipio; by “in otio,” to Furius Publius; and in the words “in negotio” to Lælius, who was famed for his wisdom.

20. The old men)—Ver. 23. This is similar to the words in the Prologue to the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 16: “But expect nothing about the plot of this Play; the old men who will come hither will disclose the matter to you.”

21. To fetch him)—Ver. 24. “Advorsum ierant.” On the duties of the “adversitores,” see the Notes to Bohn’s Translation of Plautus.

22. Either have taken cold)—Ver. 36. Westerhovius observes that this passage seems to be taken from one in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, l. 721, et seq.: “Troth, if I had had them, enough anxiety should I have had from my children; I should have been everlastingly adelphiented in mind: but if perchance one had had a fever, I think I should have died. Or if one in liquor had tumbled any where from his horse, I should have been afraid that he had broken his legs or neck on that occasion.” It may be remarked that there is a great resemblance between the characters of Micio here and Periplecomenus in the Miles Gloriosus.

23. To see you well)—Ver. 81. Cooke remarks, that though there are several fine passages in this speech, and good observations on human life, yet it is too long a soliloquy.

24. I was looking for)—Ver. 81. Donatus observes that the Poet has in this place improved upon Menander, in representing Demea as more ready to wrangle with his brother than to return his compliments.

25. Such a son as Æschinus)—Ver. 82. The passage pretty clearly means by “ubi nobis Æschinus sit,” “when I’ve got such a son as Æschinus.” Madame Dacier, however, would translate it: “Ask me—you, in whose house Æschinus is?” thus accusing him of harboring Æschinus; a very forced construction, however.

26. Broken open a door)—Ver. 88. The works of Ovid and Plautus show that it was no uncommon thing for riotous young men to break open doors; Ovid even suggests to the lover the expediency of getting into the house through the windows.

27. Does he feast)—Ver. 117. Colman has the following observation here: “The mild character of Micio is contrasted by Cicero to that of a furious, savage, severe father, as drawn by the famous Comic Poet, Caecilius. Both writers are quoted in the Oration for Caelias, in the composition of which it is plain that the orator kept his eye pretty closely on our Poet. The passages from Caecilius contain all that vehemence and severity, which, as Horace tells us, was accounted the common character of the style of that author.”

28. Smell of perfumes)—Ver. 117. For an account of the “unguenta,” or perfumes in use among the ancients, see the Notes to Bohn’s translation of Plautus.

29. Will be shut out of doors)—Ver. 119. No doubt by his mistress when she has drained him of his money, and not by Micio himself, as Colman says he was once led to imagine.

30. These things are)—Ver. 141. Donatus observes here, that Terence seems inclined to favor the part of mild fathers. He represents Micio as appalled at his adopted son’s irregularities, lest if he should appear wholly unmoved, he should seem to be corrupting him, rather than to be treating him with only a proper degree of indulgence.

31. Wished to take a wife)—Ver. 151. Donatus remarks here, that the art of Terence in preparing his incidents is wonderful. He contrives that even ignorant persons shall open the plot, as in the present instance, where we understand that Aeschinus has mentioned to Micio his intention of taking a wife, though he has not entered into particulars. This naturally leads us to the ensuing parts of the Play, without forestalling any of the circumstances.

32. I am a Procurer)—Ver. 161. He says this aloud, and with emphasis, relying upon the laws which were enacted at Athens in favor of the “lenones,” whose occupation brought great profits to the state, from their extensive trading in slaves. It was forbidden to maltreat them, under pain of being disinherited.

33. I am a Procurer)—Ver. 188. Westerhovius supposes this part to be a translation from the works of Diphilus.

34. By action of freedom)—Ver. 194. “Asserere liberati causa,” was to assert the freedom of a person, with a determination to maintain it at law. The “assertor” laid hands upon the person, declaring that he or she was free; and till the cause was tried, the person whose freedom was claimed, remained in the hands of the “assertor.”

35. Till I return)—Ver. 196. Colman has a curious remark here: “I do not remember, in the whole circle of modern comedy, a more natural picture of the elegant ease and indifference of a fine gentleman, than that exhibited in this Scene in the character of Æschinus.”

36. I have sold her)—Ver. 204. He means, that if he only names a price, Æschinus will suborn witnesses to say that he has agreed to sell her, in which case Æschinus will carry her off with impunity, and the laws will not allow him to recover her; as it will then be an ordinary debt, and he will be put off with all the common excuses used by debtors.

37. On more unequal terms)—Ver. 212. “Certationem comparatam.” This was a term taken from the combats of gladiators, where it was usual to choose as combatants such as seemed most nearly a match for each other.

38. If you had parted with ever so little)—Ver. 217. This passage is probably alluded to by Cicero, in his work, De Officiis B. ii. c. 18: “For it is not only liberal sometimes to give up a little of one’s rights, but it is also profitable.”

39. In the very joint)—Ver. 229. “Ut in ipso articulo oppressit.” Colman translates this, “Nick’d me to a hair.”

40. To take to Cyprus)—Ver. 230. He alludes to a famous slave-market held in the Isle of Cyprus, whither merchants carried slaves for sale, after buying them up in all parts of Greece.

41. Have you by this reckoned)—Ver. 236. “Jamne enumerasti id quod ad te rediturum putes?” Colman renders this, “Well, have you calculated what’s your due?” referring to the value of the Music-girl that has been taken away from him; and thinks that the following conversation between Sannio and Syrus supports that construction. Madame Dacier puts another sense on the words, and understands them as alluding to Sannio’s calculation of his expected profits at Cyprus.

42. Scrape together ten minæ)—Ver. 242. Donatus remarks, that Syrus knows very well that Æschinus is ready to pay the whole, but offers Sannio half, that he may be glad to take the bare principal, and think himself well off into the bargain.

43. He’s looking for me)—Ver. 265. Donatus remarks upon the readiness with which Sannio takes the appellation of “sacrilegus,” as adapted to no other person than himself.

44. Flying the country)—Ver. 275. Donatus tells us, that in Menander the young man was on the point of killing himself. Terence has here softened it into leaving the country. Colman remarks: “We know that the circumstance of carrying off the Music-girl was borrowed from Diphilus; yet it is plain from Donatus that there was also an intrigue by Ctesipho in the Play of Menander; which gives another proof of the manner in which Terence used the Greek Comedies.”

45. He is in haste for Cyprus)—Ver. 278. Donatus remarks that this is a piece of malice on the part of Syrus, for the purpose of teasing Sannio.

46. Order the couches)—Ver. 285. Those used for the purpose of reclining on at the entertainment.

47. Leave me alone)—Ver. 321. Quoting from Madame Dacier, Colman has this remark here: “Geta’s reply is founded on a frolicsome but ill-natured custom which prevailed in Greece—to stop the slaves in the streets, and designedly keep them in chat, so that they might be lashed when they came home for staying out so long.”

48. On his father’s knees)—Ver. 333. It was a prevalent custom with the Greeks to place the newly-born child upon the knee of its grandfather.

49. It shall be boned)—Ver. 378. The operation of boning conger-eels is often mentioned in Plautus, from whom we learn that they were best when eaten in that state, and cold.

50. Serve somewhere or other as a soldier)—Ver. 385. See a similar passage in the Trinummus of Plautus, l. 722, whence it appears that it was the practice for young men of ruined fortunes to go and offer their services as mercenaries to some of the neighboring potentates. Many of the ten thousand who fought for the younger Cyrus at the battle of Cunaxa, and were led back under the command of Xenophon, were, doubtless, of this class.

51. As though into a mirror)—Ver. 428. He parodies the words of Demea in l. 415, where he speaks of looking into the lives of men as into a mirror.

52. Of our tribe)—Ver. 439. Solon divided the Athenians into ten tribes, which he named after ten of the ancient heroes: Erectheis, Ægeis, Pandionis, Leontis, Acamantis, Œneis, Cecrops, Hippothoontis, Æantis, and Antiochis. These tribes were each divided into ten Demi.

53. Would take her home)—Ver. 473. As his wife.

54. Is among us)—Ver. 479. “In medio,” “is alive,” or “in the midst of us.”

55. Take him, bind him)—Ver. 482. In allusion to the method of examining slaves, by binding and torturing them.

56. Juno Lucina)—Ver. 487. So in the Andria, l. 473, where Glycerium is overtaken with the pains of labor, she calls upon Juno Lucina.

57. He was my kinsman)—Ver. 494. In the Play of Menander, Hegio was the brother of Sostrata.

58. Upon this matter I’ll follow)—Ver. 500. “Is, quod mihi de hae re dederat consilium, id sequar.” Coleman has the following Note on this passage: “Madame Dacier rejects this line, because it is also to be found in the Phormio. But it is no uncommon thing with our author to use the same expression or verse for different places, especially on familiar occasions. There is no impropriety in it here, and the foregoing hemistich is rather lame without it. The propriety of consulting Micio, or Demea’s present ill-humor with him, are of no consequence. The old man is surprised at Hegio’s story, does not know what to do or say, and means to evade giving a positive answer, by saying that he would consult his brother.”

59. Go back now)—Ver. 506. “Redite.” Demea most probably uses this word, because Hegio has come back to him to repeat the last words for the sake of greater emphasis.

60. Be of good heart)—Ver. 512. Colman has the following Note here: “Donatus tells us, that in some old copies this whole Scene was wanting. Guyetus therefore entirely rejects it. I have not ventured to take that liberty; but must confess that it appears to me, if not supposititious, at least cold and superfluous, and the substance of it had better been supposed to have passed between Hegio and Sostrata within.”

61. At this very moment)—Ver. 519. It is very doubtful whether the words “cum maxime” mean to signify exactly “at this moment,” or are intended to signify the intensity with which Demea is laboring.

62. Any thing still better than that)—Ver. 522. Lemaire suggests that by these words Syrus intends to imply that he should not care if Demea were never to arise from his bed, but were to die there. Ctesipho, only taking him heartily to second his own wishes for the old man’s absence, answers affirmatively “ita,” “by all means,” “exactly so.”

63. So much the worse)—Ver. 529. Schmieder observes that “tanto nequior” might have two meanings,—“so much the worse for us,” or, as the spectators might understand it, “so much the more worthless you.”

64. The wolf in the fable)—Ver. 538. This was a proverbial expression, tantamount to our saying, “Talk of the devil, he’s sure to appear.” Servius, in his Commentary on the Ninth Eclogue of Virgil, says that the saying arose from the common belief that the person whom a wolf sets his eyes upon is deprived of his voice, and thence came to be applied to a person who, coming upon others in the act of talking about him, necessarily put a stop to their conversation. Cooke says, in reference to this passage, “This certainly alludes to a Fable of Æsop’s, of the Wolf, the Fox, and the Ape: which is translated by Phædrus, and is the tenth of his First Book.” It is much more certain that Cooke is mistaken here, and that the fable of the arbitration of the Ape between the Wolf and the Fox has nothing to do with this passage. If it alludes to any fable (which from the expression itself is not at all unlikely), it is more likely to be that where the Nurse threatens that the wolf shall take the naughty Child, on which he makes his appearance, but is disappointed in his expectations, or else that of the Shepherd-boy and the Wolf. See the Stichus of Plautus, l. 57, where the same expression occurs.

65. Met a day-laborer)—Ver. 542. Donatus remarks that the Poet artfully contrives to detain Demea in town, his presence being necessary in the latter part of the Play.

66. With her in some cupboard)—Ver. 553. Donatus observes that the young man was silly in this, for if discovered to be there he would be sure to be caught. His object, however, for going there would be that he might not be discovered.

67. Take me to be in my senses)—Ver. 580. “Censen hominem me esse?” literally, “Do you take me to be a human being?” meaning, “Do you take me to be a person in my common senses?”

68. Street on the left hand)—Ver. 583. Theobald, in his edition of Shakspeare, observes that the direction given by Lancelot in the Merchant of Venice seems to be copied from that given here by Syrus: “Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marry, at the very next turning of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house.”

69. Come to the city gate)—Ver. 584. From this we discover that Demea is being sent to the very extremity of the town, as Donatus informs us that ponds of water were always close to the gates of towns, for the purpose of watering the beasts of burden, and of having a supply at hand in case the enemy should set fire to the city gates.

70. The open air)—Ver. 586. Donatus remarks that it was usual for the Greeks to sit and drink in the sun; and that Syrus being suddenly asked this question shows his presence of mind by giving this circumstantial answer, that he may the better impose upon Demea. The couches used on such occasions may be presumed to have required stout legs, and to be made of hard wood, such as oak, to prevent them from splitting. Two instances of couches being used for carousing in the open air will be found in the last Scenes of the Asinaria and Stichus of Plautus.

71. You skeleton)—Ver. 588. “Silicernium.” This was said to be the name of a funeral entertainment or dish of meats offered up to the “umbræ” or “manes,” in silence. The word is also said to have been applied to an old man from his stooping postures, “silices cernit,” “he looks at the stones.”

72. Head and ears in love)—Ver. 590. “Totus,” literally, “quite” or “altogether.”

73. Sipping my cups)—Ver. 592. As to the “cyathi” and cups of the ancients, see the last Scene of the Stichus of Plautus, which is a perfect specimen of a carousal among the lower classes in ancient times. See also the last Scene of the Asinaria. The slaves generally appear to have taken part in the entertainments with their young masters.

74. Are suspicious)—Ver. 606. These lines are supposed to be founded on some verses of Menander which are still extant.

75. Obliges him to marry her)—Ver. 655. It appears to have been a law given by Solon to the Athenians that the next male relative of suitable age should marry a female orphan himself, or find her a suitable portion. Madame Dacier suggests that the custom was derived from the Phœnicians, who had received it from the Jews, and quotes the Book of Numbers, xxxvi. 8. This law forms the basis of the plot of the Phormio.

76. To Miletus, pray?)—Ver. 658. A colony of Athens, on the coast of Asia Minor.

77. Who betrothed her?)—Ver. 673. Donatus observes that these questions, which enumerate all the proofs requisite for a marriage, are an indirect and very delicate reproof of Æschinus for the irregular and clandestine nature of his proceedings.

78. Propitious to you)—Ver. 707. Donatus remarks that there is great delicacy in this compliment of Æschinus to Micio, which, though made in his presence, does not bear the semblance of flattery. Madame Dacier thinks that Terence here alludes to a line of Hesiod, which says that it is the duty of the aged to pray. Colman suggests that the passage is borrowed from some lines of Menander still in existence.

79. Certainly I had rather)—Ver. 730. He pauses after “quidem,” but he means to say that if he had his choice, he would rather it had not been so.

80. Playing with dice)—Ver. 742. The “tesseræ” of the ancients were cubes, or what we call “dice;” while the “tali” were in imitation of the knuckle-bones of animals, and were marked on four sides only. For some account of the mode of playing with the “tali,” see the last Scene of the Asinaria, and the Curculio of Plautus, l. 257-9. Madame Dacier suggests that Menander may possibly have borrowed this passage from the Republic of Plato, B. X., where he says, “We should take counsel from accidents, and, as in a game at dice, act according to what has fallen, in the manner which reason tells us to be the best.”

81. Hold of the rope)—Ver. 755. “Restim ductans saltabis.” Donatus and Madame Dacier think that this is only a figurative expression for a dance in which all joined hands; according to some, however, a dance is alluded to where the person who led off drew a rope or cord after him, which the rest of the company took hold of as they danced; which was invented in resemblance of the manner in which the wooden horse was dragged by ropes into the city of Troy.

82. Salvation herself)—Ver. 764. See an observation relative to the translation of the word “Salus,” in the Notes to Plautus, vol. i. pages 193, 450.

83. Have done your duty)—Ver. 767. His duty of providing the viands and drink for the entertainment. So Ergasilus says in the Captivi of Plautus, l. 912, “Now I will go off to my government (præfecturam), to give laws to the bacon.”

84. I must assist him)—Ver. 795. Colman remarks on this passage: “The character of Micio appears extremely amiable through the first four Acts of this Comedy, and his behavior is in many respects worthy of imitation; but his conduct in conniving at the irregularities of Ctesipho, and even assisting him to support them, is certainly reprehensible. Perhaps the Poet threw this shade over his virtues on purpose to show that mildness and good-humor might be carried to excess.”

85. That point I was coming to)—Ver. 824. Colman observes here: “Madame Dacier makes an observation on this speech, something like that of Donatus on one of Micio’s above; and says that Micio, being hard put to it by the real circumstances of the case, thinks to confound Demea by a nonsensical gallimatia. I can not be of the ingenious lady’s opinion on this matter, for I think a more sensible speech could not be made, nor a better plea offered in favor of the young men, than that of Micio in the present instance.”

86. At the very mid-day)—Ver. 851. Exposed to the heat of a mid-day sun.

87. To the object)—Ver. 857. The marriage and its festivities.

88. Am the eldest)—Ver. 884. And therefore likely to be the first to die, and to avoid seeing such a time come.

89. O Syrus, my friend)—Ver. 886. The emptiness of his poor attempts to be familiar are very evident in this line.

90. The music-girl)—Ver. 908. “Tibicinæ,” or music-girls, attended at marriage ceremonials. See the Aulularia of Plautus, where Megadorus hires the music-girls on his intended marriage with the daughter of Euclio.

91. The crowds, the torches)—Ver. 910. See the Casina of Plautus, Act IV., Scenes 3 and 4, for some account of the marriage ceremonial. The torches, music-girls, processions, and hymeneal song, generally accompanied a wedding, but from the present passage we may conclude that they were not considered absolutely necessary.

92. Stone wall in the garden)—Ver. 911. The “maceria,” or garden-wall of loose stones, is also mentioned in the Truculentus of Plautus, l. 301.

93. Bid that Babylonian)—Ver. 918. This passage has much puzzled the Commentators; but it seems most probable that it is said aside, and that in consequence of his profuseness he calls his brother a Babylonian, (just as we call a wealthy man a nabob,) and says, “Well, let him, with all my heart, be paying twenty minæ (between £70 and £80) for music-girl.”

94. Take yourself off)—Ver. 940. Æschinus, probably, in his earnestness, has seized hold of him with his hand, which Micio now pushes away.

95. I have promised it)—Ver. 943. This is not the truth; the notion has only been started since he last saw them.

96. Really, this is downright force)—Ver. 946. “Vis est hæc quidem.” The same expression occurs in the Captivi of Plautus, l. 755. The expression seemed to be a common one with the Romans. According to Suetonius, Julius Cæsar used it when attacked by his murderers in the senate-house. On Tullius Cimber seizing hold of his garments, he exclaimed, “Ita quidem vis est!”—“Why, really, this is violence!”

97. This seems to me)—Ver. 947. Donatus informs us that in Menander’s Play, the old man did not make any resistance whatever to the match thus patched up for him. Colman has the following observation on this fact: “It is surprising that none of the critics on this passage have taken notice of this observation of Donatus, especially as our loss of Menander makes it rather curious. It is plain that Terence in the plan of his last Act followed Menander; but though he has adopted the absurdity of marrying Micio to the old lady, yet we learn from Donatus that his judgment rather revolted at this circumstance, and he improved on his original by making Micio express a repugnance to such a match, which it seems he did not in the Play of Menander.”

98. At his own weapon)—Ver. 961. He probably means, by aping the kind feeling which is a part of Micio’s character.

99. A morning entertainment)—Ver. 969. A banquet in the early part or middle of the day was considered by the Greeks a debauch.

100. Be a free man)—Ver. 974. He touches Syrus on the ear, and makes him free. The same occurs in the Epidicus of Plautus, Act V., Sc. 2, l. 65.

101. My wife, Phrygia)—Ver. 977. The so-called marriage, or rather cohabitation, of the Roman slaves will be found treated upon in the Notes to Plautus. Syrus calls Phrygia his wife on anticipation that she will become a free woman.

102. Receive the amount from me)—Ver. 981. The only sign of generosity he has yet shown.

103. This sudden liberality)—Ver. 989. “Quid prolubium? Quae istæc subita est largitas?” Madame Dacier tells us that this passage was borrowed from Coecilius, the Comic Poet.

104. Let him have his mistress)—Ver. 1001. It must be remembered that he has the notions of a Greek parent, and sees no such criminality in this sanction as a parent would be sensible of at the present day.

HECYRA;
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Laches,1 an aged Athenian, father of Pamphilus.

Phidippus,2 an aged Athenian, father of Philumena.

Pamphilus,3 son of Laches.

Sosia,4 servant of Pamphilus.

Parmeno,5 servant of Sostrata.

Sostrata,6 wife of Laches.

Myrrhina,7 wife of Phidippus.

Bacchis,8 a Courtesan.

Philotis,9 a Courtesan.

Syra,10 a Procuress.

Scene.—Athens; before the houses of Laches, Phidippus, and Bacchis.

THE SUBJECT.

Pamphilus, the son of Laches by his wife Sostrata, being at the time enamored of Bacchis, a Courtesan, chances, one night, in a drunken fit, to debauch Philumena, the daughter of Phidippus and Myrrhina. In the struggle he takes a ring from her, which he gives to Bacchis. Some time afterward, at his father’s express desire, he consents to marry. By chance the young woman whom he has ravished is given to him as a wife, to the great joy of her mother, who alone is aware of her misfortune, and hopes that her disgrace may be thereby concealed. It, however, happens otherwise; for Pamphilus, still retaining his passion for Bacchis, refuses for some time to cohabit with her. Bacchis, however, now rejects the advances of Pamphilus, who by degrees becomes weaned from his affection for her, and grows attached to his wife, whom he has hitherto disliked. Meantime, however, he is suddenly called away from home. During his absence, Philumena, finding herself pregnant in consequence of her misfortune before her marriage, fearing detection, especially avoids the company of her mother-in-law. At length she makes an excuse for returning to the home of her own parents, where she remains. Sostrata thereupon sends for her, but is answered that she is ill, on which she goes to see her, but is refused admittance to the house. On hearing of this, Laches blames his wife as being the cause of this estrangement. Pamphilus now returns, and it so happens that, on the day of his arrival, Philumena is brought to bed of a child. Impatient to see her, Pamphilus rushes into her room, and to his great distress finds that this is the case. Myrrhina thereupon entreats him to keep the matter secret, and begs him, if he refuses to receive her daughter back again, at least not to ruin her reputation by divulging it. As he now declines either to take back his wife or give his reason for so doing, Laches suspects that he is still enamored of Bacchis, and accordingly sends for her, and expostulates with her. She, however, exonerates herself; on which the old man, supposing that Philumena and her mother are equally ignorant with himself as to his son’s motives, begs her to call on them and remove their suspicions. While she is conversing with them, they recognize the ring upon her finger which Pamphilus had formerly taken from Philumena. By means of this it is discovered that Pamphilus himself is the person who has ravished Philumena; on which, overjoyed, he immediately takes home his wife and son.

THE TITLE OF THE PLAY.

Performed at the Megalensian Games; Sextus Julius Csesar and Cneius Cornelius Dolabella being Curule Ædiles. The whole was not then acted. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius, composed the music to a pair of flutes. It was composed wholly from the Greek of Menander.11 It was performed the first time without a Prologue. Represented a second time; Cneius Octavius and T. Manlius being Consuls.12 It was then brought out in honor of L. Æmilius Paulus, at his Funeral Games, and was not approved of. It was repeated a third time; Q. Fulvius and L. Marcius being Curule Ædiles. L. Ambivius Turpio performed it. It was then approved of.13

HECYRA;
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

Pamphilus has married Philumena, to whom, when a virgin, he formerly, not knowing who she was, offered violence; and whose ring which he took off by force, he gave to his mistress, Bacchis, a Courtesan. Afterward he sets out for Imbros, not having touched his bride. Having become pregnant, her mother brings her over to her own house, as though sick, that her mother-in-law may not know it. Pamphilus returns; detects her being delivered; conceals it; but determines not to take back his wife. His father imputes this to his passion for Bacchis. While Bacchis is exculpating herself, Myrrhina, the mother of the injured girl, by chance recognizes the ring. Pamphilus takes back his wife, together with his son.

THE FIRST PROLOGUE.

Hecyra14 is the name of this Play; when it was represented for the first time, an unusual disaster and calamity15 interrupted it, so that it could not be witnessed throughout or estimated; so much had the populace, carried away with admiration, devoted their attention to some rope-dancing. It is now offered as though entirely a new Play; and he who wrote it did not wish to bring it forward then a second time, on purpose that he might be able again to sell it.16 Other Plays of his17 you have seen represented; I beg you now to give your attention to this.

THE SECOND PROLOGUE.18

I come to you as an envoy from the Poet, in the character of prologue-speaker; allow me to be a successful pleader, that in my old age I may enjoy the same privilege that I enjoyed when a, younger man, when I caused new Plays, that had been once rejected, to come into favor; so that his writings might not die with the Poet. Among them, as to those of Cæcilius,19 which I first studied when new; in some of which I was rejected; in some I kept my ground with difficulty. As I knew that the fortune of the stage was varying, where the hopes were uncertain, I submitted to certain toil. Those I zealously attempted to perform, that from the same writer I might learn new ones, and not discourage him from his pursuits. I caused them to be represented. When seen, they pleased. Thus did I restore the Poet to his place, who was now almost weaned, through the malevolence of his adversaries, from his pursuits and labors, and from the dramatic art. But if I had at that period slighted the writer, and had wished to use my endeavors in discouraging him, so that he might live a life of idleness rather than of study, I might have easily discouraged him from writing others. Now, for my sake, hear with unbiased minds what it is I ask. I again bring before you the Hecyra, which I have never been allowed to act before you in silence; such misfortunes have so overwhelmed it. These misfortunes your intelligence will allay, if it is a seconder of our exertions. The first time, when I began to act this Play, the vauntings of boxers,20 the expectation of a rope-dancer,21 added to which, the throng of followers, the noise, the clamor of the women, caused me to retire from your presence before the time. In this new Play, I attempted to follow the old custom of mine,22 of making a fresh trial; I brought it on again. In the first Act I pleased; when in the mean time a rumor spread that gladiators were about to be exhibited; the populace flock together, make a tumult, clamor aloud, and fight for their places:23 meantime, I was unable to maintain my place. Now there is no confusion: there is attention and silence—an opportunity of acting my Play has been granted me; to yourselves is given the power of gracing the scenic festival.24 Do not permit, through your agency, the dramatic art to sink into the hands of a few; let your authority prove a seconder and assistant to my own. If I have never covetously set a price upon my skill, and have come to this conclusion, that it is the greatest gain in the highest possible degree to contribute to your entertainment; allow me to obtain this of you, that him who has intrusted his labors to my protection, and himself to your integrity,—that him, I say, the malicious may not maliciously deride, beset by them on every side. For my sake, admit of this plea, and attend in silence, that he may be encouraged to write other Plays, and that it may be for my advantage to study new ones hereafter, purchased at my own expense.25

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Philotis26 and Syra.

Phil. I’faith, Syra, you can find but very few lovers who prove constant to their mistresses. For instance, how often did this Pamphilus swear to Bacchis—how solemnly, so that any one might have readily believed him—that he never would take home a wife so long as she lived. Well now, he is married.

Syr. Therefore, for that very reason, I earnestly both advise and entreat you to take pity upon no one, but plunder, fleece, and rend every man you lay hold of.

Phil. What! Hold no one exempt?

Syr. No one; for not a single one of them, rest assured, comes to you without making up his mind, by means of his flatteries, to gratify his passion with you at the least possible expense. Will you not, pray, plot against them in return?

Phil. And yet, upon my faith, it is unfair to be the same to all.

Syr. What! unfair to take revenge on your enemies? or, for them to be caught in the very way they try to catch you? Alas! wretched me! why do not your age and beauty belong to me, or else these sentiments of mine to you?

Scene II.

Enter Parmeno from the house of Laches.

Par. (at the door, speaking to Scirtus within.) If the old man should be asking for me, do you say that I have just gone to the harbor to inquire about the arrival of Pamphilus. Do you hear what I say, Scirtus? If he asks for me, then you are to say so; if he does not, why, say nothing at all; so that at another time I may be able to employ that excuse as a new one. (Comes forward, and looking around.)—But is it my dear Philotis that I see? How has she come here? (Accosting her.) Philotis heartily good-morrow.

Phil. O, good-morrow, Parmeno.

Syr. By my troth, good-morrow, Parmeno.

Par. I’faith, Syra, the same to you. Philotis, tell me, where have you been enjoying yourself so long?

Phil. For my part, indeed, I have been far from enjoying myself, in leaving this place for Corinth with a most brutal captain; for two whole years, there, had I to put up with him to my sorrow.

Par. I’troth, I fancy that regret for Athens full oft possessed you, and that you thought but poorly of your foresight.

Phil. It can not be expressed how impatient I was to return hither, get rid of the captain, and see yourselves here, that after our old fashion I might at my ease enjoy the merry-makings among you; for there it was not allowed me to speak, except at the moment prescribed, and on such subjects as he chose.

Par. (sarcastically.) I don’t think it was gallant in the captain to place a restraint on your tongue.

Phil. But what is this piece of business that Bacchis has just now been telling me in-doors here? (pointing to her house.) A thing I never supposed would come to pass, that he, in her lifetime, could possibly prevail upon his feelings to take a wife.

Par. To take, indeed!

Phil. Why, look you, has he not taken one?

Par. He has; but I doubt whether this match will be lasting.

Phil. May the Gods and Goddesses grant it so, if it is for the advantage of Bacchis. But why am I to believe it is so? Tell me, Parmeno.

Par. There is no need for its being spread abroad; ask me no more about it.

Phil. For fear, I suppose, it may be made public. So may the Gods prosper me, I do not ask you in order that I may spread it abroad, but that, in silence, I may rejoice within myself.

Par. You’ll never speak me so fairly, that I shall trust my back to your discretion.

Phil. Oh, don’t say so, Parmeno;27 as though you were not much more impatient to tell me this, than I to learn what I’m inquiring about.

Par. (to himself.) She tells the truth there; and that is my greatest failing. (To Philotis.) If you give me your word that you’ll keep it a secret, I’ll tell you.

Phil. You are now returning to your natural disposition. I give you my word; say on.

Par. Listen.

Phil. I’m all attention.

Par. Pamphilus was in the height of his passion for Bacchis here, when his father began to importune him to take a wife, and to urge those points which are usual with all fathers, that he himself was now in years, and that he was his only son, that he wished for a support for his declining years. He refused at first. But on his father pressing more urgently, he caused him to become wavering in his mind, whether to yield rather to duty or to love. By hammering on and teazing him, at last the old man gained his point; and betrothed him to the daughter of our next-door neighbor here (pointing to the house of Phidippus). This did not seem so very disagreeable to Pamphilus, until on the very point of marriage, when he saw that all was ready, and that no respite was granted, but marry he must; then, at last, he took it so much to heart, that I do believe if Bacchis had been present, even she would have pitied him. Whenever opportunity was afforded for us being alone, so that he could converse with me, he used to say: “Parmeno, I am ruined! What have I done! Into what misery have I plunged myself! Parmeno, I shall never be able to endure this. To my misery, I am undone!”

Phil. (vehemently exclaiming.) May the Gods and Goddesses confound you, Laches, for vexing him so!

Par. To cut the matter short, he took home his wife. On the first night, he did not touch the girl; the night that followed that, not a bit the more.

Phil. What is it you tell me? A young man go to bed with a virgin, intoxicated to boot, and able to restrain himself from touching her! You do not say what’s likely; nor do I believe it to be the truth.

Par. I suppose it does seem so to you, for no one comes to you unless he is eager for you; but he had married her against his will.

Phil. After this, what followed?

Par. In a very few days after, Pamphilus took me aside, away from the house, and told me how that the young woman was still untouched by him; and how that before he had taken her home as his wife, he had hoped to be able to endure this marriage: “But, Parmeno, as I can not resolve to live with her any longer, it is neither honorable in me, nor of advantage to the young woman herself, for her to be turned to ridicule, but rather I ought to return her to her relations just as I received her.”

Phil. You tell me of a conscientious and virtuous disposition in Pamphilus.

Par. “For me to declare this, I consider to be inconvenient to me, but for her to be sent back to her father without mentioning any blame, would be insolent; but I am in hopes that she, when she is sensible that she can not live with me, will go at last of her own accord.”

Phil. What did he do in the mean while? Used he to visit Bacchis?

Par. Every day. But as usually is the case, after she saw that he belonged to another, she immediately became more ill-natured and more peevish.

Phil. I’faith, that’s not to be wondered at.

Par. And this circumstance in especial contributed to estrange him from her; after he had fairly examined himself, and her, and the one that was at home, he formed a judgment, by comparison, upon the principles of them both. She, just as might be expected from a person of respectable and free birth, chaste and virtuous, patient under the slights and all the insults of her husband, and concealing his affronts. Upon this, his mind, partly overcome by compassion for his wife, partly constrained by the insolence of the other, was gradually estranged from Bacchis, and transferred its affections to the other, after having found a congenial disposition. In the mean time, there dies at Imbros28 an old man, a relative of theirs. His property there devolved on them by law. Thither his father drove the love-sick Pamphilus, much against his will. He left his wife here with his mother, for the old man has retired into the country; he seldom comes into the city.

Phil. What is there yet in this marriage to prevent its being lasting?

Par. You shall hear just now. At first, for several days, there really was a good understanding between them. In the mean time, however, in a strange way, she began to take a dislike to Sostrata; nor yet was there ever any quarrel or words between them.

Phil. What then?

Par. If at any time she came to converse with her, she would instantly withdraw from her presence,29 and refuse to see her; in fine, when she could no longer endure her, she pretended that she was sent for by her mother to assist at a sacrifice. When she had been there a few days, Sostrata ordered her to be fetched. She made some, I know not what, excuse. Again she gave similar orders; no one sent back any excuse. After she had sent for her repeatedly, they pretended that the damsel was sick. My mistress immediately went to see her; no one admitted her. On the old man coming to know of this, he yesterday came up from the country on purpose, and waited immediately upon the father of Philumena. What passed between them, I do not know as yet; but really I do feel some anxiety in what way this is to end. You now have the whole matter; and I shall proceed whither I was on my way.

Phil. And I too, for I made an appointment with a certain stranger30 to meet him.

Par. May the Gods prosper what you undertake!

Phil. Farewell!

Par. And a kind farewell to you, my dear Philotis.

Exeunt severally.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.31

Enter Laches and Sostrata, from the house of the former.

Lach. O faith of Gods and men! what a race is this! what a conspiracy this! that all women should desire and reject every individual thing alike! And not a single one can you find to swerve in any respect from the disposition of the rest. For instance, quite as though with one accord, do all mothers-in-law hate their daughters-in-law. Just in the same way is it their system to oppose their husbands; their obstinacy here is the same. In the very same school they all seem to me to have been trained up to perverseness. Of that school, if there is any mistress, I am very sure that she (pointing at Sostrata) it is.

Sos. Wretched me! when now I don’t so much as know why I am accused!

Lach. Eh! you don’t know?

Sos. So may the Gods kindly prosper me, Laches, and so may it be allowed us to pass our lives together in unity!

Lach. (aside.) May the Gods avert such a misfortune!

Sos. I’m sure that before long you will be sensible that I have been accused by you undeservedly.

Lach. You, undeservedly? Can any thing possibly be said that you deserve in return for this conduct of yours? You, who are disgracing both me and yourself and the family, and are laying up sorrow for your son. Then besides, you are making our connections become, from friends, enemies to us, who have thought him deserving for them to intrust their children32 to him. You alone have put yourself forward, by your folly, to be causing this disturbance.

Sos. What, I?

Lach. You, woman, I say, who take me to be a stone, not a man. Do you think because it’s my habit to be so much in the country, that I don’t know in what way each person is passing his life here? I know much better what is going on here than there, where I am daily; for this reason, because, just as you act at home, I am spoken of abroad. Some time since, indeed, I heard that Philumena had taken a dislike to you; nor did I the least wonder at it; indeed, if she hadn’t done so, it would have been more surprising. But I did not suppose that she would have gone so far as to hate even the whole of the family; if I had known that, she should have remained here in preference, and you should have gone away. But consider how undeservedly these vexations arise on your account, Sostrata; I went to live in the country, in compliance with your request, and to look after my affairs, in order that my circumstances might be able to support your lavishness and comforts, not sparing my own exertions, beyond what’s reasonable and my time of life allows. That you should take no care, in return for all this, that there should be nothing to vex me!

Sos. Upon my word, through no means or fault of mine has this taken place.

Lach. Nay, through you in especial; you were the only person here; on you alone, Sostrata, falls all the blame. You ought to have taken care of matters here, as I had released you from other anxieties. Is it not a disgrace for an old woman to pick a quarrel with a girl? You will say it was her fault.

Sos. Indeed I do not say so, my dear Laches.

Lach. I am glad of that, so may the Gods prosper me, for my son’s sake. I am quite sure of this, that no fault of yours can possibly put you in a worse light.

Sos. How do you know, my husband, whether she may not have pretended to dislike me, on purpose that she might be more with her mother?

Lach. What say you to this? Is it not proof sufficient, when yesterday no one was willing to admit you into the house, when you went to see her?

Sos. Why, they told me that she was very ill just then; for that reason I was not admitted to her.

Lach. I fancy that your humors are more her malady than any thing else; and with good reason in fact, for there is not one of you but wants her son to take a wife; and the match which has taken your fancy must be the one; when, at your solicitation, they have married, then, at your solicitation, they are to put them away again.

Scene II.

Enter Phidippus from his house.

Phid. (speaking to Philumena within.) Although I am aware, Philumena, that I have the right to compel you to do what I order, still, being swayed by the feelings of a father, I will prevail upon myself to yield to you, and not oppose your inclination.

Lach. And look, most opportunely I see Phidippus; I’ll presently know from him how it is. (Accosting him.) Phidippus, although I am aware that I am particularly indulgent to all my family, still it is not to that degree to let my good nature corrupt their minds. And if you would do the same, it would be more for your own interest and ours. At present I see that you are under the control of those women.

Phid. Just look at that, now!

Lach. I waited on you yesterday about your daughter; you sent me away just as wise as I came. It does not become you, if you wish this alliance to continue, to conceal your resentment. If there is any fault on our side, disclose it; either by clearing ourselves, or excusing it, we shall remedy these matters for you, yourself the judge. But if this is the cause of detaining her at your house, because she is ill, then I think that you do me an injustice, Phidippus, if you are afraid lest she should not be attended with sufficient care at my house. But, so may the Gods prosper me, I do not yield in this to you, although you are her father, that you can wish her well more than I do, and that on my son’s account, who I know values her not less than his own self. Nor, in fact, is it unknown to you, how much, as I believe, it will vex him, if he comes to know33 of this; for this reason, I wish to have her home before he returns.

Phid. Laches, I am sensible of both your carefulness and your good-will, and I am persuaded that all you say is just as you say: and I would have you believe me in this; I am anxious for her to return to you, if I possibly can by any means effect it.

Lach. What is it prevents you from effecting it? Come, now, does she make any complaint against her husband?

Phid. By no means; for when I urged it still more strongly, and attempted to constrain her by force to return, she solemnly protested that she couldn’t possibly remain with you, while Pamphilus was absent. Probably each has his own failing; I am naturally of an indulgent disposition; I can not thwart my own family.

Lach. (turning to his wife, who stands apart.) Ha! Sostrata!34

Sos. (sighing deeply.) Alas! wretched me!

Lach. (to Phidippus.) Is this your final determination?

Phid. For the present, at least, as it seems; but have you any thing else to say? for I have some business that obliges me to go at once to the Forum.

Lach. I’ll go with you.

Exeunt.

Scene III.

Sostrata alone.

Sos. Upon my faith, we assuredly are all of us hated by our husbands with equal injustice, on account of a few, who cause us all to appear deserving of harsh treatment. For, so may the Gods prosper me, as to what my husband accuses me of, I am quite guiltless. But it is not so easy to clear myself, so strongly have people come to the conclusion that all step-mothers are harsh: i’faith, not I, indeed, for I never regarded her otherwise than if she had been my own daughter; nor can I conceive how this has befallen me. But really, for many reasons, I long for my son’s return home with impatience.

Goes into her house.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Pamphilus and Parmeno.

Pam. No individual, I do believe, ever met with more crosses in love than I. Alas! unhappy me! that I have thus been sparing of life! Was it for this I was so very impatient to return home? O, how much more preferable had it been for me to pass my life any where in the world than to return here and be sensible that I am thus wretched! For all of us know who have met with trouble from any cause, that all the time that passes before we come to the knowledge of it, is so much gain.

Par. Still, as it is, you’ll the sooner know how to extricate yourself from these misfortunes. If you had not returned, this breach might have become much wider; but now, Pamphilus, I am sure that both will be awed by your presence. You will learn the facts, remove their enmity, restore them to good feeling once again. These are but trifles which you have persuaded yourself are so grievous.

Pam. Why comfort me? Is there a person in all the world so wretched as I? Before I took her to wife, I had my heart engaged by other affections. Now, though on this subject I should be silent, it is easy for any one to know how much I have suffered; yet I never dared refuse her whom my father forced upon me. With difficulty did I withdraw myself from another, and disengage my affections so firmly rooted there! and hardly had I fixed them in another quarter, when, lo! a new misfortune has arisen, which may tear me from her too. Then besides, I suppose that in this matter I shall find either my mother or my wife in fault; and when I find such to be the fact, what remains but to become still more wretched? For duty, Parmeno, bids me bear with the feelings of a mother; then, to my wife I am bound by obligations; with so much temper did she formerly bear my usage, and on no occasion disclose the many wrongs inflicted on her by me. But, Parmeno, something of consequence, I know not what it is, must have happened for this misunderstanding to have arisen between them, that has lasted so long.

Par. Or else something frivolous, i’faith, if you would only give words their proper value; those which are sometimes the greatest enmities, do not argue the greatest injuries; for it often happens that in certain circumstances, in which another would not even be out of temper, for the very same reason a passionate man becomes your greatest enemy. What enmities do children entertain among themselves for trifling injuries! For what reason? Why, because they have a weak understanding to direct them. Just so are these women, almost like children with their fickle feelings; perhaps a single word has occasioned this enmity between them, master.

Pam. Go, Parmeno, into the house, and carry word35 that I have arrived.

A noise is heard in the house of Phidippus.

Par. (starting.) Ha! What means this?

Pam. Be silent. I perceive a bustling about, and a running to and fro.

Par. (going to the door.) Come then, I’ll approach nearer to the door. (He listens.) Ha! did you hear?

Pam. Don’t be prating. (He listens.) O Jupiter, I heard a shriek!

Par. You yourself are talking, while you forbid me.

Myr. (within the house.) Prithee, my child, do be silent.

Pam. That seems to be the voice of Philumena’s mother. I’m undone!

Par. Why so?

Pam. Utterly ruined!

Par. For what reason?

Pam. Parmeno, you are concealing from me some great misfortune to me unknown.

Par. They said that your wife, Philumena, was in alarm about36 something, I know not what; whether that may be it, perchance, I don’t know.

Pam. I am undone! Why didn’t you tell me of this?

Par. Because I couldn’t tell every thing at once.

Pam. What is the malady?

Par. I don’t know.

Pam. What! has no one brought a physician to see her?

Par. I don’t know.

Pam. Why delay going in-doors, that I may know as soon as possible for certain what it is? In what condition, Philumena, am I now to find you? But if you are in any peril, beyond a doubt I will perish with you.

Goes into the house of Phidippus.

Scene II.

Parmeno alone.

Par. (to himself.) There is no need for me to follow him into the house at present, for I see that we are all disagreeable to them. Yesterday, no one would give Sostrata admittance. If, perchance, the malady should become worse, which really I could far from wish, for my master’s sake especially, they would at once say that Sostrata’s servant had been in there; they would invent a story that I had brought some mischief against their lives and persons, in consequence of which the malady had been increased. My mistress would be blamed, and I should incur heavy punishment.37

Scene III.

Enter Sostrata.

Sos. (to herself.) In dreadful alarm, I have for some time heard, I know not what confusion going on here; I’m sadly afraid Philumena’s illness is getting worse. Æsculapius, I do entreat thee, and thee, Health,38 that it may not be so. Now I’ll go visit her. (Approaches the door.)

Par. (coming forward.) Hark you, Sostrata.

Sos. (turning round.) Well.

Par. You will again be shut out there.

Sos. What, Parmeno, is it you? I’m undone! wretch that I am, what shall I do? Am I not to go see the wife of Pamphilus, when she is ill here next door?

Par. Not go see her! Don’t even send any person for the purpose of seeing her; for I’m of opinion that he who loves a person to whom he is an object of dislike, commits a double mistake: he himself takes a useless trouble, and causes annoyance to the other. Besides, your son went in to see how she is, as soon as he arrived.

Sos. What is it you say? Has Pamphilus arrived?

Par. He has.

Sos. I give thanks unto the Gods! Well, through that news my spirits are revived, and anxiety has departed from my heart.

Par. For this reason, then, I am especially unwilling you should go in there; for if Philumena’s malady at all abates, she will, I am sure, when they are by themselves, at once tell him all the circumstances; both what misunderstandings have arisen between you, and how the difference first began. But see, he’s coming out—how sad he looks!

Scene IV.

Re-enter Pamphilus, from the house of Phidippus.

Sos. (running up to him.) O my son! (Embraces him.)

Pam. My mother, blessings on you.

Sos. I rejoice that you are returned safe. Is Philumena in a fair way?

Pam. She is a little better. (Weeping.)

Sos. Would that the Gods may grant it so! Why, then, do you weep, or why so dejected?

Pam. All’s well, mother.

Sos. What meant that confusion? Tell me; was she suddenly taken ill?

Pam. Such was the fact.

Sos. What is her malady?

Pam. A fever.

Sos. An intermitting one?39

Pam. So they say. Go in the house, please, mother; I’ll follow you immediately.

Sos. Very well.

Goes into her house.

Pam. Do you run and meet the servants, Parmeno, and help them with the baggage.

Par. Why, don’t they know the way themselves to come to our house?

Pam. (stamping.) Do you loiter?

Exit Parmeno.

Scene V.

Pamphilus, alone.

Pam. I can not discover any fitting commencement of my troubles, at which to begin to narrate the things that have so unexpectedly befallen me, some of which with these eyes I have beheld; some I have heard with my ears; and on account of which I so hastily betook myself, in extreme agitation, out of doors. For just now, when, full of alarm, I rushed into the house, expecting to find my wife afflicted with some other malady than what I have found it to be;—ah me! immediately the servant-maids beheld that I had arrived, they all at the same moment joyfully exclaimed, “He is come,” from having so suddenly caught sight of me. But I soon perceived the countenances of all of them change,40 because at so unseasonable a juncture chance had brought me there. One of them in the mean time hastily ran before me to give notice that I had come. Impatient to see my wife, I followed close. When I entered the room, that instant, to my sorrow, I found out her malady; for neither did the time afford any interval to enable her to conceal it, nor could she complain in any other accents than those which the case itself prompted. When I perceived this: “O disgraceful conduct!” I exclaimed, and instantly hurried away from the spot in tears, overwhelmed by such an incredible and shocking circumstance. Her mother followed me; just as I got to the threshold, she threw herself on her knees: I felt compassion for her. Assuredly it is the fact, in my opinion, just as matters befall us all, so are we elated or depressed. At once she began to address me in these words: “O my dear Pamphilus, you see the reason why she left your house; for violence was offered to her when formerly a maid, by some villain to us unknown. Now, she took refuge here then, that from you and others she might conceal her labor.” But when I call to mind her entreaties, I can not, wretched as I am, refrain from tears. “Whatever chance or fortune it is,” said she, “which has brought you here to-day, by it we do both conjure you, if with equity and justice we may, that her misfortune may be concealed by you, and kept a secret from all. If ever you were sensible, my dear Pamphilus, that she was tenderly disposed toward you, she now asks you to grant her this favor in return, without making any difficulty of it. But as to taking her back, act quite according to your own convenience. You alone are aware of her lying-in, and that the child is none of yours. For it is said that it was two months after the marriage before she had commerce with you. And then, this is but the seventh month since she came to you.41 That you are sensible of this, the circumstances themselves prove. Now, if it is possible, Pamphilus, I especially wish, and will use my endeavors, that her labor may remain unknown to her father, and to all, in fact. But if that can not be managed, and they do find it out, I will say that she miscarried; I am sure no one will suspect otherwise than, what is so likely, the child was by you. It shall be instantly exposed; in that case there is no inconvenience whatever to yourself, and you will be concealing an outrage so undeservingly committed upon her,42 poor thing!” I promised this, and I am resolved to keep faith in what I said. But as to taking her back, really I do not think that would be at all creditable, nor will I do so, although love for her, and habit, have a strong influence upon me. I weep when it occurs to my mind, what must be her life, and how great her loneliness in future. O Fortune, thou hast never been found constant! But by this time my former passion has taught me experience in the present case. The means by which I got rid of that, I must employ on the present occasion. Parmeno is coming with the servants; it is far from convenient that he should be here under present circumstances, for he was the only person to whom I trusted the secret that I kept aloof from her when I first married her. I am afraid lest, if he should frequently hear her cries, he might find out that she is in labor. He must be dispatched by me somewhere till Philumena is delivered.

Scene VI.

Enter at a distance Parmeno and Sosia, with people carrying baggage.

Par. (to Sosia.) Do you say that this voyage was disagreeable to you?

Sosia. Upon my faith, Parmeno, it can not be so much as expressed in words, how disagreeable it is to go on a voyage.

Par. Do you say so?

Sosia. O lucky man! You don’t know what evils you have escaped, by never having been at sea. For to say nothing of other hardships, mark this one only; thirty days or more43 was I on board that ship, and every moment, to my horror, was in continual expectation of death: such unfavorable weather did we always meet with.

Par. How annoying!

Sosia. That’s not unknown to me: in fine, upon my faith, I would rather run away than go back, if I knew that I should have to go back there.

Par. Why really, but slight causes formerly made you, Sosia, do what now you are threatening to do. But I see Pamphilus himself standing before the door. (To the Attendants, who go into the house of Laches.) Go in-doors; I’ll accost him, to see if he wants any thing with me. (Accosts Pamphilus.) What, still standing here, master?

Pam. Yes, and waiting for you.

Par. What’s the matter?

Pam. You must run across to the citadel.44

Par. Who must?

Pam. You.

Par. To the citadel? Why thither?

Pam. To meet Callidemides, my entertainer at Myconos, who came over in the same ship with me.

Par. (aside.) Confusion! I should say he has made a vow that if ever he should return home safe, he would rupture me45 with walking.

Pam. Why are you lingering?

Par. What do you wish me to say? Or am I to meet him only?

Pam. No; say that I can not meet him to-day, as I appointed, so that he may not wait for me to no purpose. Fly!

Par. But I don’t know the man’s appearance.

Pam. Then I’ll tell you how to know it; a huge fellow, ruddy, with curly hair, fat, with gray eyes and freckled countenance.

Par. May the Gods confound him! What if he shouldn’t come? Am I to wait there, even till the evening?

Pam. Yes, wait there. Run!

Par. I can’t; I am so tired.

Exit slowly.

Scene VII.

Pamphilus, alone.

Pam. He’s off. What shall I do in this distressed situation? Really, I don’t know in what way I’m to conceal this, as Myrrhina entreated me, her daughter’s lying-in; but I do pity the woman. What I can, I’ll do; only so long, however, as I observe my duty; for it is proper that I should be regardful of a parent,46 rather than of my passion. But look—I see Phidippus and my father. They are coming this way; what to say to them, I’m at a loss.

Stands apart.

Scene VIII.

Enter, at a distance, Laches and Phidippus.

Lach. Did you not say, just now, that she was waiting for my son’s return?

Phid. Just so.

Lach. They say that he has arrived; let her return.

Pam. (apart to himself, aloud.) What excuse to make to my father for not taking her back, I don’t know!

Lach. (turning round.) Who was it I heard speaking here?

Pam. (apart.) I am resolved to persevere in the course I determined to pursue.

Lach. ’Tis the very person about whom I was talking to you.

Pam. Health to you, my father.

Lach. Health to you, my son.

Phid. I am glad that you have returned, Pamphilus, and the more especially so, as you are safe and well.

Pam. I believe you.

Lach. Have you but just arrived?

Pam. Only just now.

Lach. Tell me, what has our cousin Phania left us?

Pam. Why really, i’faith, he was a man very much devoted to pleasure while he lived; and those who are so, don’t much benefit their heirs, but for themselves leave this commendation: While he lived, he lived well.47

Lach. So then, you have brought home nothing more48 than a single sentiment?

Pam. Whatever he has left, we are the gainers by it.

Lach. Why no, it has proved a loss; for I could have wished him alive and well.

Phid. You may wish that with impunity; he’ll never come to life again; and after all I know which of the two you would prefer.

Lach. Yesterday, he (pointing to Phidippus) desired Philumena to be fetched to his house. (Whispers to Phidippus, nudging him with his elbow.) Say that you desired it.

Phid. (aside to Laches.) Don’t punch me so. (To Pamphilus.) I desired it.

Lach. But he’ll now send her home again.

Phid. Of course.

Pam. I know the whole affair, and how it happened; I heard it just now, on my arrival.

Lach. Then may the Gods confound those spiteful people who told this news with such readiness!

Pam. (to Phidippus.) I am sure that it has been my study, that with reason no slight might possibly be committed by your family; and if I were now truthful to mention of how faithful, loving, and tender a disposition I have proved toward her, I could do so truly, did I not rather wish that you should learn it of herself; for by that method you will be the more ready to place confidence in my disposition when she, who is now acting unjustly toward me, speaks favorably of me. And that through no fault of mine this separation has taken place, I call the Gods to witness. But since she considers that it is not befitting her to give way to my mother, and with readiness to conform to her temper, and as on no other terms it is possible for good feeling to exist between them, either my mother must be separated, Phidippus, from me, or else Philumena. Now affection urges me rather to consult my mother’s pleasure.

Lach. Pamphilus, your words have reached my ears not otherwise than to my satisfaction, since I find that you postpone all considerations for your parent. But take care, Pamphilus, lest impelled by resentment, you carry matters too far.

Pam. How, impelled by resentment, could I now be biased against her who never has been guilty of any thing toward me, father, that I could not wish, and who has often deserved as well as I could desire? I both love and praise and exceedingly regret her, for I have found by experience that she was of a wondrously engaging disposition with regard to myself; and I sincerely wish that she may spend the remainder of her life with a husband who may prove more fortunate than me, since necessity thus tears her from me.

Phid. ’Tis in your own power to prevent that.

Lach. If you are in your senses, order her to come back.

Pam. It is not my intention, father; I shall study my mother’s interests.

Going away.

Lach. Whither are you going? Stay, stay, I tell you; whither are you going?

Exit Pamphilus.

Scene IX.

Laches and Phidippus.

Phid. What obstinacy is this?

Lach. Did I not tell you, Phidippus, that he would take this matter amiss? It was for that reason I entreated you to send your daughter back.

Phid. Upon my faith, I did not believe he would be so brutish; does he now fancy that I shall come begging to him? If so it is that he chooses to take back his wife, why, let him; if he is of another mind, let him pay back her portion,49 and take himself off.

Lach. Just look at that, now; you too are getting obstinate and huffish.

Phid. (speaking with anger.) You have returned to us in a very ungovernable mood, Pamphilus.

Lach. This anger will depart; although he has some reason for being vexed.

Phid. Because you have had a windfall, a little money, your minds are elevated.

Lach. Are you going to fall out with me, too?

Phid. Let him consider, and bring me word to-day, whether he will or will not, that she may belong to another if she does not to him.

Goes hastily into his own house.

Lach. Phidippus, stay; listen to a few words—

Scene X.

Laches, alone.

Lach. He’s off; what matters it to me? In fine, let them manage it between themselves, just as they please; since neither my son nor he pay any regard to me; they care but little for what I say. I’ll carry the quarrel to my wife, by whose planning all these things have been brought about, and against her I will vent all the vexation that I feel.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Myrrhina, from her house.

Myr. I am undone! What am I to do? which way turn myself? In my wretchedness, what answer am I to give to my husband? For he seems to have heard the voice of the child when crying, so suddenly did he rush in to my daughter without saying a word. What if he comes to know that she has been delivered? for what reason I am to say I kept it concealed, upon my faith I do not know. But there’s a noise at the door; I believe it is himself coming out to me: I’m utterly undone!

Scene II.

Enter Phidippus, from the house.

Phid. (to himself.) My wife, when she saw me going to my daughter, betook herself out of the house: and look, there she is. (Addressing her.) What have you to say, Myrrhina? Hark you! to you I speak.

Myr. What, to me, my husband?

Phid. Am I your husband? Do you consider me a husband, or a man, in fact? For, woman, if I had ever appeared to you to be either of these, I should not in this way have been held in derision by your doings.

Myr. By what doings?

Phid. Do you ask the question? Is not your daughter brought to bed? Eh, are you silent? By whom?

Myr. Is it proper for a father to be asking such a question? Oh, shocking! By whom do you think, pray, except by him to whom she was given in marriage?

Phid. I believe it; nor indeed is it for a father to think otherwise. But I wonder much what the reason can be for which you so very much wish all of us to be in ignorance of the truth, especially when she has been delivered properly, and at the right time.50 That you should be of a mind so perverse as to prefer that the child should perish, through which you might be sure that hereafter there would be a friendship more lasting between us, rather than that, at the expense of your feelings, his wife should continue with him! I supposed this to be their fault, while in reality it lies with you.

Myr. I am an unhappy creature!

Phid. I wish I were sure that so it was; but now it recurs to my mind what you once said about this matter, when we accepted him as our son-in-law. For you declared that you could not endure your daughter to be married to a person who was attached to a courtesan, and who spent his nights away from home.

Myr. (aside.) Any cause whatever I had rather he should suspect than the right one.

Phid. I knew much sooner than you did, Myrrhina, that he kept a mistress; but this I never considered a crime in young men; for it is natural to them all. For, i’ faith, the time will soon come when even he will be disgusted with himself for doing so. But just as you formerly showed yourself, you have never ceased to be the same up to the present time; in order that you might withdraw your daughter from him, and that what I did might not hold good, one thing itself now plainly proves how far you wished it carried out.

Myr. Do you suppose that I am so willful that I could have entertained such feelings toward one whose mother I am, if this match had been to our advantage?

Phid. Can you possibly foresee or judge what is to our advantage? You have heard it of some one, perhaps, who has told you that he has seen him coming from or going to his mistress. What then? If he has done so with discretion, and but occasionally, is it not more kind in us to conceal our knowledge of it, than to do our best to be aware of it, in consequence of which he will detest us? For if he could all at once have withdrawn himself from her with whom he had been intimate for so many years, I should not have deemed him a man, or likely to prove a constant husband for our daughter.

Myr. Do have done about the young man, I pray; and what you say I’ve been guilty of. Go away, meet him by yourself; ask him whether he wishes to have her as a wife or not; if so it is that he should say he does wish it, why, send her back; but if on the other hand he does not wish it, I have taken the best course for my child.

Phid. And suppose he does not wish it, and you, Myrrhina, knew him to be in fault; still I was at hand, by whose advice it was proper for these matters to be settled; therefore I am greatly offended that you have presumed to act thus without my leave. I forbid you to attempt to carry the child any where out of this house. But I am very foolish to be expecting her to obey my orders. I’ll go in-doors, and charge the servants to allow it to be carried out nowhere.

Goes into the house.

Scene III.

Myrrhina, alone.

Myr. Upon my faith, I do believe that there is no woman living more wretched than I; for how he would take it, if he came to know the real state of the case, i’ faith, is not unknown to me, when he bears this, which is of less consequence, with such angry feelings; and I know not in what way his sentiments can possibly be changed. Out of very many misfortunes, this one evil alone had been wanting to me, for him to compel me to rear a child of whom we know not who is the father; for when my daughter was ravished, it was so dark that his person could not be distinguished, nor was any thing taken from him on the occasion by which it could be afterward discovered who he was. He, on leaving her, took away from the girl, by force, a ring which51 she had upon her finger. I am afraid, too, of Pamphilus, that he may be unable any longer to conceal what I have requested, when he learns that the child of another is being brought up as his.

Goes into the house.

Scene IV.

Enter Sostrata and Pamphilus.

Sos. It is not unknown to me, my son, that I am suspected by you as the cause of your wife having left our house in consequence of my conduct; although you carefully conceal your knowledge of it. But so may the Gods prosper me, and so may you answer all my hopes, I have never knowingly deserved that hatred of me should with reason possess her; and while I thought before that you loved me, on that point you have confirmed my belief: for in-doors your father has just now related to me in what way you have preferred me to your passion. Now it is my determination to return you the favor, that you may understand that with me lies the reward of your affection. My Pamphilus, I think that this is expedient both for yourselves and my own reputation. I have finally resolved to retire hence into the country with your father, that my presence may not be an obstacle, and that no pretense may remain why your Philumena should not return to you.

Pam. Pray, what sort of resolution is this? Driven away by her folly, would you be removing from the city to live in the country? You shall not do so; and I will not permit, mother, any one who may wish to censure us, to say that this has been done through my perverseness, and not your inclination. Besides, I do not wish you, for my sake, to forego your friends and relations, and festive days.52

Sos. Upon my word, these things afford me no pleasure now. While my time of life permitted it, I enjoyed them enough; satiety of that mode of life has now taken possession of me: this is at present my chief concern, that the length of my life may prove an annoyance to no one, or that he may look forward with impatience to my death.53 Here I see that, without deserving it, I am disliked; it is time for me to retire. Thus, in the best way, I imagine, I shall cut short all grounds of discontent with all; I shall both free myself from suspicion, and shall be pleasing them. Pray, let me avoid this reproach, which so generally attaches on women to their disadvantage.

Pam. (aside.) How happy am I in other respects, were it not for this one thing alone, in having such a good mother, and her for my wife!

Sos. Pray, my Pamphilus, can you not, seeing how each woman is, prevail upon yourself to put up with one matter of inconvenience? If every thing else is according to your wish, and such as I take it to be—my son, do grant me this indulgence, and take her back.

Pam. Alas! wretched me!

Sos. And me as well; for this affair does not cause me less sorrow than you, my son.

Scene V.

Enter Laches.

Lach. While standing just by here, I have heard, wife, the conversation you have been holding with him. It is true wisdom to be enabled to govern the feelings whenever there is necessity; to do at the present moment what may perhaps, in the end, be necessary to be done.

Sos. Good luck to it, i’troth.

Lach. Retire then into the country; there I will bear with you, and you with me.

Sos. I hope so, i’faith.

Lach. Go in-doors then, and get together the things that are to be taken with you. I have now said it.

Sos. I’ll do as you desire.

Goes into the house.

Pam. Father!

Lach. What do you want, Pamphilus?

Pam. My mother go away? By no means.

Lach. Why would you have it so?

Pam. Because I am as yet undetermined what I shall do about my wife.

Lach. How is that? What should you intend to do but bring her home?

Pam. For my part, I could like, and can hardly forbear it; but I shall not alter my design; that which is most advantageous I shall pursue; I suppose (ironically) that they will be better reconciled, in consequence, if I shall take her back.

Lach. You can not tell. But it matters nothing to you which they do when she has gone away. Persons of this age are disliked by young people; it is right for us to withdraw from the world; in fine, we are now a nice by-word. We are, Pamphilus, “the old man and the old woman.”54 But I see Phidippus coming out just at the time; let’s accost him.

Scene VI.

Enter Phidippus, from his house.

Phid. (speaking at the door to Philumena, within.) Upon my faith, I am angry with you too, Philumena, extremely so, for, on my word, you have acted badly; still there is an excuse for you in this matter; your mother forced you to it; but for her there is none.

Lach. (accosting him.) Phidippus, you meet me at a lucky moment, just at the very time.

Phid. What’s the matter?

Pam. (aside.) What answer shall I make them, or in what manner keep this secret?

Lach. (to Phidippus.) Tell your daughter that Sostrata is going into the country, that she may not now be afraid of returning home.

Phid. Alas! your wife has been guilty of no fault in this affair; all this mischief has originated in my wife Myrrhina.

Pam. (aside.) They are changing sides.

Phid. ’Tis she that causes our disturbances, Laches.

Pam. (aside.) So long as I don’t take her back, let her cause as much disturbance as she pleases.

Phid. I, Pamphilus, could really wish, if it were possible, this alliance between us to be lasting; but if you are otherwise inclined, still take the child.55

Pam. (aside.) He has discovered that she has been brought to bed. I’m undone!

Lach. The child! What child?

Phid. We have had a grandson born to us; for my daughter was removed from you in a state of pregnancy, and yet never before this day did I know that she was pregnant.

Lach. So may the Gods prosper me, you bring good tidings, and I am glad a child has been born, and that she is safe: but what kind of woman have you for a wife, or of what sort of a temper, that we should have been kept in ignorance of this so long? I can not sufficiently express how disgraceful this conduct appears to me.

Phid. This conduct does not vex me less than yourself, Laches.

Pam. (aside.) Even if it had just now been a matter of doubt to me, it is so no longer, since the child of another man is to accompany her.

Lach. Pamphilus, there is no room now for deliberation for you in this matter.

Pam. (aside.) I’m undone!

Lach. (to Pamphilus.) We were often longing to see the day on which there should be one to call you father; it has come to pass. I return thanks to the Gods.

Pam. (aside.) I am ruined!

Lach. Take home your wife, and don’t oppose my will.

Pam. Father, if she had wished to have children by me, or to continue to be my wife, I am quite certain she would not have concealed from me what I find she has concealed. Now, as I find that her mind is estranged from me, and think that there would be no agreement between us in future, why should I take her back?

Lach. The young woman has done what her mother persuaded her. Is that to be wondered at? Do you suppose you can find any woman who is free from fault? Or is it that men have no failings?

Phid. Do you yourselves now consider, Laches, and you, Pamphilus, whether it is most advisable for you to leave her or take her back. What your wife may do, is not in my control. Under neither circumstance will you meet with any difficulty from me. But what are we to do with the child?

Lach. You do ask an absurd question; whatever happens, send him back his child of course, that we may bring it up as ours.

Pam. (in a low voice.) A child which the father has abandoned, am I to rear?

Lach. What was it you said? How—not rear it, Pamphilus? Prithee, are we to expose it, in preference? What madness is this? Really, I can not now be silent any longer. For you force me to say in his presence (pointing to Phidippus) what I would rather not. Do you suppose I am in ignorance of the cause of your tears, or what it is on account of which you are perplexed to this degree? In the first place, when you alleged as a reason, that, on account of your mother, you could not have your wife at home, she promised that she would leave the house. Now, since you see this pretext as well taken away from you, because a child has been born without your knowledge, you have got another. You are mistaken if you suppose that I am ignorant of your feelings. That at last you might prevail upon your feelings to take this step, how long a period for loving a mistress did I allow you! With what patience did I bear the expense you were at in keeping her! I remonstrated with you and entreated you to take a wife. I said that it was time: by my persuasion you married. What you then did in obedience to me, you did as became you. Now again you have set your fancy upon a mistress, and, to gratify her, you do an injury to the other as well. For I see plainly that you have once more relapsed into the same course of life.

Pam. What, I?

Lach. Your own self, and you act unjustly therein. You feign false grounds for discord, that you may live with her when you have got rid of this witness of your actions; your wife has perceived it too; for what other reason had she for leaving you?

Phid. (to himself.) It’s clear he guesses right; for that must be it.

Pam. I will give you my oath that none of these is the reason.

Lach. Oh take home your wife, or tell me why you should not.

Pam. It is not the time at present.

Lach. Take the child, for surely that is not in fault; I will consider about the mother afterward.

Pam. (apart.) In every way I am wretched, and what to do I know not; with so many troubles is my father now besetting wretched me on every side. I’ll go away from here, since I avail but little by my presence. For without my consent, I do not believe that they will bring up the child, especially as on that point my mother-in-law will second me.

Exit speedily.

Scene VII.

Laches and Phidippus.

Lach. (to Pamphilus.) Do you run away? What, and give me no distinct answer? (To Phidippus.) Does he seem to you to be in his senses? Let him alone. Phidippus, give me the child; I’ll bring it up.

Phid. By all means. No wonder if my wife has taken this amiss: women are resentful; they do not easily put up with such things. Hence that anger of hers, for she herself told me of it; I would not mention this to you in his presence, and at first I did not believe her; but now it is true beyond a doubt; for I see that his feelings are altogether averse to marriage.

Lach. What am I to do, then, Phidippus? What advice do you give?

Phid. What are you to do? I am of opinion that first we ought to go to this mistress of his. Let us use entreaties with her; then let us rebuke her; and at last, let us very seriously threaten her, if she gives him any encouragement in future.

Lach. I will do as you advise. (Turning to an Attendant.) Ho, there, boy! run to the house of Bacchis here, our neighbor; desire her, in my name, to come hither. (Exit Attendant.) And you, I further entreat, to give me your assistance in this affair.

Phid. Well, I have already said, and I now say again to the same effect, Laches, I wish this alliance between us to continue, if by any means it possibly may, which I trust will be the case. But should you like56 me to be with you while you meet her?

Lach. Why yes; but first go and get some one as a nurse for the child.

Exit Phidippus.

Scene VIII.

Enter Bacchis, attended by her Women.

Bacch. (to her Women.) It is not for nothing that Laches now desires to speak with me; and, i’ faith, I am not very far from mistaken in making a guess what it is he wants me for.

Lach. (to himself.) I must take care that I don’t, through anger, miss gaining in this quarter what I otherwise might, and that I don’t do any thing which hereafter it would have been better I had not done. I’ll accost her. (Accosts her.) Bacchis, good-morrow to you!

Bacch. Good-morrow to you, Laches!

Lach. Troth, now, Bacchis, I suppose you somewhat wonder what can be my reason for sending the lad to fetch you out of doors.

Bacch. Upon my faith, I am even in some anxiety as well, when I reflect what I am, lest the name of my calling should be to my prejudice; for my behavior I can easily defend.

Lach. If you speak the truth, you will be in no danger, woman, from me, for I am now of that age that it is not meet for me to receive forgiveness for a fault; for that reason do I the more carefully attend to every particular, that I may not act with rashness; for if you now do, or intend to do, that which is proper for deserving women to do, it would be unjust for me, in my ignorance, to offer an injury to you, when undeserving of it.

Bacch. On my word, great is the gratitude that I ought to feel toward you for such conduct; for he who, after committing an injury, would excuse himself, would profit me but little. But what is the matter?

Lach. You admit my son, Pamphilus, to your house.

Bacch. Ah!

Lach. Just let me speak: before he was married to this woman, I tolerated your amour. Stay! I have not yet said to you what I intended. He has now got a wife: look out for another person more to be depended on, while you have time to deliberate; for neither will he be of this mind all his life, nor, i’ faith, will you be always of your present age.

Bacch. Who is it says this?

Lach. His mother-in-law.

Bacch. What! that I—

Lach. That you do: and she has taken away her daughter; and for that reason, has wished secretly to destroy the child that has been born.

Bacch. Did I know any other means whereby I might be enabled to establish my credit with you, more solemn than an oath, I would, Laches, assure you of this, that I have kept Pamphilus at a distance57 from me ever since he took a wife.

Lach. You are very good. But, pray, do you know what I would prefer that you should do?

Bacch. What? Tell me.

Lach. Go in-doors there (pointing to the house of Phidippus) to the women, and make the same promise, on oath, to them; satisfy their minds, and clear yourself from this charge.

Bacch. I will do so; although, i’faith, if it had been any other woman of this calling, she would not have done so, I am quite sure; present herself before a married woman for such a purpose! But I do not wish your son to be suspected on an unfounded report, nor appear inconstant, undeservedly, to you, to whom he by no means ought; for he has deserved of me, that, so far as I am able, I should do him a service.

Lach. Your language has rendered me quite friendly and well disposed toward you; but not only did they think so—I too believed it. Now that I have found you quite different from what I had expected, take care that you still continue the same—make use of my friendship as you please; if otherwise——; but I will forbear, that you may not hear any thing unkind from me. But this one thing I recommend you—make trial what sort of a friend I am, or what I can effect as such, rather than what as an enemy.

Scene IX.

Enter Phidippus and a Nurse.

Phid. (to the Nurse.) Nothing at my house will I suffer you to be in want of; but whatever is requisite shall be supplied you in abundance. Still, when you are well fed and well drenched, do take care that the child has enough.

The Nurse goes into his house.

Lach. (to Bacchis.) My son’s father-in-law, I see, is coming; he is bringing a nurse for the child. (Accosting him.) Phidippus, Bacchis swears most solemnly.

Phid. Is this she?

Lach. It is.

Phid. Upon my faith, those women don’t fear the Gods; and I don’t think that the Gods care about them.

Bacch. (pointing to her Attendants.) I will give you up my female servants; with my full permission, examine them with any tortures you please. The business at present is this: I must make his wife return home to Pamphilus; should I effect that, I shall not regret its being reported that I have been the only one to do what other courtesans avoid doing.58

Lach. We find, Phidippus, that our wives have been unjustly suspected59 by us in this matter. Let us now try her still further; for if your wife discovers that she has given credence to a false charge, she will dismiss her resentment; but if my son is also angry, by reason of the circumstance that his wife has been brought to bed without his knowledge, that is a trifle: his anger on that account will speedily subside. Assuredly in this matter, there is nothing so bad as to be deserving of a separation.

Phid. I sincerely wish it may be so.

Lach. Examine her; here she is; she herself will satisfy you.

Phid. Why do you tell me these things? Is it because you have not already heard what my feelings are with regard to this matter, Laches? Do you only satisfy their minds.

Lach. Troth now, Bacchis, I do entreat that what you have promised me you will do.

Bacch. Would you wish me, then, to go in about this business?

Lach. Go, and satisfy their minds, so as to make them believe it.

Bacch. I’ll go: although, upon my word, I am quite sure that my presence will be disagreeable to them, for a married woman is the enemy of a mistress, when she has been separated from her husband.

Lach. But they will be your friends, when they know the reason of your coming.

Phid. And I promise that they shall be your friends, when they know the fact; for you will release them from their mistake, and yourself, at the same time, from suspicion.

Bacch. Wretched me! I’m ashamed to meet Philumena. (To her Attendants.) Do you both follow me into the house.

Goes into the house with Phidippus and her Attendants.

Lach. (to himself.) What is there that I could more wish for, than what I see has happened to this woman? To gain favor without loss to myself, and to benefit myself at the same time. For if now it is the fact that she has really withdrawn from Pamphilus, she knows that by that step she has acquired honor and reputation: she returns the favor to him, and, by the same means, attaches us as friends to herself.

Goes into the house.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Parmeno, moving along with difficulty.

Par. (to himself.) Upon my faith, my master does assuredly think my labor of little value; to have sent me for nothing, where I have been sitting the whole day to no purpose, waiting at the citadel for Callidemides, his landlord at Myconos. And so, while sitting there to-day, like a fool, as each person came by, I accosted him:—“Young man, just tell me, pray, are you a Myconian?” “I am not.” “But is your name Callidemides?” “No.” “Have you any former guest here named Pamphilus?” All said. “No; and I don’t believe that there is any such person.” At last, i’ faith, I was quite ashamed, and went away. But how is it I see Bacchis coming out of our neighbor’s? What business can she have there?

Scene II.

Enter Bacchis, from the house of Phidippus.

Bacch. Parmeno, you make your appearance opportunely; run with all speed60 to Pamphilus.

Par. Why thither?

Bacch. Say that I entreat him to come.

Par. To your house?

Bacch. No; to Philumena.

Par. What’s the matter?

Bacch. Nothing that concerns you; so cease to make inquiry.

Par. Am I to say nothing else?

Bacch. Yes; that Myrrhina has recognized that ring as her daughter’s, which he formerly gave me.

Par. I understand—is that all?

Bacch. That’s all. He will be here directly he has heard this from you. But do you linger?

Par. Far from it, indeed; for I’ve not had the opportunity given me to-day; so much with running and walking about have I wasted the whole day.

Goes into the house of Laches.

Scene III.

Bacchis, alone.

Bacch. What great joy have I caused for Pamphilus by my coming to-day! How many blessings have I brought him! and from how many sorrows have I rescued him! A son I save for him, when it was nearly perishing through the agency of these women and of himself: a wife, whom he thought that he must cast off forever, I restore to him: from the suspicion that he lay under with his father and Phidippus, I have cleared him. This ring, in fact, was the cause of these discoveries being made. For I remember, that about ten months ago, at an early hour of night, he came running home to my house, out of breath, without a companion, and surcharged with wine,61 with this ring in his hand. I felt alarmed immediately: “My Pamphilus,” I said, “prithee, my dear, why thus breathless, or where did you get that ring?—tell me!” He began to pretend that he was thinking of something else. When I saw that, I began to suspect I know not what, and to press him still more to tell me. The fellow confessed that he had ravished some female, he knew not whom, in the street; and said, that while she was struggling, he had taken that ring away from her. Myrrhina here recognized it just now, while I had it on my finger. She asked whence it came: I told her all the story. Hence the discovery has been made that it was Philumena ravished by him, and that this new-born child is his. I am overjoyed that this happiness has befallen him through my agency; although other courtesans would not have similar feelings; nor, indeed, is it to our interest that any lover should find pleasure in matrimony. But, i’faith, I never, for the sake of gain, will give my mind to base actions. So long as I had the opportunity, I found him to be kind, easy, and good-natured. This marriage has fallen out unluckily for me,—that I confess to be the fact. But, upon my word, I do think that I have done nothing for it to befall me deservedly. It is but reasonable to endure inconveniences from one from whom I have received so many benefits.

Scene IV.

Enter Pamphilus and Parmeno, from the house of Laches, on the other side of the stage.

Pam. Once more, take care, will you, my dear Parmeno, that you have brought me a faithful and distinct account, so as not to allure me for a short time to indulge in these transient joys.

Par. I have taken care.

Pam. For certain?

Par. For certain.

Pam. I am quite a God, if it is so!

Par. You’ll find it true.

Pam. Just stay, will you; I fear that I’m believing one thing, and you are telling another.

Par. I am staying.

Pam. I think you said to this effect—that Myrrhina had discovered that Bacchis has her ring.

Par. It is the fact.

Pam. The one I formerly gave to her; and she has desired you to tell me this: is such the fact?

Par. Such is so, I tell you.

Pam. Who is there happier than I, and, in fact, more full of joyousness? What am I to present you for these tidings? What?—what? I know not.

Par. But I know.

Pam. What?

Par. Why, nothing; for neither in the tidings nor in myself do I know of there being any advantage to you.

Pam. What! am I to suffer you, who have caused me, when dead, to be restored from the shades to life—to leave me unrewarded? Oh, you deem me too thankless! But look—I see Bacchis standing before the door; she’s waiting for me, I suppose; I’ll accost her.

Bacch. Save you, Pamphilus!

Pam. Oh Bacchis! Oh my Bacchis—my preserver!

Bacch. It is a fortunate thing, and gives me great delight.

Pam. By your actions, you give me reason to believe you, and so much do you retain your former charming qualities, that wherever you go, the meeting with you, your company, your conversation, always give pleasure.

Bacch. And you, upon my word, possess your former manners and disposition; so much so that not a single man living is more engaging than you.

Pam. (laughing.) Ha, ha, ha! do you tell me so?

Bacch. You had reason, Pamphilus, for being so fond of your wife. For never before to-day did I set eyes upon her, so as to know her: she seems a very gentle person.

Pam. Tell the truth.

Bacch. So may the Gods bless me, Pamphilus!

Pam. Tell me, have you as yet told any of these matters to my father?

Bacch. Not a word.

Pam. Nor is there need, in fact; therefore keep it a secret: I don’t wish it to be the case here as it is in the Comedies,62 where every thing is known to every body. Here, those who ought to know, know already; but those who ought not to know, shall neither hear of it nor know it.

Bacch. Nay more, I will give you a proof why you may suppose that this may be the more easily concealed. Myrrhina has told Phidippus to this effect—that she has given credit to my oath, and that, in consequence, in her eyes you are exculpated.

Pam. Most excellent; and I trust that this matter will turn out according to our wishes.

Par. Master, may I not be allowed to know from you what is the good that I have done to-day, or what it is you are talking about?

Pam. You may not.

Par. Still I suspect. “I restore him, when dead, from the shades below.”63 In what way?

Pam. You don’t know, Parmeno, how much you have benefited me to-day, and from what troubles you have extricated me.

Par. Nay, but indeed I do know: and I did not do it without design.

Pam. I know that well enough (ironically).

Bacch. Could Parmeno, from negligence, omit any thing that ought to be done?

Pam. Follow me in, Parmeno.

Par. I’ll follow; for my part, I have done more good to-day, without knowing it, than ever I did, knowingly, in all my life. (Coming forward.) Grant us your applause.64

FOOTNOTES

1. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

2. From φειδὼ, “parsimony,” and ἱππὸς “a horse.”

3. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

4. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

5. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

6. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Heautontimorumenos.

7. From μυῤῥινὴ “a myrtle.”

8. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Heautontimorumenos.

9. From φιλοτὴς “friendship.”

10. From Syria, her native country.

11. Menander)—According to some, this Play was borrowed from the Greek of Apollodorus, a Comic Poet and contemporary of Menander, who wrote forty-seven Plays.

12. Being Consuls)—Cneius Octavius Nepos and T. Manlius Torquatus were Consuls in the year from the building of the City 587, and B.C. 166.

13. It was then approved of)—“Placuit.” This is placed at the end, in consequence of the inauspicious reception which had been given to it on the two first representations. See the account given in the Prologues.

14. Hecyra)—Ver. 1. The Greek word Ἕκυρα, a “step-mother,” or “mother-in-law,” Latinized.

15. And calamity)—Ver. 3. “Calamitas.” This word is used in the same sense in the first line of the Eunuch. This is evidently the Prologue spoken on the second attempt to bring forward the piece. On the first occasion it probably had none. “Vitium” was a word used by the Augurs, with whom it implied an unfavorable omen, and thence came to be used for any misfortune or disaster. He seems to mean the depraved taste of the public, that preferred exhibitions of rope-dancers and pugilists to witnessing his Plays.

16. Again to sell it)—Ver. 7. See the last Note to the Second Prologue.

17. Other Plays of his)—Ver. 8. Madame Dacier informs us that Vossius was of opinion that the second representation of this Play did not take place till after that of the Adelphi. In that case, they had already seen the rest of his Plays.

18. Second Prologue)—Eugraphius informs us that this Prologue was spoken by Ambivius Turpio, the head of the company of Actors.

19. Cæcilius)—Ver. 14. Colman has the following Note: “A famous Comic Poet among the Romans. His chief excellences are said to have been, the gravity of his style and the choice of his subjects. The first quality was attributed to him by Horace, Tully, etc., and the last by Varro. ‘In argumentis Cæcilius poscit palmam, in ethesi Terentius.’ ‘In the choice of subjects, Cæcilius demands the preference; in the manners, Terence.’” Madame Dacier, indeed, renders “in argumentis,” “in the disposition of his subjects.” But the words will not bear that construction. “Argumentum,” I believe, is uniformly used for the argument itself, and never implies the conduct of it; as in the Prologue to the Andrian, “non tam dissimili argumento.” Besides, the disposition of the subject was the very art attributed by the critics of those days to Terence, and which Horace mentions in the very same line with the gravity of Cæcilius, distinguishing them as the several characteristics of each writer, “Vincere Cæcilius gravitate, Terentius arte.”

20. Vauntings of boxers)—Ver. 33. Horace probably had this passage in his mind when he penned the First Epistle in his Second Book, l. 185; where he mentions the populace leaving a Play in the midst for the sight of a bear, or an exhibition of boxers.

21. Of a rope-dancer)—Ver. 34. The art of dancing on the tight rope was carried to great perfection among the ancients. Many paintings have been discovered, which show the numerous attitudes which the performers assumed. The figures have their heads enveloped in skins or caps, probably intended as a protection in case of falling. At the conclusion of the performance the dancer ran down the rope. Germanicus and Galba are said to have exhibited elephants dancing on the tight rope.

22. The old custom of mine)—Ver. 38. He says that on the second representation he followed the plan which he had formerly adopted in the Plays of Cæcilius, of bringing those forward again which had not given satisfaction at first.

23. Fight for their places)—Ver. 41. This was in consequence of their sitting indiscriminately at the Amphitheatre, where the gladiators were exhibited; whereas at the Theatres there were distinct places appropriated to each “ordo” or class.

24. Gracing the scenic festival)—Ver. 45. Madame Dacier remarks that there is great force and eloquence in the Actor’s affecting a concern for the sacred festivals, which were in danger of being deprived of their chief ornaments, if by too great a severity they discouraged the Poets who undertook to furnish the Plays during the solemnity.

25. At my own expense)—Ver. 57. It is generally supposed that “meo pretio” means “a price named as my estimate;” and that it was the custom for the Ædiles to purchase a Play of a Poet at a price fixed by the head of the company of actors. It is also thought that the money was paid to the actor, who handed over the whole, or a certain part, to the Poet, and if the Play was not received with favor, the Ædiles had the right to ask back the money from the actor, who consequently became a loser by the transaction. Pareus and Meric Casaubon think, however, that in case of this Play, the Ædiles had purchased it from the Poet, and the performers had bought it of the Ædiles as a speculation. What he means at the end of the First Prologue by selling the Play over again, is not exactly known. Perhaps if the Play had been then performed throughout and received with no favor, he would have had to forfeit the money, and lose all right to any future pecuniary interest in it; but he preferred to cancel the whole transaction, and to reserve the Play for purchase and representation at a more favorable period.

26. Philotis)—This is a protatic character, or one that helps to introduce the subject of the Play, and then appears no more.

27. Don’t say so, Parmeno)—Ver. 109. She says this ironically, at the same time intimating that she knows Parmeno too well, not to be sure that he is as impatient to impart the secret to her as she is to know it. Donatus remarks, that she pretends she has no curiosity to hear it, that he may deem her the more worthy to be intrusted with the secret.

28. Imbros)—Ver. 171. An island in the Ægean Sea, off the coast of Thrace.

29. From her presence)—Ver. 182. For the purpose, as will afterward appear, of not letting Sostrata see that she was pregnant.

30. With a certain stranger)—Ver. 195. Here Philotis gives a reason, as Donatus observes, why she does not again appear in the Play. The following is an extract from Colman’s remarks on this passage: “It were to be wished, for the sake of the credit of our author’s acknowledged art in the Drama, that Philotis had assigned as good a reason for her appearing at all. Eugraphius justly says: ‘The Courtesan in this Scene is a character quite foreign to the fable.’ Donatus also says much the same thing in his Preface, and in his first Note to this Comedy; but adds that ‘Terence chose this method rather than to relate the argument by means of a Prologue, or to introduce a God speaking from a machine. I will venture to say that the Poet might have taken a much shorter and easier method than either; I mean, to have begun the Play with the very Scene which now opens the Second Act.’”

31. Scene I.)—Colman has the following observations on this Scene: “Donatus remarks that this Scene opens the intention of Terence to oppose the generally-received opinion, and to draw the character of a good step-mother. It would, therefore, as has been already observed, have been a very proper Scene to begin the Play, as it carries us immediately into the midst of things; and we can not fail to be interested when we see the persons acting so deeply interested themselves. We gather from it just so much of the story as is necessary for our information at first setting out. We are told of the abrupt departure of Philumena, and are witnesses of the confusion in the two families of Laches and Phidippus. The absence of Laches, which had been in great measure the occasion of this misunderstanding, is also very artfully mentioned in the altercation between him and Sostrata. The character of Laches is very naturally drawn. He has a good heart, and a testy disposition, and the poor old gentleman is kept in such constant perplexity that he has perpetual occasion to exert both those qualities.”

32. Intrust their children)—Ver. 212. The plural “liberos,” children, is used where only one is being spoken of, similarly, in the Heautontimorumenos, l. 151.

33. If he comes to know)—Ver. 262. Donatus observes that the Poet shows his art in here preparing a reason to be assigned by Pamphilus for his pretended discontent at the departure of his wife.

34. Ha! Sostrata)—Ver. 271. Colman observes on this passage: “This is extremely artful. The answer of Philumena, as related by Phidippus, contains an ample vindication of Pamphilus. What, then, can we suppose could make the house so disagreeable to her in his absence, but the behavior of Sostrata? She declares her innocence; yet appearances are all against her. Supposing this to be the first Act of the Play, it would be impossible for a Comedy to open in a more interesting manner.”

35. And carry word)—Ver. 314. It was the custom with the Greeks and Romans, when returning from abroad, to send a messenger before them, to inform their wives of their arrival.

36. Was in alarm about)—Ver. 321. “Pavitare.” Casaubon has a curious suggestion here; he thinks it not improbable that he had heard the female servants whispering among themselves that Philumena “paritare,” “was about to be brought to bed,” which he took for “pavitare,” “was in fear” of something.

37. Heavy punishment)—Ver. 335. Probably meaning that he will be examined by torture, whether he has not, by drugs or other means, contributed to Philumena’s illness.

38. And thee, Health)—Ver. 338. She invokes Æsculapius, the God of Medicine, and “Salus,” or “Health,” because, in Greece, their statues were always placed near each other; so that to have offered prayers to one and not to the other, would have been deemed a high indignity. On the worship of Æsculapius, see the opening Scene of the Curculio of Plautus.

39. An intermitting one)—Ver. 357. “Quotidiana;” literally, “daily.”

40. All of them change)—Ver. 369. This must have been imaginary, as they were not likely to be acquainted with the reason of Philumena’s apprehensions.

41. Since she came to you)—Ver. 394. There is great doubt what is the exact meaning of “postquam ad te venit,” here,—whether it means, “it is now the seventh month since she became your wife,” or, “it is now the seventh month since she came to your embraces,” which did not happen for two months after the marriage. The former is, under the circumstances, the most probable construction.

42. Committed upon her)—Ver. 401. Colman very justly observes here: “it is rather extraordinary that Myrrhina’s account of the injury done to her daughter should not put Pamphilus in mind of his own adventure, which comes out in the Fifth Act. It is certain that had the Poet let the Audience into that secret in this place, they would have immediately concluded that the wife of Pamphilus and the lady whom he had ravished were one and the same person.” Playwrights have never, in any age or country, troubled themselves much about probability in their plots. Besides, his adventure with Philumena was by no means an uncommon one. We find similar instances mentioned by Plautus; and violence and debauchery seem almost to have reigned paramount in the streets at night.

43. Thirty days or more)—Ver. 421. In his voyage from Imbros to Athens, namely, which certainly appears to have been unusually long.

44. To the citadel)—Ver. 431. This was the fort or citadel that defended the Piræus, and being three miles distant from the city, was better suited for the design of Pamphilus, whose object it was to keep Parmeno for some time at a distance.

45. He would rupture me)—Ver. 435. He facetiously pretends to think that Pamphilus may, during a storm at sea, have vowed to walk him to death, if he should return home.

46. Regardful of a parent)—Ver. 448. Colman observes here: “This reflection seems to be rather improper in this place, for the discovery of Philumena’s labor betrayed to Pamphilus the real motive of her departure; after which discovery his anxiety proceeds entirely from the supposed injury offered him, and his filial piety is from that period made use of merely as a pretense.”

47. He lived well)—Ver. 461. This is living well in the sense used by the “Friar of orders gray.” “Who leads a good life is sure to live well.”

48. Brought home nothing more)—Ver. 462. Colman remarks that this passage is taken notice of by Donatus as a particularly happy stroke of character; and indeed the idea of a covetous old man gaping for a fat legacy, and having his mouth stopped by a moral precept, is truly comic.

49. Pay back her portion)—Ver. 502. As was universally done on a separation by agreement.

50. At the right time)—Ver. 531. Lemaire observes that, from this passage, it would appear that the Greeks considered seven months sufficient for gestation. So it would appear, if we are to take the time of the Play to be seven, and not nine, months after the marriage; and, as before observed, the former seems to be the more reasonable conclusion.

51. A ring which)—Ver. 574. Colman remarks that this preparation for the catastrophe by the mention of the ring, is not so artful as might have been expected from Terence; as in this soliloquy he tells the circumstances directly to the Audience.

52. And festive days)—Ver. 592. “Festos dies.” The days for sacrificing to particular Divinities, when she would have the opportunity of meeting her friends, and making herself merry with them.

53. Look forward with impatience to my death)—Ver. 596. Colman says: “This idea of the long life of a step-mother being odious to her family, is applied in a very beautiful and uncommon manner by Shakspeare:—

“Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace; for happy days bring in

Another morn; but oh, methinks how slow

This old morn wanes! she lingers my desires

Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,

Long withering out a young man’s revenue.”

Midsummer Night’s Dream.

54. The old man and the old woman)—Ver. 621. “Senex atque anus.” In these words he probably refers to the commencement of many of the stories current in those times, which began: “There were once upon a time an old man and an old woman.” Indeed, almost the same words occur in the Stichus of Plautus, l. 540, at the commencement of a story: “Fuit olim, quasi ego sum, senex,” “There was upon a time an old man, just like me.”

55. Still take the child)—Ver. 638. In cases of separation it was customary for the father to have the care of the male children.

56. But should you like)—Ver. 725. Donatus observes that Phidippus utters these words with an air of disinclination to be present at the conference; and, indeed, the characters are well sustained, as it would not become him coolly to discourse with a courtesan, whom he supposes to have alienated Pamphilus from his daughter, although he might very properly advise it, as being likely to conduce to the peace of both families.

57. Kept Pamphilus at a distance)—Ver. 752. Colman observes, how are we to reconcile this with the words of Parmeno at the beginning of the Play, where he says that Pamphilus visited Bacchis daily; and he inquires whether we are to suppose that Bacchis, who behaves so candidly in every other instance, wantonly perjures herself in this, or that the Poet, by a strange infatuation attending him in this Play, contradicts himself? To this it may be answered, that as Bacchis appears to be so scrupulous in other instances, it is credible that, notwithstanding his visits, she may not have allowed him to share her embraces.

58. Other courtesans avoid doing)—Ver. 777. Colman has the following quotation from Donatus: “Terence, by his uncommon art, has attempted many innovations with great success. In this Comedy, he introduces, contrary to received prejudices, a good step-mother and an honest courtesan; but at the same time he so carefully assigns their motives of action, that by him alone every thing seems reconcilable to truth and nature; for this is just the opposite of what he mentions in another place, as the common privilege of all Poets, ‘to paint good matrons and wicked courtesans.’” Perhaps the same good feeling prompted Terence, in showing that a mother-in-law and a courtesan could be capable of acting with good and disinterested feelings, which caused Cumberland to write his Play of “The Jew,” to combat the popular prejudice against that persecuted class, by showing, in the character of Sheva, that a Jew might possibly be a virtuous man.

59. Have been unjustly suspected)—Ver. 778. The words here employed are also capable of meaning, if an active sense is given to “suspectas,” “our wives have entertained wrong suspicions;” but the sense above given seems preferable, as being the meaning of the passage.

60. Run with all speed)—Ver. 809. Donatus remarks, that Parmeno is drawn as being of a lazy and inquisitive character; and that Terence, therefore, humorously contrives to keep him always on the move, and in total ignorance of what is going on.

61. Surcharged with wine)—Ver. 824. Cooke has this remark here: “I suppose that this is the best excuse the Poet could make for the young gentleman’s being guilty of felony and rape at the same time. In this speech, the incident is related on which the catastrophe of the Play turns, which incident is a very barbarous one, and attended with more than one absurdity, though it is the occasion of an agreeable discovery.”

62. In the Comedies)—Ver. 867.—Madame Dacier observes on this passage: “Terence here, with reason, endeavors to make the most of a circumstance peculiar to his Play. In other Comedies, every body, Actors as well as Spectators, are at last equally acquainted with the whole intrigue and catastrophe, and it would even be a defect in the plot were there any obscurity remaining. But Terence, like a true genius, makes himself superior to rules, and adds new beauties to his piece by forsaking them. His reasons for concealing from part of the personages of the Drama the principal incident of the plot, are so plausible and natural, that he could not have followed the beaten track without offending against manners and decency. This bold and uncommon turn is one of the chief graces of the Play.”

63. From the shades below)—Ver. 876. Parmeno says this, while pondering upon the meaning of all that is going on, and thereby expresses his impatience to become acquainted with it. He therefore repeats what Pamphilus has before said in the twelfth line of the present Act, about his having been restored from death to life by his agency.

64. Your applause)—Ver. 881. We may here remark, that the Hecyra is the only one of the Plays of Terence with a single plot.

PHORMIO;
OR, THE SCHEMING PARASITE

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Demipho,1

Chremes,2

Aged Athenians, brothers.

Antipho,3 son of Demipho.

Phædria,4 son of Chremes.

Phormio,5 a Parasite.

Geta,6 servant of Demipho.

Davus,7 a servant.

Hegio,8

Cratinus,9

Crito,10

Advocates.

Dorio,11 a Procurer.

Nausistrata,12 the wife of Chremes.

Sophrona,13 the nurse of Phanium.

Scene.—Athens; before the houses of Demipho, Chremes, and Dorio.

THE SUBJECT.

Chremes and Demipho are two aged Athenians, brothers. Nausistrata, the wife of Chremes, is a wealthy woman, possessed of large estates in the island of Lemnos. Chremes, who goes thither yearly to receive the rents, meets with a poor woman there, whom he secretly marries, and has by her a daughter called Phanium: while engaged in this intrigue, Chremes passes at Lemnos by the name of Stilpho. By his wife, Nausistrata, at Athens, Chremes has a son, named Phædria, and his brother has a son, named Antipho. Phanium having now arrived at her fifteenth year, the two brothers privately agree that she shall be brought to Athens and married to Antipho. For this purpose, Chremes goes to Lemnos, while Demipho is obliged to take a journey to Cilicia. On departing, they leave their sons in the care of Geta, one of Demipho’s servants. Shortly afterward, Phædria falls in love with a Music-girl, but, from want of means, is unable to purchase her from her owner. In the mean time, the Lemnian wife of Chremes, urged by poverty, embarks for Athens, whither she arrives with her daughter and her nurse. Here they inquire for Stilpho, but in vain, as they can not find any one of that name. Shortly after, the mother dies, and Antipho, seeing Phanium by accident, falls in love with her. Being wishful to marry her, he applies to Phormio, a Parasite, for his advice. The latter hits upon the following scheme: there being a law at Athens, which obliges the next-of-kin to female orphans, either to marry them or give them a portion, the Parasite pretends that he is a friend of Phanium, and insists that Antipho is her nearest relation, and is consequently bound to marry her. Antipho is summoned before a court of justice, and it being previously arranged, allows judgment to be given against himself, and immediately marries Phanium. Shortly after, the old men return upon the same day, and are much vexed, the one on finding that his son has married a woman without a fortune, the other that he has lost the opportunity of getting his daughter advantageously married. In the mean time, Phædria being necessitated to raise some money to purchase the Music-girl, Geta and Phormio arrange that the former shall pretend to the old man that Phormio has consented to take back the woman whom Antipho has married, if Demipho will give her a portion of thirty minae. Demipho borrows the money of Chremes, and pays it to Phormio, who hands it over to Phædria, and Phædria to Dorio, for his mistress. At this conjuncture, it becomes known who Phanium really is, and the old men are delighted to find that Antipho has married the very person they wished. They attempt, however, to get back the thirty minae from Phormio, and proceed to threats and violence. On this, Phormio, who has accidentally learned the intrigue of Chremes with the woman of Lemnos, exposes him, and relates the whole story to his wife, Nausistrata; on which she censures her husband for his bad conduct, and the Play concludes with her thanks to Phormio for his information.

THE TITLE OF THE PLAY.

Performed at the Roman Games,14 L. Posthumius Albinus and L. Cornelius Merula being Curule Ædiles. L. Ambivius Turpio and L. Atilius Prænestinus performed it. Flaccus, the freedman of Claudius, composed the music to a base and a treble flute. It is wholly from the Greek, being the Epidicazomenos of Apollodorus. It was represented four times,15 C. Fannius and M. Valerius being Consuls.16

PHORMIO;
OR, THE SCHEMING PARASITE

THE SUMMARY OF C. SULPITIUS APOLLINARIS.

Demipho, the brother of Chremes, has gone abroad, his son Antipho being left at Athens. Chremes has secretly a wife and a daughter at Lemnos, another wife at Athens, and an only son, who loves a Music-girl. The mother arrives at Athens from Lemnos, and there dies. The girl, her orphan daughter, (Chemes being away,) arranges the funeral. After Antipho has fallen in love with her when seen there, through the aid of the Parasite he receives her as his wife. His father and Chremes, having now returned, begin to be enraged. Afterward they give thirty minæ to the Parasite, that he may take her as his own wife. With this money the Music-girl is bought for Phædria. Antipho then keeps his wife, who has been recognized by his uncle.

THE PROLOGUE.

Since the old Poet17 can not withdraw our bard from his pursuits and reduce him to indolence, he endeavors, by invectives, to deter him from writing: for he is wont to say to this effect,—that the Plays which he has hitherto composed are poor in their language, and of meagre style: because he has nowhere described a frantic youth as seeing a hind in flight, and the hounds pursuing; while he implores18 and entreated that he would give her aid. But if he had been aware that his Play, when formerly first represented, stood its ground more through the merits of the performers than its own, he would attack with much less boldness than he does. Now, if there is any one who says or thinks to this effect, that if the old Poet had not assailed him first, the young one could have devised no Prologue for him to repeat, without having some one to abuse, let him receive this for an answer: “that the prize is proposed in common to all who apply to the Dramatic art.” He has aimed at driving our Poet from his studies to absolute want; he then has intended this for an answer, not an attack. If he had opposed him with fair words, he would have heard himself civilly addressed; what has been given by him, let him consider as now returned. I will make an end of speaking about him, when, of his own accord, he himself makes an end of offending. Now give your attention to what I request. I present you a new play, which they call “Epidicazomenos,”19 in Greek: in the Latin, he calls it “Phormio;” because the person that acts the principal part is Phormio, a Parasite, through whom, principally, the plot will be carried on, if your favor attends the Poet. Lend your attention; in silence give an ear with impartial feelings, that we may not experience a like fortune to what we did, when, through a tumult, our Company was driven from the place;20 which place, the merit of the actor, and your good-will and candor seconding it, has since restored unto us.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene I.

Enter Davus,21 with a bag of money in his hand.

Dav. Geta, my very good friend and fellow-townsman, came to me yesterday. There had been for some time a trifling balance of money of his in my hands upon a small account; he asked me to make it up. I have done so, and am carrying it to him. But I hear that his master’s son has taken a wife; this, I suppose, is scraped together as a present for her. How unfair a custom!—that those who have the least should always be giving something to the more wealthy! That which the poor wretch has with difficulty spared, ounce by ounce, out of his allowance,22 defrauding himself of every indulgence, the whole of it will she carry off, without thinking with how much labor it has been acquired. And then besides, Geta will be struck23 for another present24 when his mistress is brought to bed; and then again for another present, when the child’s birthday comes; when they initiate him,25 too: all this the mother will carry off; the child will only be the pretext for the present. But don’t I see Geta there?

Scene II.

Enter Geta, from the house of Demipho.

Geta (at the door, to those within.) If any red-haired man should inquire for me—

Dav. (stepping forward.) Here he is, say no more.

Geta (starting.) Oh! Why I was trying to come and meet you, Davus.

Dav. (giving the money to Geta.) Here, take it; it’s all ready counted out;26 the number just amounts to the sum I owed you.

Geta. I am obliged to you; and I return you thanks for not having forgotten me.

Dav. Especially as people’s ways are nowadays; things are come to such a pass, if a person repays you any thing, you must be greatly obliged to him. But why are you out of spirits?

Geta. What, I? You little know what terror and peril I am in.

Dav. What’s the matter?

Geta. You shall know, if you can only keep it secret.

Dav. Out upon you, simpleton; the man, whose trustworthiness you have experienced as to money, are you afraid to intrust with words? In what way have I any interest in deceiving you?

Geta. Well then, listen.

Dav. I give you my best attention.

Geta. Davus, do you know Chremes, the elder brother of our old gentleman?

Dav. Why should I not?

Geta. Well, and his son Phædria?

Dav. As well as your own self.

Geta. It so happened to both the old gentlemen, just at the same period, that the one had to take a journey to Lemnos, and our old man to Cilicia, to see an old acquaintance; he tempted over the old man by letters, promising him all but mountains of gold.

Dav. To one who had so much property, that he had more than he could use?

Geta. Do have done; that is his way.

Dav. Oh, as for that, I really ought to have been a man of fortune.

Geta. When departing hence, both the old gentlemen left me as a sort of tutor to their sons.

Dav. Ah, Geta, you undertook a hard task there.

Geta. I came to experience it, I know that. I’m quite sure that I was forsaken by my good Genius, who must have been angry with me.27 I began to oppose them at first; but what need of talking? As long as I was trusty to the old men, I was paid for it in my shoulder-blades. This, then, occurred to my mind: why, this is folly to kick against the spur.28 I began to do every thing for them that they wished to be humored in.

Dav. You knew how to make your market.29

Geta. Our young fellow did no mischief whatever at first; that Phædria at once picked up a certain damsel, a Music-girl, and fell in love with her to distraction. She belonged to a most abominable Procurer; and their fathers had taken good care that they should have nothing to give him. There remained nothing for him then but to feed his eyes, to follow her about, to escort her to the school,30 and to escort her back again. We, having nothing to do, lent our aid to Phædria. Near the school at which she was taught, right opposite the place, there was a certain barber’s shop: here we were generally in the habit of waiting for her, until she was coming home again. In the mean time, while one day we were sitting there, there came in a young man in tears;31 we were surprised at this. We inquired what was the matter? “Never,” said he, “has poverty appeared to me a burden so grievous and so insupportable as just now. I have just seen a certain poor young woman in this neighborhood lamenting her dead mother. She was laid out before her, and not a single friend, acquaintance, or relation was there with her, except one poor old woman, to assist her in the funeral: I pitied her. The girl herself was of surpassing beauty.” What need of a long story? She moved us all. At once Antipho exclaims, “Would you like us to go and visit her?” The other said, “I think we ought—let us go—show us the way, please.” We went, and arrived there; we saw her; the girl was beautiful, and that you might say so the more, there was no heightening to her beauty; her hair disheveled, her feet bare, herself neglected, and in tears; her dress mean, so that, had there not been an excess of beauty in her very charms, these circumstances must have extinguished those charms. The one who had lately fallen in love with the Music-girl said: “She is well enough;” but our youth—

Dav. I know it already—fell in love with her.

Geta. Can you imagine to what an extent? Observe the consequence. The day after, he goes straight to the old woman; entreats her to let him have her: she, on the other hand, refuses him, and says that he is not acting properly; that she is a citizen of Athens, virtuous, and born of honest parents: that if he wishes to make her his wife, he is at liberty to do so according to law; but if otherwise, she gives him a refusal. Our youth was at a loss what to do. He was both eager to marry her, and he dreaded his absent father.

Dav. Would not his father, if he had returned, have given him leave?

Geta. He let him marry a girl with no fortune, and of obscure birth! He would never do so.

Dav. What came of it at last?

Geta. What came of it? There is one Phormio here, a Parasite, a fellow of great assurance; may all the Gods confound him!

Dav. What has he done?

Geta. He has given this piece of advice, which I will tell you of. “There is a law, that orphan girls are to marry those who are their next-of-kin; and the same law commands such persons to marry them. I’ll say you are the next-of-kin, and take out a summons32 against you; I’ll pretend that I am a friend of the girl’s father; we will come before the judges: who her father was, who her mother, how she is related to you—all this I’ll trump up, just as will be advantageous and suited to my purpose; on your disproving none of these things, I shall prevail, of course. Your father will return; a quarrel will be the consequence; what care I? She will still be ours.”

Dav. An amusing piece of assurance!

Geta. He was persuaded to this. It was carried out; they came into court: we were beaten. He has married her.

Dav. What is it you tell me?

Geta. Just what you have heard.

Dav. O Geta, what will become of you?

Geta. Upon my faith, I don’t know; this one thing I do know, whatever fortune may bring, I’ll bear it with firmness.

Dav. You please me; well, that is the duty of a man.

Geta. All my hope is in myself.

Dav. I commend you.

Geta. Suppose I have recourse to some one to intercede for me, who will plead for me in these terms: “Pray, do forgive him this time; but if after this he does any thing, I make no entreaty:” if only he doesn’t add, “When I’ve gone, e’en kill him for my part.”

Dav. What of the one who was usher to the Music-girl?33

Geta (shrugging his shoulders.) So so, but poorly.

Dav. Perhaps he hasn’t much to give.

Geta. Why, really, nothing at all, except mere hopes.

Dav. Is his father come back or not?

Geta. Not yet.

Dav. Well, when do you expect your old man?

Geta. I don’t know for certain; but I just now heard that a letter has been brought from him, and has been left with the officers of the customs: I’m going to fetch it.

Dav. Is there any thing else that you want with me, Geta?

Geta. Nothing; but that I wish you well. (Exit Davus.) Hark you, boy (calling at the door). Is nobody coming out here? (A Lad comes out.) Take this, and give it to Dorcium.

He gives the purse to the Lad, who carries it into Demipho’s house and exit Geta.

Scene III.

Enter Antipho and Phædria.

Ant. That things should have come to such a pass, Phædria, that I should be in utter dread of my father, who wishes me so well, whenever his return comes into my thoughts! Had I not been inconsiderate, I might have waited for him, as I ought to have done.

Phæd. What’s the matter?

Ant. Do you ask the question? You, who have been my confederate in so bold an adventure? How I do wish it had never entered the mind of Phormio to persuade me to this, or to urge me in the heat of my passion to this step, which is the source of my misfortunes. Then I should not have obtained her; in that case I might have been uneasy for some few days; but still, this perpetual anxiety would not have been tormenting my mind (touching Phædria).

Phæd. I hear you.

Ant. While I am every moment expecting his return, who is to sever from me this connection.34

Phæd. Other men feel uneasiness because they can not gain what they love; you complain because you have too much. You are surfeited with love, Antipho. Why, really, upon my faith, this situation of yours is surely one to be coveted and desired. So may the Gods kindly bless me, could I be at liberty to be so long in possession of the object of my love, I could contentedly die. Do you, then, form a judgment as to the rest, what I am now suffering from this privation, and what pleasure you enjoy from the possession of your desires; not to mention how, without any expense, you have obtained a well-born and genteel woman, and have got a wife of unblemished reputation: happy you, were not this one thing wanting, a mind capable of bearing all this with moderation. If you had to deal with that Procurer with whom I have to deal, then you would soon be sensible of it. We are mostly all of us inclined by nature to be dissatisfied with our lot.

Ant. Still, on the other hand, Phædria, you now seem to me the fortunate man, who still have the liberty, without restraint, of resolving on what pleases you best: whether to keep, to love on, or to give her up. I, unfortunately, have got myself into that position, that I have neither right35 to give her up, nor liberty to retain her. But how’s this? Is it our Geta I see running this way? ’Tis he himself. Alas! I’m dreadfully afraid what news it is he’s now bringing me.

Scene IV.

Enter Geta, running, at the other side of the stage.

Geta (to himself.) Geta, you are undone, unless you instantly find out some expedient; so suddenly do such mighty evils now threaten me thus unprepared, which I neither know how to shun, nor how to extricate myself therefrom; for this daring step of ours can not now any longer be kept a secret. If such a result is not adroitly guarded against, these matters will cause the ruin of myself, or of my master.

Ant. (to Phædria.) Why, I wonder, is he coming in such fright?

Geta (to himself.) Besides, I’ve but a moment left for this matter—my master’s close at hand.

Ant. (to Phædria.) What mischief is this?

Geta (to himself.) When he comes to hear of it, what remedy shall I discover for his anger? Am I to speak? I shall irritate him: be silent? I shall provoke him: excuse myself? I should be washing a brickbat.36 Alas! unfortunate me! While I am trembling for myself, this Antipho distracts my mind. I am concerned for him; I’m in dread for him: ’tis he that now keeps me here; for had it not been for him, I should have made due provision for my safety, and have taken vengeance on the old man for his crabbedness; I should have scraped up something, and straightway taken to my heels away from here.

Ant. (to Phædria.) I wonder what running away or theft it is that he’s planning.

Geta (to himself.) But where shall I find Antipho, or which way go look for him?

Phæd. (to Antipho.) He’s mentioning your name.

Ant. (to Phædria.) I know not what great misfortune I expect to hear from this messenger.

Phæd. (to Antipho.) Why, are you in your senses?

Geta (to himself.) I’ll make my way homeward; he’s generally there.

Phæd. (to Antipho.) Let’s call the fellow back.

Ant. (calling out.) Stop, this instant.

Geta (turning round.) Heyday—with authority enough, whoever you are.

Ant. Geta!

Geta. The very person I wanted to find.

Ant. Pray, tell me what news you bring and dispatch it in one word, if you can.

Geta. I’ll do so.

Ant. Out with it.

Geta. Just now, at the harbor—

Ant. What, my father—?

Geta. You’ve hit it.

Ant. Ruined outright!

Phæd. Pshaw!

Ant. What am I to do?

Phæd. (to Geta.) What is it you say?

Geta. That I have seen his father, your uncle.

Ant. How am I, wretch that I am, now to find a remedy for this sudden misfortune? But if it should be my fortune, Phanium, to be torn away from you, life would cease to be desirable.

Geta. Therefore, Antipho, since matters are thus, the more need have you to be on your guard; fortune helps the brave.

Ant. I am not myself.

Geta. But just now it is especially necessary you should be so, Antipho; for if your father perceives that you are alarmed, he will think that you have been guilty of some fault.

Phæd. That’s true.

Ant. I can not change.

Geta. What would you do, if now something else still more difficult had to be done by you?

Ant. As I am not equal to this, I should be still less so to the other.

Geta. This is doing nothing at all, Phædria, let’s be gone; why do we waste our time here to no purpose. I shall be off.

Phæd. And I too. (They move as if going.)

Ant. Pray, now, if I assume an air, will that do? (He endeavors to assume another air.)

Geta. You are trifling.

Ant. Look at my countenance—there’s for you. (Assuming a different air.) Will that do?

Geta. No.

Ant. Well, will this? (Assuming another air.)

Geta. Pretty well.

Ant. Well then, this? (Assuming a still bolder air.)

Geta. That’s just the thing. There now, keep to that, and answer him word for word, like for like; don’t let him, in his anger, disconcert you with his blustering words.

Ant. I understand.

Geta. Say that you were forced against your will by law, by sentence of the court; do you take me? (Looking earnestly in one direction.) But who is the old man that I see at the end of the street?

Ant. ’Tis he himself. I can not stand it. (Going.)

Geta. Oh! What are you about? Whither are you going, Antipho? Stop, I tell you.

Ant. I know my own self and my offense; to your management I trust Phanium and my own existence.

Exit hastily.

Scene V.

Phædria and Geta.

Phæd. Geta, what’s to be done now?

Geta. You will just hear some harsh language: I shall be trussed up and trounced, if I am not somewhat mistaken. But what we were just now advising Antipho to do, the same we must do ourselves, Phædria.

Phæd. Away with your “musts;” rather do you command me what I am to do.

Geta. Do you remember what were your words formerly on our entering upon this project, with the view of protecting yourselves from ill consequences—that their cause was just, clear, unanswerable, and most righteous?

Phæd. I remember it.

Geta. Well then, now there’s need of that plea, or of one still better and more plausible, if such there can be.

Phæd. I’ll use my best endeavors.

Geta. Do you then accost him first; I’ll be here in reserve,37 by way of reinforcement, if you give ground at all.

Phæd. Very well.

They retire to a distance.

Scene VI.

Enter Demipho, at the other side of the stage.

Dem. (to himself.) And is it possible that Antipho has taken a wife without my consent? and that no authority of mine—but let alone “authority”38—no displeasure of mine, at all events, has he been in dread of? To have no sense of shame! O audacious conduct! O Geta, rare adviser!

Geta (apart to Phædria.) Just brought in at last.

Dem. What will they say to me, or what excuse will they find? I wonder much.

Geta (apart.) Why, I’ve found that out already; do think of something else.

Dem. Will he be saying this to me: “I did it against my will; the law compelled me?” I hear you, and admit it.

Geta (apart.) Well said!

Dem. But knowingly, in silence, to give up the cause to his adversaries—did the law oblige him to do that as well?

Geta (apart.) That is a hard blow.

Phæd. I’ll clear that up; let me alone for that.

Dem. It is a matter of doubt what I am to do; for beyond expectation, and quite past all belief, has this befallen me. So enraged am I, that I can not compose my mind to think upon it. Wherefore it is the duty of all persons, when affairs are the most prosperous,39 then in especial to reflect within themselves in what way they are to endure adversity. Returning from abroad, let him always picture to himself dangers and losses, either offenses committed by a son, or the death of his wife, or the sickness of a daughter,—that these things are the common lot, so that no one of them may ever come as a surprise upon his feelings. Whatever falls out beyond his hopes, all that he must look upon as so much gain.

Geta (apart.) O Phædria, it is incredible how much I surpass my master in wisdom. All my misfortunes have been already calculated upon by me, upon my master coming home. I must grind at the mill, be beaten, wear fetters, be set to work in the fields; not one individual thing of these will happen unexpected by my mind. Whatever falls out beyond my expectations, all that I shall look upon as so much gain. But why do you hesitate to accost him, and soften him at the outset with fair words?

Phædria goes forward to accost Demipho.

Dem. (to himself.) I see Phædria, my brother’s son, coming toward me.

Phæd. My uncle, welcome!

Dem. Greetings to you; but where is Antipho?

Phæd. That you have arrived in safety——

Dem. I believe it; answer my question.

Phæd. He is well; he’s close at hand; but is every thing quite to your wishes?

Dem. I wish it was so, indeed.

Phæd. What’s the matter?

Dem. Do you ask me, Phædria? You people have cooked up a fine marriage in my absence.

Phæd. What now, are you angry with him for that?

Geta (apart.) What a clever contriver!

Dem. Have I not reason to be angry with him? I long for him to come into my sight, that he may know that through his faultiness, from being a mild father, I am become a most severe one.

Phæd. But he has done nothing, uncle, for which you should blame him.

Dem. Now, do look at that; all alike; all hanging together; when you know one, you know all.

Phæd. That is not the case.

Dem. When the one is in fault, the other is at hand to defend him; when it is the other, then he is ready; they just help one another by turns.

Geta (apart.) The old man, without knowing it, has exactly described their proceedings.

Dem. For if it had not been so, you would not, Phædria, have stood up for him.

Phæd. If, uncle, it is the fact, that Antipho has been guilty of any fault, in consequence of which he has been too regardless of his interest or his reputation, I would not allege any reason why he should not suffer what he deserves. But if some one by chance, relying upon his own artfulness, has laid a snare for our youthful age, and has succeeded, is it our fault or that of the judges, who often, through envy, take away from the rich, or, through compassion, award to the poor?

Geta (apart.) Unless I knew the case, I could fancy he was saying the truth.

Dem. Is there any judge who can possibly know your rights, when you yourself don’t answer a word—as he has done?

Phæd. He acted the part of an ingenuous young man; after they had come before the judges, he was not able to say what he had intended, so much did his modesty confuse him there through his bashfulness.

Geta (apart.) I commend him: but why do I hesitate at once to accost the old man? (Going forward to Demipho.) Master, welcome to you! I’m glad to see you safe returned.

Dem. (ironically.) Ah, excellent guardian! save you, stay of my family, no doubt, to whom, at my departure, I intrusted my son.

Geta. For some minutes past I’ve heard you accusing all of us undeservedly; and me the most undeservedly of them all; for what would you have had me do for you in this affair? The laws do not allow a person who is a slave to plead; nor is there any giving evidence40 on his part.

Dem. I grant all that: I admit this too—the young man, unused to courts, was bashful; I allow it: you, too, are a slave: still, if she was ever so near a relative, it was not necessary for him to marry her, but as the law enjoins, you might have given her a portion;41 she could have looked out for another husband. Why, then, in preference, did he bring a pauper home?

Geta. No particular reason; but he hadn’t the money.

Dem. He might have borrowed it from some person or other.

Geta. From some person or other? Nothing more easily said.

Dem. After all, if on no other terms, on interest.

Geta. Aye, aye, fine talking; as if any one would have trusted him, while you were living.42

Dem. No, it shall not be so; it must not be. Ought I to allow her to remain with him as his wife a single day? She merits no indulgence. I should like this fellow to be pointed out to me, or to be shown where he lives.

Geta. Phormio, do you mean?

Dem. That fellow, the woman’s next friend?43

Geta. I’ll have him here immediately.

Dem. Where is Antipho at present?

Geta. Away from home.

Dem. Go, Phædria, look for him, and bring him here.

Phæd. I’ll go straightway to the place.

Geta (aside.) To Pamphila, you mean.

Exeunt Phædria and Geta.

Scene VII.

Demipho, alone.

Dem. (to himself.) I’ll just step home to salute the household Gods.44 From there, I’ll go to the Forum, and summon some of my friends to give me their assistance in this affair; so that I may not be unprepared, when Phormio comes.

Goes into his house.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.

Enter Phormio and Geta.

Phor. And so you say45 that, dreading his father’s presence, he has taken himself off?

Geta. Exactly so.

Phor. That Phanium is left alone?

Geta. Just so.

Phor. And that the old man is in a rage?

Geta. Extremely so.

Phor. The whole business, Phormio, rests on yourself alone; you yourself have hashed it up;46 it must all be swallowed by yourself, so set about it.

Geta. I entreat you——

Phor. (to himself.) If he inquires.

Geta. In you is all our hope.

Phor. (to himself.) Look at this, now:—What if he sends her back?

Geta. It was you that urged us.

Phor. (to himself.) I think that will do.

Geta. Do help us.

Phor. (with alacrity.) Let the old gentleman come; all my plans are now ready prepared in my mind.

Geta. What will you do?

Phor. What would you have me? But that Phanium may continue with him, and that I may clear Antipho from this charge, and turn upon myself47 all the wrath of the old gentleman?

Geta. O brave and kind man! But, Phormio, I often dread lest this courage may end in the stocks at last.48

Phor. Oh, by no means; I’ve made trial, and have already pondered on the paths for my feet. How many men before to-day do you suppose I have beaten, even to death, strangers as well as citizens: the better I understand it, the oftener I try it. Just tell me, look you, did you ever hear of an action of damages being brought against me?

Geta. How is that?

Phor. Because the net is never spread for the hawk or the kite, that do us the mischief; it is spread for those that do us none: because in the last there is profit, while with the others it is labor lost. For persons, out of whom any thing can be got, there’s risk from others; they know that I’ve got nothing. You will say: “They will take you,49 when sentenced, into their house;” they have no wish to maintain a devouring fellow; and, in my opinion, they are wise, if for an injury they are unwilling to return the highest benefits.

Geta. It’s impossible that sufficient thanks can be returned you by him for your kindness.

Phor. Why no; no person can return thanks sufficient to his patron50 for his kindness. For you to take your place at table at free cost,51 anointed and just washed at the bath, with your mind at ease, whereas he is devoured with the care and expense: while every thing is being done to give you delight, he is being vexed at heart; you are laughing away, first to drink,52 take the higher place; a banquet full of doubts53 is placed before you—

Geta. What is the meaning of that expression?

Phor. When you are in doubt which in especial to partake of. When you enter upon a consideration how delicious these things are, and how costly they are, the person who provides them, must you not account him a very God—neither more nor less?

Geta. The old man is coming; take care what you are about; the first onset is the fiercest; if you stand that, then, afterward, you may play just as you please.

They retire to a distance.

Scene II.

Enter, at a distance, Demipho, Hegio, Cratinus, and Crito, following him.

Dem. Well now—did you ever hear of an injury being done to any person in a more affronting manner than this has to me? Assist me, I do beg of you.

Geta (apart.) He’s in a passion.

Phor. (apart.) Do you mind your cue; I’ll rouse him just now. (Stepping forward and crying aloud.) Oh immortal Gods! does Demipho deny that Phanium here is related to him?

Geta. He does deny it.

Dem. (to his friends.) I believe it is the very man I was speaking about. Follow me.

They all come forward.

Phor. (to Geta.) And that he knows who her father was?

Geta. He does deny it.

Phor. And that he knows who Stilpho was?

Geta. He does deny it.

Phor. Because the poor thing was left destitute, her father is disowned; she herself is slighted: see what avarice does.

Geta (in a loud voice.) If you are going to accuse my master of avarice, you shall hear what you won’t like.

Dem. Oh, the impudence of the fellow! Does he come on purpose to accuse me?

Phor. For really, I have no reason why I should be offended at the young man, if he did not know him; since that person, when growing aged and poor, and supporting himself by his labor, generally confined himself to the country; there he had a piece of land from my father to cultivate; full oft, in the mean time, did the old man tell me that this kinsman of his neglected him: but what a man? The very best I ever saw in all my life.

Geta (in a loud voice.) Look to yourself as well as to him, how you speak.

Phor. (with affected indignation.) Away, to utter perdition, with you. For if I had not formed such an opinion of him, I should never have incurred such enmity with your family on her account, whom he now slights in such an ungenerous manner.

Geta (aloud.) What, do you persist in speaking abusively of my master in his absence, you most abominable fellow?

Phor. Why, it’s just what he deserves.

Geta (aloud.) Say you so, you jail-bird?

Dem. (calling aloud.) Geta!

Geta (aloud.) A plunderer of people’s property—a perverter of the laws!

Dem. (calling aloud.) Geta!

Phor. (apart, in a low voice.) Answer him.

Geta. Who is it? (Looking round.) Oh!——

Dem. Hold your peace.

Geta. He has never left off uttering abuse against you behind your back, unworthy of you, and just befitting himself.

Dem. Well now, have done. (Addressing Phormio.) Young man, in the first place, with your good leave, I ask you this, if you may possibly be pleased to give me an answer: explain to me who this friend of yours was, that you speak of, and how he said that he was related to me.

Phor. (sneeringly.) You are fishing it out, just as if you didn’t know.

Dem. I, know?

Phor. Yes.

Dem. I say I do not; you, who affirm it, recall it to my recollection.

Phor. Come now, didn’t you know your own cousin-german?

Dem. You torture me to death; tell me his name.

Phor. His name?

Dem. Of course. (Phormio hesitates.) Why are you silent now?

Phor. (aside.) Heavens, I’m undone; I’ve forgot the name.

Dem. Well, what do you say?

Phor. (aside, to Geta.) Geta, if you recollect the name I told you a short time since, prompt me. (Aloud, to Demipho.) Well then, I sha’n’t tell you; as if you didn’t know, you come to pump me.

Dem. I, come to pump you, indeed?

Geta. (whispering to Phormio.) Stilpho.

Phor. But, after all, what matters that to me? It is Stilpho.

Dem. Whom did you say?

Phor. Stilpho, I tell you; you knew him.

Dem. I neither know him, nor had I ever any relation of that name.

Phor. Say you so? Are you not ashamed of this? But if he had left you ten talents——

Dem. May the Gods confound you!

Phor. You’d have been the first, from memory, to trace your line of kindred, even as far back as from grandfather and great-grandfather.

Dem. Very likely what you say. In that case, when I had undertaken it, I should have shown how she was related to me; do you do the same: tell me, how is she related to me?

Geta. Well done, my master, that’s right! (Threateningly to Phormio.) Hark you, take you care.

Phor. I’ve already made the matter quite plain where I ought, before the judges; besides, if it was untrue, why didn’t your son disprove it?

Dem. Do you talk about my son to me? Of whose folly there is no speaking in the language it deserves.

Phor. Then do you, who are so wise, go to the magistrates, that for you they may give a second decision in the same cause, since you reign alone54 here, and are the only man allowed to get a second trial in the same cause.

Dem. Although wrong has been done me, still, however, rather than engage in litigation, or listen to you, just as though she had been my relation, as the law orders one to find her a portion, rid me of her, and take five minæ.

Phor. (laughing.) Ha, ha, ha! a pleasant individual!

Dem. Well! am I asking any thing unfair? Or am I not to obtain even this, which is my right at common law?

Phor. Pray, really is it so, that when you have abused her like a courtesan, the law orders you to pay her hire and pack her off? Or is it the fact, that in order that a citizen may bring no disgrace upon herself through poverty, she has been ordered to be given to her nearest relative, to pass her life with him alone? A thing which you mean to prevent.

Dem. Yes, to her nearest relative, indeed; but why to us, or on what ground?

Phor. Well, well, a thing tried, they say, you can’t try over again.

Dem. Not try it? On the contrary, I shall not desist until I have gone through with it.

Phor. You are trifling.

Dem. Only let me alone for that.

Phor. In short, Demipho, I have nothing to do with you; your son has been cast, and not you; for your time of life for marrying has now gone by.

Dem. Consider that it is he that says to you all I now say, or else assuredly, together with this wife of his, I’ll be forbidding him the house.

Geta (aside.) He’s in a passion.

Phor. You’ll be acting more considerately.

Dem. Are you so resolved, you unlucky fellow, to do me all the mischief you can?

Phor. (aside, to Geta.) He’s afraid of us, although he’s so careful to conceal it.

Geta (aside, to Phormio.) Your beginning has turned out well.

Phor. But if, on the contrary, you endure what must be endured, you’ll be doing what’s worthy of you, so that we may be on friendly terms.

Dem. (indignantly.) What, I seek your friendship, or have any wish to see or hear you?

Phor. If you can agree with her, you will have some one to cheer up your old age; just consider your time of life.

Dem. Let her cheer up yourself; keep her to yourself.

Phor. Really, do moderate your passion.

Dem. Mark what I say. There have been words enough already; if you don’t make haste to fetch away the woman, I shall turn her out: I have said it, Phormio.

Phor. If you use her in any other manner than is befitting a free-born woman, I shall be bringing a swinging action against you: I have said it, Demipho. (To Geta.) Hark you, if there should be any occasion for me, I shall be at home.

Geta (apart.) I understand you.

Exit Phormio.

Scene III.

Demipho, Hegio, Cratinus, Crito, and Geta.

Dem. What care and anxiety my son does bring upon me, by entangling himself and me in this same marriage! And he doesn’t so much as come into my sight, that at least I might know what he says about this matter, or what his sentiments are. (To Geta.) Be off, go see whether he has returned home or not by this.

Geta. I will.

Goes into the house.

Dem. (to the Assistants.) You see how the case stands. What am I to do? Tell me, Hegio.

Heg. What, I? I think Cratinus ought, if it seems good to you.

Dem. Tell me, Cratinus.

Crat. What, do you wish me to speak? I should like you to do what is most for your advantage; it is my opinion, that what this son of yours has done in your absence, in law and justice ought to be annulled; and that you’ll obtain redress. That’s my opinion.

Dem. Say now, Hegio.

Heg. I believe that he has spoken with due deliberation; but it is the fact, “as many men, so many minds;”55 every one his own way. It doesn’t appear to me that what has been done by law can be revoked; and it is wrong to attempt it.

Dem. Speak, Crito.

Crit. I am of opinion that we must deliberate further;56 it is a matter of importance.

Heg. Do you want any thing further with us?

Dem. You have done very well. (Exeunt Assistants.) I am much more at a loss57 than before.

Re-enter Geta, from the house.

Geta. They say that he has not come back.

Dem. I must wait for my brother. The advice that he gives me about this matter, I shall follow. I’ll go make inquiry at the harbor, when he is to come back.

Exit.

Geta. And I’ll go look for Antipho, that he may learn what has passed here. But look, I see him coming this way, just in the very nick of time.

Scene IV.

Enter Antipho, at a distance.

Ant. (to himself.) Indeed, Antipho, in many ways you are to be blamed for these feelings; to have thus run away, and intrusted your existence to the protection of other people. Did you suppose that others would give more attention to your interests than your own self? For, however other matters stood, certainly you should have thought of her whom you have now at home, that she might not suffer any harm in consequence of her confiding in you, whose hopes and resources, poor thing, are all now centred in yourself alone.

Geta (coming forward.) Why really, master, we have for some time been censuring you here in your absence, for having thus gone away.

Ant. You are the very person I was looking for.

Geta. But still, we were not a bit the more remiss on that account.

Ant. Tell me, I beg of you, in what posture are my interests and fortunes. Has my father any suspicion?

Geta. Not any at present.

Ant. Is there still any hope?

Geta. I don’t know.

Ant. Alas!

Geta. But Phædria has not neglected to use his endeavors in your behalf.

Ant. He did nothing new.

Geta. Then Phormio, too, in this matter, just as in every thing else, showed himself a man of energy.

Ant. What did he do?

Geta. With his words he silenced the old man, who was very angry.

Ant. Well done, Phormio!

Geta. I, too, did all I could.

Ant. My dear Geta, I love you all.

Geta. The commencement is just in this position, as I tell you: matters, at present, are going on smoothly, and your father intends to wait for your uncle till he arrives.

Ant. Why him?

Geta. He said he was wishful to act by his advice, in all that relates to this business.

Ant. How greatly now, Geta, I do dread my uncle’s safe arrival! For, according to his single sentence, from what I hear, I am to live or die.

Geta. Here comes Phædria.

Ant. Where is he, pray?

Geta. See, he’s coming from his place of exercise.58

Scene V.

Enter from Dorio’s house, Dorio, followed by Phædria.

Phæd. Prithee, hear me, Dorio.

Dor. I’ll not hear you.

Phæd. Only a moment.

Dor. Let me alone.

Phæd. Do hear what I have to say.

Dor. Why really I am tired of hearing the same thing a thousand times over.

Phæd. But now, I have something to tell you that you’ll hear with pleasure.

Dor. Speak then; I’m listening.

Phæd. Can I not prevail on you to wait for only three days? Whither are you going now?

Dor. I was wondering if you had any thing new to offer.

Ant. (apart, to Geta.) I’m afraid for this Procurer, lest——

Geta (apart, to Antipho.) Something may befall his own safety.59

Phæd. You don’t believe me?

Dor. You guess right.

Phæd. But if I pledge my word.

Dor. Nonsense!

Phæd. You will have reason to say that this kindness was well laid out by you on interest.

Dor. Stuff!

Phæd. Believe me, you will be glad you did so; upon my faith, it is the truth.

Dor. Mere dreams!

Phæd. Do but try; the time is not long.

Dor. The same story over again.

Phæd. You will be my kinsman, my father, my friend; you——

Dor. Now, do prate on.

Phæd. For you to be of a disposition so harsh and inexorable, that neither by pity nor by entreaties can you be softened!

Dor. For you to be of a disposition so unreasonable and so unconscionable, Phædria, that you can be talking me over with fine words,60 and be for amusing yourself with what’s my property for nothing!

Ant. (apart, to Geta.) I am sorry for him.

Phæd. (aside.) Alas! I feel it to be too true.

Geta (apart, to Antipho.) How well each keeps up to his character!

Phæd. (to himself.) And would that this misfortune had not befallen me at a time when Antipho was occupied with other cares as well.

Ant. (coming forward.) Ah Phædria, why, what is the matter?

Phæd. O most fortunate Antipho!

Ant. What, I?

Phæd. To have in your possession the object of your love, and have no occasion to encounter such a nuisance as this.

Ant. What I, in my possession? Why yes, as the saying is, I’ve got a wolf by the ears;61 for I neither know how to get rid of her, nor yet how to keep her.

Dor. That’s just my case with regard to him (pointing to Phædria).

Ant. (to Dorio.) Aye, aye, don’t you show too little of the Procurer. (To Phædria.) What has he been doing?

Phæd. What, he? Acting the part of a most inhuman fellow; been and sold my Pamphila.

Geta. What! Sold her?

Ant. Sold her, say you?

Phæd. Sold her.

Dor. (ironically.) What a shocking crime—a wench bought with one’s own money!

Phæd. I can not prevail upon him to wait for me the next three days, and so far break off the bargain with the person, while I get the money from my friends, which has been promised me; if I don’t give it him then, let him not wait a single hour longer.

Dor. Very good.

Ant. It’s not a long time that he asks, Dorio; do let him prevail upon you; he’ll pay you two-fold for having acted to him thus obligingly.

Dor. Mere words!

Ant. Will you allow Pamphila to be carried away from this place? And then, besides, can you possibly allow their love to be severed asunder?

Dor. Neither I nor you cause that.

Geta. May all the Gods grant you what you are deserving of!

Dor. I have borne with you for several months quite against my inclination; promising and whimpering, and yet bringing nothing; now, on the other hand, I have found one to pay, and not be sniveling; give place to your betters.

Ant. I’ faith, there surely was a day named, if I remember right, for you to pay him.

Phæd. It is the fact.

Dor. Do I deny it?

Ant. Is that day past, then?

Dor. No; but this one has come before it.

Ant. Are you not ashamed of your perfidy?

Dor. Not at all, so long as it is for my interest.

Geta. Dunghill!

Phæd. Dorio, is it right, pray, for you to act thus?

Dor. It is my way; if I suit you, make use of me.

Ant. Do you try to trifle with him (pointing to Phædria) in this manner?

Dor. Why really, on the contrary, Antipho, it’s he trifling with me, for he knew me to be a person of this sort; I supposed him to be quite a different man; he has deceived me; I’m not a bit different to him from what I was before. But however that may be, I’ll yet do this; the captain has said, that to-morrow morning he will pay me the money; if you bring it me before that, Phædria, I’ll follow my rule, that he is the first served who is the first to pay. Farewell!

Goes into his house.

Scene VI.

Phædria, Antipho, and Geta.

Phæd. What am I to do? Wretch that I am! where am I now in this emergency to raise the money for him, I, who am worse than nothing? If it had been possible for these three days to be obtained of him, it was promised me by then.

Ant. Geta, shall we suffer him to continue thus wretched, when he so lately assisted me in the kind way you were mentioning? On the contrary, why not, as there’s need of it, try to do him a kindness in return?

Geta. For my part, I’m sure it is but fair.

Ant. Come then, you are the only man able to serve him.

Geta. What can I do?

Ant. Procure the money.

Geta. I wish I could; but where it is to come from—tell me that.

Ant. My father has come home.

Geta. I know; but what of that?

Ant. Oh, a word to the wise62 is quite enough.

Geta. Is that it, then?

Ant. Just so.

Geta. Upon my faith, you really do give me fine advice; out upon you! Ought I not to be heartily glad, if I meet with no mishap through your marriage, but what, in addition to that, you must now bid me, for his sake, to be seeking risk upon risk?

Ant. ’Tis true what he says.

Phæd. What! am I a stranger to you, Geta?

Geta. I don’t consider you so. But is it so trifling a matter that the old gentleman is now vexed with us all, that we must provoke him still more, and leave no room for entreaty?

Phæd. Is another man to take her away from before my eyes to some unknown spot? Alas! speak to me then, Antipho, and look upon me while you have the opportunity, and while I’m present.

Ant. Why so, or what are you going to do? Pray, tell me.

Phæd. To whatever part of the world she is borne away, I’m determined to follow her or to perish.

Geta. May the Gods prosper your design! Cautiously’s the word, however.

Ant. (to Geta.) Do see if you can give him any assistance at all.

Geta. Any at all—how?

Ant. Pray, do try, that he mayn’t be doing something that we may afterward be more or less sorry for, Geta.

Geta. I’m considering. (He pauses.) He’s all safe, so far as I can guess: but still, I’m afraid of mischief.

Ant. Don’t be afraid: together with you, we’ll share good and bad.

Geta. (to Phædria.) How much money do you want? Tell me.

Phæd. Only thirty minæ.

Geta. Thirty? Heyday! she’s monstrous dear, Phædria.

Phæd. Indeed, she’s very cheap.

Geta. Well, well, I’ll get them for you.

Phæd. Oh the dear man! (They both fall to hugging Geta.)

Geta. Take yourselves off. (Shakes them off.)

Phæd. There’s need for them directly.

Geta. You shall have them directly; but I must have Phormio for my assistant in this business.

Ant. He’s quite ready; right boldly lay on him any load you like, he’ll bear it: he, in especial, is a friend to his friend.

Geta. Let’s go to him at once then.

Ant. Will you have any occasion for my assistance?

Geta. None; but be off home, and comfort that poor thing, who I am sure is now in-doors almost dead with fear. Do you linger?

Ant. There’s nothing I could do with so much pleasure.

Goes into the house of Demipho.

Phæd. What way will you manage this?

Geta. I’ll tell you on the road; first thing, betake yourself off.

Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene I.

Enter Demipho and Chremes.

Dem. Well, have you brought your daughter with you, Chremes, for whom you went to Lemnos?

Chrem. No.

Dem. Why not?

Chrem. When her mother found that I staid here longer than usual, and at the same time the age of the girl did not suit with my delays, they told me that she, with all her family, set out in search of me.

Dem. Pray, then, why did you stay there so long, when you had heard of this?

Chrem. Why, faith, a malady detained me.

Dem. From what cause? Or what was it?

Chrem. Do you ask me? Old age itself is a malady. However, I heard that they had arrived safe, from the captain who brought them.

Dem. Have you heard, Chremes, what has happened to my son in my absence?

Chrem. ’Tis that, in fact, that has embarrassed me in my plans. For if I offer my daughter in marriage to any person that’s a stranger, it must all be told how and by whom I had her. You I knew to be fully as faithful to me as I am to myself; if a stranger shall think fit to be connected with me by marriage, he will hold his tongue, just as long as good terms exist between us: but if he takes a dislike to me, he’ll be knowing more than it’s proper he should know. I am afraid, too, lest my wife should, by some means, come to know of it; if that is the case, it only remains for me to shake myself63 and leave the house; for I’m the only one I can rely on at home.64

Dem. I know it is so, and that circumstance is a cause of anxiety to me; and I shall never cease trying, until I’ve made good what I promised you.

Scene II.

Enter Geta, on the other side of the stage, not seeing Demipho or Chremes.

Geta. (to himself.) I never saw a more cunning fellow than this Phormio. I came to the fellow to tell him that money was needed, and by what means it might be procured. Hardly had I said one half, when he understood me; he was quite delighted; complimented me; asked where the old man was; gave thanks to the Gods that an opportunity was afforded him for showing himself no less a friend to Phædria than to Antipho: I bade the fellow wait for me at the Forum; whither I would bring the old gentleman. But see, here’s the very man (catching sight of the Old Man). Who is the further one? Heyday, Phædria’s father has got back! still, brute beast that I am, what was I afraid of? Is it because two are presented instead of one for me to dupe? I deem it preferable to enjoy a two-fold hope. I’ll try for it from him from whom I first intended: if he gives it me, well and good; if I can make nothing of him, then I’ll attack this new-comer.

Scene III.

Enter Antipho from the house, behind at a distance.

Ant. (to himself.) I’m expecting every moment that Geta will be here. But I see my uncle standing close by, with my father. Ah me! how much I fear what influence his return may have upon my father!

Geta. (to himself.) I’ll accost them. (Goes up to them.) O welcome to you, our neighbor Chremes.

Chrem. Save you, Geta.

Geta. I’m delighted to see you safe returned.

Chrem. I believe you.

Geta. How go matters?

Chrem. Many changes here upon my arrival, as usually the case.

Geta. True; have you heard what has happened to Antipho?

Chrem. All.

Geta. (to Demipho.) What, have you told him? Disgraceful conduct, Chremes, thus to be imposed on.

Dem. It was about that I was talking to him just now.

Geta. But really, on carefully reflecting upon this matter I think I have found a remedy.

Dem. What is the remedy?

Geta. When I left you, by accident Phormio met me.

Chrem. Who is Phormio?

Geta. He who patronized her.

Chrem. I understand.

Geta. It seemed to me that I might first sound him; I took the fellow aside: “Phormio,” said I, “why don’t we try to settle these matters between us rather with a good grace than with a bad one? My master’s a generous man, and one who hates litigation; but really, upon my faith, all his friends were just now advising him with one voice to turn her instantly out of doors.”

Ant. (apart.) What is he about? Or where is this to end at last?

Geta (continuing the supposed conversation.) “He’ll have to give satisfaction at law, you say, if he turns her out? That has been already inquired into: aye, aye, you’ll have enough to do, if you engage with him; he is so eloquent. But suppose he’s beaten; still, however, it’s not his life, but his money that’s at stake.” After I found that the fellow was influenced by these words, I said: “We are now by ourselves here; come now, what should you like to be given you, money down, to drop this suit with my master, so that she may betake herself off, and you annoy us no more?”

Ant. (apart.) Are the Gods quite on good terms with him?65

Geta (continuing the conversation.) “For I’m quite sure, if you were to mention any thing that’s fair and reasonable, as he is a reasonable man, you’ll not have to bandy three words with him.”

Dem. Who ordered you to say so?

Chrem. Nay, he could not have more happily contrived to bring about what we want.

Ant. (apart.) Undone!

Chrem. Go on with your story.

Geta. At first the fellow raved.

Dem. Say, what did he ask?

Geta. What? A great deal too much.

Chrem. How much? Tell me.

Geta. Suppose he were to give a great talent.

Dem. Aye, faith, perdition to him rather; has he no shame?

Geta. Just what I said to him: “Pray,” said I, “suppose he was portioning an only daughter of his own. It has been of little benefit that he hasn’t one of his own, when another has been found to be demanding a fortune.” To be brief, and to pass over his impertinences, this at last was his final answer: “I,” said he, “from the very first, have been desirous to marry the daughter of my friend, as was fit I should; for I was aware of the ill results of this, a poor wife being married into a rich family, and becoming a slave. But, as I am now conversing with you unreservedly, I was in want of a wife to bring me a little money with which to pay off my debts; and even yet, if Demipho is willing to give as much as I am to receive with her to whom I am engaged, there is no one whom I should better like for a wife.”

Ant. (apart.) Whether to say he’s doing this through folly or mischief, through stupidity or design, I’m in doubt.

Dem. What if he’s in debt to the amount of his life?66

Geta. His land is mortgaged,—for ten minæ he said.

Dem. Well, well, let him take her then; I’ll give it.

Geta. He has a house besides, mortgaged for another ten.

Dem. Huy, huy! that’s too much.

Chrem. Don’t be crying out; you may have those ten of me.

Geta. A lady’s maid must be brought for his wife; and then too, a little more is wanted for some furniture, and some is wanted for the wedding expenses. “Well then,” said he, “for these items, put down ten more.”

Dem. Then let him at once bring six hundred actions67 against me; I shall give nothing at all; is this dirty fellow to be laughing at me as well?

Chrem. Pray do be quiet; I’ll give it: do you only bring your son to marry the woman we want him to have.

Ant. (apart.) Ah me! Geta, you have ruined me by your treachery.

Chrem. ’Tis on my account she’s turned off; it’s right that I should bear the loss.

Geta. “Take care and let me know,” said he, “as soon as possible, if they are going to let me have her, that I may get rid of the other, so that I mayn’t be in doubt; for the others have agreed to pay me down the portion directly.”

Chrem. Let him have her at once; let him give notice to them that he breaks off the match with the other, and let him marry this woman.

Dem. Yes, and little joy to him of the bargain!

Chrem. Luckily, too, I’ve now brought home some money with me, the rents which my wife’s farms at Lemnos produce. I’ll take it out of that, and tell my wife that you had occasion for it.

They go into the house of Chremes.

Scene IV.

Antipho and Geta.

Ant. (coming forward.) Geta.

Geta. Well.

Ant. What have you been doing?

Geta. Diddling the old fellows out of their money.

Ant. Is that quite the thing?

Geta. I’ faith, I don’t know: it’s just what I was told to do.

Ant. How now, whip-scoundrel, do you give me an answer to what I don’t ask you? (Kicks him.)

Geta. What was it then that you did ask?

Ant. What was it I did ask? Through your agency, matters have most undoubtedly come to the pass that I may go hang myself. May then all the Gods, Goddesses, Deities above and below, with every evil confound you! Look now, if you wish any thing to succeed, intrust it to him who may bring you from smooth water on to a rock. What was there less advantageous than to touch upon this sore, or to name my wife? Hopes have been excited in my father that she may possibly be got rid of. Pray now, tell me, suppose Phormio receives the portion, she must be taken home by him as his wife: what’s to become of me?

Geta. But he’s not going to marry her.

Ant. I know that. But (ironically) when they demand the money back, of course, for our sake, he’ll prefer going to prison.

Geta. There is nothing, Antipho, but what it may be made worse by being badly told: you leave out what is good, and you mention the bad. Now then, hear the other side: if he receives the money, she must be taken as his wife, you say; I grant you; still, some time at least will be allowed for preparing for the nuptials, for inviting, and for sacrificing. In the mean time, Phædria’s friends will advance what they have promised; out of that he will repay it.

Ant. On what grounds? Or what will he say?

Geta. Do you ask the question? “How many circumstances, since then, have befallen me as prodigies? A strange black dog68 entered the house; a snake came down from the tiles through the sky-light;69 a hen crowed;70 the soothsayer forbade it; the diviner71 warned me not: besides, before winter there is no sufficient reason for me to commence upon any new undertaking.” This will be the case.

Ant. I only wish it may be the case.

Geta. It shall be the case; trust me for that. Your father’s coming out; go tell Phædria that the money is found.

Scene V.

Enter Demipho and Chremes, from the house of the latter, the former with a purse of money.

Dem. Do be quiet, I tell you; I’ll take care he shall not be playing any tricks upon us. I’ll not rashly part with this without having my witnesses; I’ll have it stated to whom I pay it, and for what purpose I pay it.

Geta. (apart.) How cautious he is, when there’s no need for it!

Chrem. Why yes, you had need do so, and with all haste, while the fit is upon him; for if this other woman shall prove more pressing, perhaps he may throw us over.

Geta. You’ve hit upon the very thing.

Dem. Lead me to him then.

Geta. I won’t delay.

Chrem. (to Demipho.) When you’ve done so, go over to my wife, that she may call upon her before she goes away. She must tell her that we are going to give her in marriage to Phormio, that she may not be angry with us; and that he is a fitter match for her, as knowing more of her; that we have in no way departed from our duty; that as much has been given for a portion as he asked for.

Dem. What the plague does that matter to you?

Chrem. A great deal, Demipho. It is not enough for you to do your duty, if common report does not approve of it; I wish all this to be done with her own sanction as well, that she mayn’t be saying that she has been turned out of doors.

Dem. I can do all that myself.

Chrem. It will come better from one woman to another.

Dem. I’ll ask her.

Goes into the house of Chremes; and exit Geta.

Chrem. (to himself.) I’m thinking where I can find them now.72

Scene VI.

Enter Sophrona from the house of Demipho, at a distance.

Soph. (to herself.) What am I to do? What friend, in my distress, shall I find, to whom to disclose these plans; and where shall I look for relief? For I’m afraid that my mistress, in consequence of my advice, may undeservingly sustain some injury, so extremely ill do I hear that the young man’s father takes what has happened.

Chrem. (apart, to himself.) But what old woman’s this, that has come out of my brother’s house, half dead with fright?

Soph. (to herself, continuing.) It was distress that compelled me to this step, though I knew that the match was not likely to hold good; my object was, that in the mean time life might be supported.

Chrem. (apart, to himself.) Upon my faith, surely, unless my recollection deceives me, or my sight’s not very good, I espy my daughter’s nurse.73

Soph. (to herself.) And we are not able to find——

Chrem. (apart.) What must I do?

Soph. (to herself.) Her father.

Chrem. (to himself, apart.) Shall I accost her, or shall I wait to learn more distinctly what it is she’s saying?

Soph. (to herself.) If now I could find him, there’s nothing that I should be in fear of.

Chrem. (apart, to himself, aloud.) ’Tis the very woman. I’ll address her.

Soph. (turning round.) Who’s that speaking here?

Chrem. (coming forward.) Sophrona.

Soph. Mentioning my name, too?

Chrem. Look round at me.

Soph. (seeing him.) Ye Gods, I do beseech you, isn’t this Stilpho?

Chrem. No.

Soph. Do you deny it?

Chrem. (in a low voice.) Step a little this way from that door, Sophrona, if you please (pointing). Don’t you, henceforth, be calling me by that name.

Soph. Why? Pray, are you not the person you always used to say you were?

Chrem. Hush! (pointing to his own house.)

Soph. Why are you afraid about that door?

Chrem. (in a low voice.) I have got a shrew of a wife shut up there. For by that name I formerly falsely called myself, in order that you might not chance indiscreetly to blab it out of doors, and then my wife, by some means or other, might come to know of it.

Soph. I’ faith, that’s the very reason why we, wretched creatures, have never been able to find you out here.

Chrem. Well, but tell me, what business have you with that family from whose house you were coming out? Where are the ladies?74

Soph. Ah, wretched me!

Chrem. Hah! What’s the matter? Are they still alive?

Soph. Your daughter is alive. Her poor mother died of grief.

Chrem. An unfortunate thing!

Soph. As for me, being a lone old woman, in want, and unknown, I contrived, as well as I could, to get the young woman married to the young man who is master of this house (pointing).

Chrem. What! to Antipho?

Soph. The very same, I say.

Chrem. What? Has he got two wives?

Soph. Dear no, prithee, he has only got this one.

Chrem. What about the other one that’s called his relative?

Soph. Why, this is she.

Chrem. What is it you say?

Soph. It was done on purpose, in order that her lover might be enabled to marry her without a portion.

Chrem. Ye Gods, by our trust in you! How often do those things come about through accident, which you couldn’t dare to hope for? On my return, I have found my daughter matched with the very person I wished, and just as I wanted; a thing that we were both using our endeavors, with the greatest earnestness, to bring about. Without any very great management on our part, by her own management, she has by herself brought this about.

Soph. Now consider what’s to be done. The young man’s father has returned, and they say that he bears this with feelings highly offended.

Chrem. There’s no danger of that. But, by Gods and men, do take care that no one comes to know that she’s my daughter.

Soph. No one shall know it from me.

Chrem. Follow me; in-doors we’ll hear the rest.

He goes into Demipho’s house, followed by Sophrona.

ACT THE FOURTH.

Scene I.

Enter Demipho and Geta.

Dem. ’Tis caused by our own fault, that it is advantageous to be dishonest; while we wish ourselves to be styled very honest and generous. “So run away as not to run beyond the house,”75 as the saying is. Was it not enough to receive an injury from him, but money must be voluntarily offered him as well, that he may have something on which to subsist while he plans some other piece of roguery?

Geta. Most clearly so.

Dem. They now get rewarded for it, who confound right with wrong.

Geta. Most undoubtedly.

Dem. How very foolishly, in fact, we have managed the affair with him!

Geta. If by these means we can only manage for him to marry her.

Dem. Is that, then, a matter of doubt?

Geta. I’ faith, judging from what the fellow is, I don’t know whether he mightn’t change his mind.

Dem. How! change it indeed?

Geta. I don’t know: but “if perhaps,” I say.

Dem. I’ll do as my brother advised me, bring hither his wife, to talk with her. Do you, Geta, go before; tell her that Nausistrata is about to visit her.

Demipho goes into the house of Chremes.

Scene II.

Geta, alone.

Geta. The money’s been got for Phædria; it’s all hushed about the lawsuit; due care has been taken that she’s not to leave for the present. What next, then? What’s to be done? You are still sticking in the mud. You are paying by borrowing;76 the evil that was at hand, has been put off for a day. The toils are increasing upon you, if you don’t look out. Now I’ll away home, and tell Phanium not to be afraid of Nausistrata, or his talking.77

Goes into the house of Demipho.

Scene III.

Enter Demipho and Nausistrata, from the house of Chremes.

Dem. Come now, Nausistrata, after your usual way, manage to keep her in good-humor with us, and make her do of her own accord what must be done.

Naus. I will.

Dem. You are now seconding me with your endeavors, just as you assisted me with your money78 before.

Naus. I wish to do so; and yet, i’ faith, through the fault of my husband, I am less able than I ought to be.

Dem. Why so?

Naus. Because, i’ faith, he takes such indifferent care of the property that was so industriously acquired by my father; for from those farms he used regularly to receive two talents of silver yearly; there’s an instance, how superior one man is to another.

Dem. Two talents, pray?

Naus. Aye, and when things were much worse, two talents even.

Dem. Whew!

Naus. What! does this seem surprising?

Dem. Of course it does.

Naus. I wish I had been born a man; I’d have shown——

Dem. That I’m quite sure of.

Naus. In what way——

Dem. Forbear, pray, that you may be able to do battle with her; lest she, being a young woman, may be more than a match for you.

Naus. I’ll do as you bid me; but I see my husband coming out of your house.

Scene IV.

Enter Chremes, hastily, from Demipho’s house.

Chrem. Ha! Demipho, has the money been paid him yet?

Dem. I took care immediately.

Chrem. I wish it hadn’t been paid him. (On seeing Nausistrata, aside.) Halloo, I espy my wife; I had almost said more than I ought.

Dem. Why do you wish I hadn’t, Chremes?

Chrem. It’s all right.

Dem. What say you? Have you been letting her know why we are going to bring her? (pointing to Nausistrata.)

Chrem. I’ve arranged it.

Dem. Pray, what does she say?

Chrem. She can’t be got to leave.

Dem. Why can’t she?

Chrem. Because they are fond of one another.

Dem. What’s that to us?

Chrem. (apart, to Demipho.) A great deal; besides that, I’ve found out that she is related to us.

Dem. (apart.) What! You are mad, surely.

Chrem. (apart.) So you will find; I don’t speak at random; I’ve recovered my recollection.

Dem. (apart.) Are you quite in your senses?

Chrem. (apart.) Nay, prithee, do take care not to injure your kinswoman.

Dem. (apart.) She is not.

Chrem. (apart.) Don’t deny it; her father went by another name; that was the cause of your mistake.

Dem. (apart.) Did she not know who was her father?

Chrem. (apart.) She did.

Dem. (apart.) Why did she call him by another name?

Chrem. (apart, frowning.) Will you never yield to me, nor understand what I mean?

Dem. (apart.) If you don’t tell me of any thing——

Chrem. (impatiently.) Do you persist?

Naus. I wonder what all this can be.

Dem. For my part, upon my faith, I don’t know.

Chrem. (whispering to him.) Would you like to know? Then, so may Jupiter preserve me, not a person is there more nearly related to her than are you and I.

Dem. (starting.) Ye Gods, by our trust in you! let’s away to her; I wish for all of us, one way or other, to be sure about this (going).

Chrem. (stopping him.) Ah!

Dem. What’s the matter?

Chrem. That you should put so little confidence in me!

Dem. Do you wish me to believe you? Do you wish me to consider this as quite certain? Very well, be it so. Well, what’s to be done with our friend’s79 daughter?

Chrem. She’ll do well enough.

Dem. Are we to drop her, then?

Chrem. Why not?

Dem. The other one to stop?

Chrem. Just so.

Dem. You may go then, Nausistrata.

Naus. I’ faith, I think it better for all that she should remain here as it is, than as you first intended; for she seemed to me a very genteel person when I saw her.

Goes into her house.

Scene V.

Demipho and Chremes.

Dem. What is the meaning of all this?

Chrem. (looking at the door of his house.) Has she shut the door yet?

Dem. Now she has.

Chrem. O Jupiter! the Gods do befriend us; I have found that it is my daughter married to your son.

Dem. Ha! How can that possibly be?

Chrem. This spot is not exactly suited for me to tell it you.

Dem. Well then, step in-doors.

Chrem. Hark you, I don’t wish our sons even to come to know of this.

They go into Demipho’s house.

Scene VI.

Enter Antipho.

Ant. I’m glad that, however my own affairs go, my brother has succeeded in his wishes. How wise it is to cherish desires of that nature in the mind, that when things run counter, you may easily find a cure for them! He has both got the money, and released himself from care; I, by no method, can extricate myself from these troubles; on the contrary, if the matter is concealed, I am in dread—but if disclosed, in disgrace. Neither should I now go home, were not a hope still presented me of retaining her. But where, I wonder, can I find Geta, that I may ask him what opportunity he would recommend me to take for meeting my father?

Scene VII.

Enter Phormio, at a distance.

Phor. (to himself.) I received the money; handed it over to the Procurer; brought away the woman, that Phædria might have her as his own—for she has now become free. Now there is one thing still remaining for me to manage,—to get a respite from the old gentlemen for carousing; for I’ll enjoy myself the next few days.

Ant. But here’s Phormio. (Going up to him.) What have you to say?

Phor. About what?

Ant. Why—what’s Phædria going to do now? In what way does he say that he intends to take his fill of love?

Phor. In his turn, he’s going to act your part.

Ant. What part?

Phor. To run away from his father; he begs that you in your return will act on his behalf—to plead his cause for him. For he’s going to carouse at my house. I shall tell the old man that I’m going to Sunium, to the fair, to purchase the female servant that Geta mentioned a while since, so that, when they don’t see me here, they mayn’t suppose that I’m squandering their money. But there is a noise at the door of your house.

Ant. See who’s coming out.

Phor. It’s Geta.

Scene VIII.

Enter Geta, at a distance, hastily, from the house of Demipho.

Geta. (to himself.) O fortune! O good luck!80 with blessings how great, how suddenly hast thou loaded this day with thy favors to my master Antipho!—

Ant. (apart to Phormio.) I wonder what it is he means.

Geta. (continuing.) And relieved us, his friends, from alarm; but I’m now delaying, in not throwing my cloak81 over my shoulder (throws it over his shoulder), and making haste to find him, that he may know what has happened.

Ant. (apart to Phormio.) Do you understand what he’s talking about?

Phor. (apart to Antipho.) Do you?

Ant. (apart to Phormio.) Not at all.

Phor. (apart to Antipho.) And I just as much.

Geta. (to himself.) I’ll be off hence to the Procurer’s; they are there just now. (Runs along.)

Ant. (calling out.) Halloo! Geta!

Geta. (still running.) There’s for you. Is it any thing new or wonderful to be called back, directly you’ve started?

Ant. Geta!

Geta. Do you persist? Troth, you shall not on this occasion get the better of me by your annoyance.

Ant. (running after him.) Won’t you stop?

Geta. You’ll be getting a beating.

Ant. Assuredly that will befall yourself just now unless you stop, you whip-knave.

Geta. This must be some one pretty familiar, threatening me with a beating. (Turns round.) But is it the person I’m in search of or not? ’Tis the very man! Up to him at once.

Ant. What’s the matter?

Geta. O being most blessed of all men living! For without question, Antipho, you are the only favorite of the Gods.

Ant. So I could wish; but I should like to be told why I’m to believe it is so.

Geta. Is it enough if I plunge you into a sea of joy?

Ant. You are worrying me to death.

Phor. Nay but do have done with your promises, and tell us what you bring.

Geta. (looking round.) Oh, are you here too, Phormio?

Phor. I am: but why do you delay?

Geta. Listen, then. When we just now paid you the money at the Forum, we went straight to Chremes; in the mean time, my master sent me to your wife.

Ant. What for?

Geta. I’ll omit telling you that, as it is nothing to the present purpose, Antipho. Just as I was going to the woman’s apartments, the boy Mida came running up to me, and caught me behind by my cloak, and pulled me back; I turned about, and inquired for what reason he stopped me; he said that it was forbidden for any one to go in to his mistress. “Sophrona has just now,” said he, “introduced here Chremes, the old gentleman’s brother,” and he said that he was then in the room with them: when I heard this, on tip-toe I stole softly along; I came there, stood, held my breath, I applied my ear, and so began to listen, catching the conversation every word in this fashion (shows them).

Ant. Well done, Geta.

Geta. Here I overheard a very pretty piece of business; so much so that I had nearly cried out for joy.

Ant. What was it?

Geta. (laughing.) What do you think?

Ant. I don’t know.

Geta. Why, something most marvelous. Your uncle has been discovered to be the father of your wife, Phanium.

Ant. (starting.) Ha! what’s that you say?

Geta. He formerly cohabited secretly with her mother at Lemnos.

Phor. A dream: how could she be ignorant about her own father?

Geta. Be sure, Phormio, that there is some reason: but do you suppose that, outside of the door, I was able to understand every thing that passed between them within?

Ant. On my faith, I too have heard the same story.

Geta. Aye, and I’ll give you still further reason for believing it: your uncle in the mean time came out from there; not long after he returned again, with your father; each said that he gave you permission to retain her; in fine, I’ve been sent to find you, and bring you to them.

Ant. Why then carry me off82 at once;—why do you delay?

Geta. I’ll do so.

Ant. O my dear Phormio, farewell!

Phor. Farewell, Antipho.

Antipho and Geta go into Demipho’s house.

Scene IX.

Phormio, alone.

Phor. So may the Gods bless me, this has turned out luckily. I’m glad of it, that such good fortune has thus suddenly befallen them. I have now an excellent opportunity for diddling the old men, and ridding Phædria of all anxiety about the money, so that he mayn’t be under the necessity of applying to any of his companions. For this same money, as it has been given him, shall be given for good, whether they like it or not: how to force them to this, I’ve found out the very way. I must now assume a new air and countenance. But I’ll betake myself off to this next alley; from that spot I’ll present myself to them, when they come out of doors. I sha’n’t go to the fair, where I pretended I was going.

He retires into the alley.

ACT THE FIFTH.

Scene I.

Enter Demipho and Chremes, from Demipho’s house.

Dem. I do give and return hearty thanks to the Gods, and with reason, brother, inasmuch as these matters have turned out for us so fortunately. We must now meet with Phormio as soon as possible, before he squanders our thirty minæ, so that we may get them from him.

Enter Phormio, coming forward, and speaking aloud, as though not seeing them.

Phor. I’ll go see if Demipho’s at home; that as to what83—

Dem. (accosting him.) Why, Phormio, we were coming to you.

Phor. Perhaps about the very same affair. (Demipho nods assent.) I’ faith, I thought so. What were you coming to my house for? Ridiculous; are you afraid that I sha’n’t do what I have once undertaken? Hark you, whatever is my poverty, still, of this one thing I have taken due care, not to forfeit my word.

Chrem. (to Demipho.) Is she not genteel-looking,84 just as I told you?

Dem. Very much so.

Phor. And this is what I’m come to tell you, Demipho, that I’m quite ready; whenever you please, give me my wife. For I postponed all my other business, as was fit I should, when I understood that you were so very desirous to have it so.

Dem. (pointing to Chremes.) But he has dissuaded me from giving her to you. “For what,” says he, “will be the talk among people if you do this? Formerly, when she might have been handsomely disposed of, then she wasn’t given; now it’s a disgrace for her to be turned out of doors, a repudiated woman;” pretty nearly, in fact, all the reasons which you yourself, some little time since, were urging to me.

Phor. Upon my faith, you are treating me in a very insulting manner.

Dem. How so?

Phor. Do you ask me? Because I shall not be able to marry the other person I mentioned; for with what face shall I return to her whom I’ve slighted?

Chrem. Then besides, I see that Antipho is unwilling to part with her. (Aside, prompting Demipho.) Say so.

Dem. Then besides, I see that my son is very unwilling to part with the damsel. But have the goodness to step over to the Forum, and order this money to be transferred to my account,85 Phormio.

Phor. What, when I’ve paid it over to the persons to whom I was indebted?

Dem. What’s to be done, then?

Phor. If you will let me have her for a wife, as you promised, I’ll take her; but if you prefer that she should stay with you, the portion must stay with me, Demipho. For it isn’t fair that I should be misled for you, as it was for your own sakes that I broke off with the other woman, who was to have brought me a portion just as large.

Dem. Away with you to utter perdition, with this swaggering, you vagabond. What, then, do you fancy we don’t know you, or your doings?

Phor. You are provoking me.

Dem. Would you have married her, if she had been given to you?

Phor. Try the experiment.

Dem. That my son might cohabit with her at your house, that was your design.

Phor. Pray, what is that you say?

Dem. Then do you give me my money?

Phor. Nay, but do you give me my wife?

Dem. Come before a magistrate. (Going to seize hold of him.)

Phor. Why, really, if you persist in being troublesome——

Dem. What will you do?

Phor. What, I? You fancy, perhaps, just now, that I am the protector of the portionless; for the well portioned,86 I’m in the habit of being so as well.

Chrem. What’s that to us?

Phor. (with a careless air.) Nothing at all. I know a certain lady here (pointing at Chremes’s house) whose husband had——

Chrem. (starting.) Ha!

Dem. What’s the matter?

Phor. Another wife at Lemnos—

Chrem. (aside.) I’m ruined!

Phor. By whom he had a daughter; and her he is secretly bringing up.

Chrem. (aside.) I’m dead and buried!

Phor. This I shall assuredly now inform her of. (Walks toward the house.)

Chrem. (running and catching hold of him.) I beg of you, don’t do so.

Phor. (with a careless air.) Oh, were you the person?

Dem. What a jest he’s making of us.

Chrem. (to Phormio.) We’ll let you off.

Phor. Nonsense.

Chrem. What would you have? We’ll forgive you the money you’ve got.

Phor. I hear you. Why the plague, then, do you two trifle with me in this way, you silly men, with your childish speeches—“I won’t, and I will; I will, and I won’t,” over again: “keep it, give it me back; what has been said, is unsaid; what had been just a bargain, is now no bargain.”

Chrem. (aside, to Demipho.) In what manner, or from whom has he come to know of this?

Dem. (aside.) I don’t know; but that I’ve told it to no one, I know for certain.

Chrem. (aside.) So may the Gods bless me, ’tis as good as a miracle.

Phor. (aside, to himself.) I’ve graveled them.

Dem. (apart, to Chremes.) Well now, is he to be carrying off87 from us such a sum of money as this, and so palpably to impose upon us? By heavens, I’d sooner die. Manage to show yourself of resolute and ready wit. You see that this slip of yours has got abroad, and that you can not now possibly conceal it from your wife; it is then more conducive to our quiet, Chremes, ourselves to disclose what she will be hearing from others; and then, in our own fashion, we shall be able to take vengeance upon this dirty fellow.

Phor. (aside, to himself.) Good lack-a-day, now’s the sticking-point, if I don’t look out for myself. They are making toward me with a gladiatorial air.

Chrem. (apart, to Demipho.) But I doubt whether it’s possible for her to be appeased.

Dem. (apart, to Chremes.) Be of good courage; I’ll effect a reconciliation between you; remembering this, Chremes, that she is dead88 and gone by whom you had this girl.

Phor. (in a loud voice.) Is this the way you are going to deal with me? Very cleverly done. Come on with you. By heavens, Demipho, you have provoked me, not to his advantage (pointing at Chremes). How say you? (addressing Chremes). When you’ve been doing abroad just as you pleased, and have had no regard for this excellent lady here, but on the contrary, have been injuring her in an unheard-of manner, would you be coming to me with prayers to wash away your offenses? On telling her of this, I’ll make her so incensed with you, that you sha’n’t quench her, though you should melt away into tears.

Dem. (aside.) A plague may all the Gods and Goddesses send upon him. That any fellow should be possessed of so much impudence! Does not this villain deserve to be transported hence to some desolate land at the public charge?

Chrem. (aside.) I am brought to such a pass, that I really don’t know what to do in it.

Dem. I know; let’s go into court.

Phor. Into court? Here in preference (pointing to Chremes’s house), if it suits you in any way. (Moves toward the house.)

Dem. (to Chremes.) Follow him, and hold him back, till I call out the servants.

Chrem. (trying to seize Phormio.) But I can’t by myself; run and help me.

Phor. (to Demipho, who seizes hold of him.) There’s one action of damages against you.

Chrem. Sue him at law, then.

Phor. And another with you, Chremes.

Dem. Lay hold of him. (They both drag him.)

Phor. Is it thus you do? Why then I must exert my voice: Nausistrata, come out (calling aloud).

Chrem. (to Demipho.) Stop his mouth.

Dem. See how strong the rascal is.

Phor. (calling aloud.) Nausistrata, I say.

Chrem. Will you not hold your tongue?

Phor. Hold my tongue?

Dem. (to Chremes, as they drag him along.) If he won’t follow, plant your fists in his stomach.

Phor. Or e’en gouge out an eye. The time’s coming when I shall have a full revenge on you.

Scene II.

Enter Nausistrata, in haste, from the house.

Naus. Who calls my name?

Chrem. (in alarm.) Ha!

Naus. My husband, pray what means this disturbance?

Phor. (to Chremes.) Oh, oh, why are you mute now?

Naus. Who is this man? Won’t you answer me?

Phor. What, he to answer you? who, upon my faith, doesn’t know where he is.

Chrem. (to Nausistrata.) Take care how you believe that fellow in any thing.

Phor. (to Nausistrata.) Go, touch him; if he isn’t in a cold sweat all over, why then kill me.

Chrem. ’Tis nothing at all.

Naus. What is it, then, that this person is talking about?

Phor. You shall know directly; listen now.

Chrem. Are you resolved to believe him?

Naus. Pray, how can I believe him, when he has told me nothing?

Phor. The poor creature is distracted from fright.

Naus. It isn’t for nothing, i’ faith, that you are in such a fright.

Chrem. What, I in a fright?

Phor. (to Chremes.) All right, of course: since you are not in a fright at all, and this is nothing at all that I’m going to tell, do you relate it.

Dem. Villain, is he to relate it at your request?

Phor. (to Demipho.) Come now, you’ve managed nicely for your brother.

Naus. My husband, will you not tell me?

Chrem. But—

Naus. But what?

Chrem. There’s no need to tell you.

Phor. Not for you, indeed; but there’s need for her to know it. At Lemnos—

Chrem. (starting.) Ha! what are you doing?

Dem. (to Phormio.) Won’t you hold your tongue?

Phor. (to Nausistrata.) Unknown to you——

Chrem. Ah me!

Phor. He married another——

Naus. My dear sir, may the Gods forbid it!

Phor. Such is the fact.

Naus. Wretch that I am, I’m undone!

Phor. And had a daughter by her, too, while you never dreamed of it.

Chrem. What are we to do?

Naus. O immortal Gods!—a disgraceful and a wicked misdeed!

Dem. (aside, to Chremes.) It’s all up with you.

Phor. Was ever any thing now more ungenerously done? Your men, who, when they come to their wives, then become incapacitated from old age.

Naus. Demipho, I appeal to you; for with that man it is irksome for me to speak. Were these those frequent journeys and long visits at Lemnos? Was this the lowness of prices that reduced our rents?

Dem. Nausistrata, I don’t deny that in this matter he has been deserving of censure; but still, it may be pardoned.

Phor. (apart.) He is talking to the dead.

Dem. For he did this neither through neglect or aversion to yourself. About fifteen years since, in a drunken fit, he had an intrigue with this poor woman, of whom this girl was born, nor did he ever touch her afterward. She is dead and gone: the only difficulty that remained in this matter. Wherefore, I do beg of you, that, as in other things, you’ll bear this with patience.

Naus. Why should I with patience? I could wish, afflicted as I am, that there were an end now of this matter. But how can I hope? Am I to suppose that, at his age, he will not offend in future? Was he not an old man then, if old age makes people behave themselves decently? Are my looks and my age more attractive now, Demipho? What do you advance to me, to make me expect or hope that this will not happen any more?

Phor. (in a loud voice.) Those who have89 a mind to come to the funeral of Chremes, why now’s their time. ’Tis thus I retaliate: come now, let him challenge Phormio who pleases: I’ll have him victimized90 with just a like mischance. Why then, let him return again into her good graces. I have now had revenge enough. She has got something for her as long as she lives, to be forever ringing into his ears.

Naus. But it was because I deserved this, I suppose; why should I now, Demipho, make mention of each particular, how I have conducted myself toward him?

Dem. I know it all, as well as yourself.

Naus. Does it appear, then, that I deserved this treatment?

Dem. Far from it: but since, by reproaching, it can not now be undone, forgive him: he entreats you—he begs your pardon—owns his fault—makes an apology. What would you have more?

Phor. (aside.) But really, before she grants pardon to him, I must take care of myself and Phædria. (To Nausistrata.) Hark you, Nausistrata, before you answer him without thinking, listen to me.

Naus. What’s the matter?

Phor. I got out of him thirty minæ by a stratagem. I give them to your son; he paid them to a Procurer for his mistress.

Chrem. Ha! what is it you say?

Phor. (sneeringly.) Does it seem to you so very improper for your son, a young man, to keep one mistress, while you have two wives? Are you ashamed of nothing? With what face will you censure him? Answer me that.

Dem. He shall do as you wish.

Naus. Nay, that you may now know my determination. I neither forgive nor promise any thing, nor give any answer, before I see my son: to his decision I leave every thing. What he bids me, I shall do.

Dem. You are a wise woman, Nausistrata.

Naus. Does that satisfy you, Chremes?

Chrem. Yes, indeed, I come off well, and fully to my satisfaction; indeed, beyond my expectation.

Naus. (to Phormio.) Do you tell me, what is your name?

Phor. What, mine? Phormio; a well-wisher to your family, upon my honor, and to your son Phaedria in particular.

Naus. Then, Phormio, on my word, henceforward I’ll both do and say for you all I can, and whatever you may desire.

Phor. You speak obligingly.

Naus. I’ faith, it is as you deserve.

Phor. First, then, will you do this, Nausistrata, at once, to please me, and to make your husband’s eyes ache with vexation?

Naus. With all my heart.

Phor. Invite me to dinner.

Naus. Assuredly indeed, I do invite you.

Dem. Let us now away in-doors.

Chrem. By all means; but where is Phaedria, our arbitrator?

Phor. I’ll have him here just now. (To the Audience.) Fare you well, and grant us your applause.91

ADDITIONAL SCENE.

Which is generally considered to be spurious.

Enter Phædria and Phormio, from opposite sides of the stage.

Phæd. Assuredly there is a God, who both hears and sees what we do. And I do not consider that to be true which is commonly said: “Fortune frames and fashions the affairs of mankind, just as she pleases.”

Phor. (aside.) Heyday! what means this? I’ve met with Socrates, not Phædria, so far as I see. Why hesitate to go up and address him? (Accosting him.) How now, Phædria, whence have you acquired this new wisdom, and derived such great delight, as you show by your countenance?

Phæd. O welcome, my friend; O most delightful Phormio, welcome! There’s not a person in all the world I could more wish just now to meet than yourself.

Phor. Pray, tell me what is the matter.

Phæd. Aye, faith, I have to beg of you, that you will listen to it. My Pamphila is a citizen of Attica, and of noble birth, and rich.

Phor. What is it you tell me? Are you dreaming, pray?

Phæd. Upon my faith, I’m saying what’s true.

Phor. Yes, and this, too, is a true saying: “You’ll have no great difficulty in believing that to be true, which you greatly wish to be so.”

Phæd. Nay, but do listen, I beg of you, to all the wonderful things I have to tell you of. It was while thinking of this to myself, that I just now burst forth into those expressions which you heard—that we, and what relates to us, are ruled by the sanction of the Gods, and not by blind chance.

Phor. I’ve been for some time in a state of suspense.

Phæd. Do you know Phanocrates?

Phor. As well as I do yourself.

Phæd. The rich man?

Phor. I understand.

Phæd. He is the father of Pamphila. Not to detain you, these were the circumstances: Calchas was his servant, a worthless, wicked fellow. Intending to run away from the house, he carried off this girl, whom her father was bringing up in the country, then five years old, and, secretly taking her with him to Eubæa, sold her to Lycus, a merchant. This person, a long time after, sold her, when now grown up, to Dorio. She, however, knew that she was the daughter of parents of rank, inasmuch as she recollected herself being attended and trained up by female servants: the name of her parents she didn’t recollect.

Phor. How, then, were they discovered?

Phæd. Stay; I was coming to that. This runaway was caught yesterday, and sent back to Phanocrates: he related the wonderful circumstances I have mentioned about the girl, and how she was sold to Lycus, and afterward to Dorio. Phanocrates sent immediately, and claimed his daughter; but when he learned that she had been sold, he came running to me.

Phor. O, how extremely fortunate!

Phæd. Phanocrates has no objection to my marrying her; nor has my father, I imagine.

Phor. Trust me for that; I’ll have all this matter managed for you; Phormio has so arranged it, that you shall not be a suppliant to your father, but his judge.

Phæd. You are joking.

Phor. So it is, I tell you. Do you only give me the thirty minæ which Dorio—

Phæd. You put me well in mind; I understand you; you may have them; for he must give them back, as the law forbids a free woman to be sold; and, on my faith, I do rejoice that an opportunity is afforded me of rewarding you, and taking a hearty vengeance upon him; a monster of a fellow! he has feelings more hardened than iron.

Phor. Now, Phædria, I return you thanks; I’ll make you a return upon occasion, if ever I have the opportunity. You impose a heavy task upon me, to be contending with you in good offices, as I can not in wealth; and in affection and zeal, I must repay you what I owe. To be surpassed in deserving well, is a disgrace to a man of principle.

Phæd. Services badly bestowed, I take to be disservices. But I do not know any person more grateful and more mindful of a service than yourself. What is it you were just now mentioning about my father?

Phor. There are many particulars, which at present I have not the opportunity to relate. Let’s go in-doors, for Nausistrata has invited me to dinner, and I’m afraid we may keep them waiting.

Phæd. Very well; follow me. (To the Audience.) Fare you well, and grant us your applause.

FOOTNOTES

1. From δημὸς, “the people,” and φῶς “light”.

2. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

3. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

4. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

5. From φορμὸς, “an osier basket.”

6. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Adelphi.

7. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

8. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Adelphi.

9. From κρατὸς, “strength.”

10. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Andria.

11. From Doris, his country, a part of Caria.

12. From ναῦς, “a ship,” and στρατὸς, “an army.”

13. See the Dramatis Personæ of the Eunuchus.

14. The Roman Games)—The “ludi Romani,” or “Roman Games,” were first established by Ancus Marcius, and were celebrated in the month of September.

15. Four times)—The numerals signifying “four,” Donatus takes to mean that this was the fourth Play composed by Terence; it is, however, more generally supposed that the meaning is, that it was acted four times in one year.

16. Being Consuls)—M. Valerius Messala and C. Fannius Strabo were Consuls in the year from the Building of the City 591, and B.C. 162.

17. Since the old Poet)—Ver. 1. He alludes to his old enemy, Luscus Lavinius, who is mentioned in all his Prologues, except those to the Hecyra.

18. While one implored)—Ver. 8. “Et eam plorare, orare ut subveniat sibi.” This is probably in allusion to some absurd passage in one of the Plays of Lavinius. It is generally supposed to mean, that the stag implores the young man; but as the youth is mad, the absurdity, of the passage is heightened if we suppose that he implores the stag, and, in the moment of its own danger, entreats it to come to his own assistance; as certainly the Latin will admit of that interpretation.—Ovid has a somewhat similar passage in the Pontic Epistles, B. ii. Ep. ii. l. 39: “The hind that, in its terror, is flying from the savage dogs, hesitates not to trust itself to the neighboring house.”

19. Epidicazomenos)—Ver. 25. A Play of Apollodorus, so called from that Greek word, signifying “one who demands justice from another,” in allusion to Phormio, who is the complainant in the suit, which is the foundation of the plot.

20. Was driven from the place)—Ver. 32. Alluding, probably, to the disturbances which took place at the first representation of the Hecyra, and which are mentioned in the Prologues to that Play.

21. Davus)—Davus is a protatic character, only introduced for the purpose of opening the story.

22. Out of his allowance)—Ver. 43. Donatus tells us that the slaves received four “modii,” or measures of corn, each month, which was called their “demensum.”

23. Will be struck)—Ver. 48. “Ferietur.” “To strike” a person for a present was said when it was extorted from him reluctantly. So in the Trinummuns of Plautus, l. 247, “Ibi illa pendentem ferit.” “Then does she strike while he is wavering.”

24. For another present)—Ver. 48. Presents were usually made to persons on their birthday, on the day of their marriage, and on the birth of their children.

25. Initiate him)—Ver. 49. It is not known what initiation is here referred to. Madame Dacier thinks it was an initiation into the great mysteries of Ceres, which was commonly performed while children were yet very young; others suggest that it means the period of weaning the child, and initiating it into the use of another kind of diet. Donatus says, that Varro speaks of children being initiated into the mysteries of the Deities Edulia, Potica, and Cuba, the Divinities of Eating, Drinking, and Sleeping.

26. Ready counted out)—Ver. 53. “Lectum,” literally “picked out” or “chosen”—the coins being of full weight.

27. Have been angry with me)—Ver. 74. He alludes to the common belief that each person had a Genius or Guardian Deity; and that when misfortune overtook him, he had been abandoned by his Genius.

28. Kick against the spur)—Ver. 78. “To kick against the pricks,” or “in spite of the spur,” was a common Greek proverb. The expression occurs in the New Testament, Acts ix. 5. “It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.”

29. To make your market)—Ver. 79. This is a metaphorical expression taken from traffic, in which merchants suit themselves to the times, and fix a price on their commodities, according to the course of the market.

30. To the school)—Ver. 86. It was the custom for the “lenones,” or “procurers,” to send their female slaves to music-schools, in order to learn accomplishments. So in the Prologue to the Rudens of Plautus: “This Procurer brought the maiden to Cyrene hither. A certain Athenian youth, a citizen of this city, beheld her us she was going home from the music-school.”

31. Young man in tears)—Ver. 92. In the Play of Apollodorus, it was the barber himself that gave the account how he had just returned from cutting off the young woman’s hair, which was one of the usual ceremonies in mourning among the Greeks. Donatus remarks, that Terence altered this circumstance that he might not shock a Roman audience by a reference to manners so different from their own.

32. Take out a summons)—Ver. 127. “Dica” was the writ or summons with which an action at law was commenced.

33. Usher to the Music-girl)—Ver. 144. This is said satirically of Phaedria, who was in the habit of escorting the girl to the music-school. It was the duty of the “pædagogi,” or “tutors,” to lead the children to school, who were placed under their care. See the speech of Lydus, the pædagogus of Pistoclerus, in the Bacchides of Plautus, Act iii. Sc. 3, where, enlarging upon his duties, he mentions this among them.

34. Sever from me this connection)—Ver. 161. By forcing him to divorce her.

35. Neither right)—Ver. 176. No right to get rid of her in consequence of the judgment which, at the suit of Phormio, has been pronounced against him; nor yet, right to keep her, because of his father insisting upon turning her out of doors.

36. Be washing a brickbat)—Ver. 187. “Laterem lavare,” “to wash a brick,” or “tile,” was a proverb signifying labor in vain, probably because (if the brick was previously baked) it was impossible to wash away the red color of it. According to some, the saying alluded to the act of washing a brick which had been only dried in the sun, in which case the party so doing both washed away the brick and soiled his own fingers.

37. Here in reserve)—Ver. 230. “Succenturiatus.” The “succenturiati” were, properly, men intrusted to fill up vacancies in the centuries or companies, when thinned by battle.

38. Let alone “authority”)—Ver. 232. “Ac mitto imperium.” Cicero has quoted this passage in his Epistles to Atticus, B. ii. Ep. 19.

39. When affairs are the most prosperous)—Ver. 241. Cicero quotes this passage in the Third Book of his Tusculan Questions, and the maxim here inculcated was a favorite one with the Stoic philosophers.

40. Any giving evidence)—Ver. 293. Slaves were neither allowed to plead for themselves, nor to give evidence. See the Curculio of Plautus, l. 621, and the Notes to the Andria.

41. Given her a portion)—Ver. 297. By this remark, Donatus observes that Terence artfully prepares us for the imposition of Phormio, who extorts money from the old gentleman on this very ground.

42. While you were living)—Ver. 302. There was a law at Athens which enacted that persons who lent money to young men in the lifetime of their parents should have no power to recover it. In line 303 of the Pseudolus, Plautus alludes to the Quinavicenarian or Lætorian Law, at Rome, which forbade credit to be given to persons under the age of twenty-five years, and deprived the creditor of all right to recover his money or goods.

43. The woman’s next friend)—Ver. 307. The “patronus” was the person who undertook to conduct a lawsuit for another.

44. Salute the household Gods)—Ver. 311. It was the custom for those returning from a voyage or journey, to give thanks to their household Gods for having protected them in their absence. Thus, in the Amphitryon of Plautus, Jupiter, while personating Amphitryon, pretends, in l. 983, that he is going to offer sacrifice for his safe return.

45. And so you say)—Ver. 315. Donatus tells the following story with reference to this passage: “This Play being once rehearsed before Terence and some of his most intimate acquaintances, Ambivius, who acted the part of Phormio, came in drunk, which threw the author into a violent passion; but Ambivius had scarcely repeated a few lines, stammering and scratching his head, before Terence became pacified, declaring that when he was writing these very lines, he had exactly such a Parasite as Ambivius then represented, in his thoughts.”

46. Have hashed it up)—Ver. 318. He is thought to allude here, figuratively, to the composition of a dish called “moretum,” (in praise of which Virgil wrote a poem) which was composed of garlic, onions, cheese, eggs, and other ingredients, beaten up in a mortar. The allusion to eating is appropriately used in an address to a Parasite.

47. Turn upon myself)—Ver. 323. Donatus observes that in this Scene Terence exhibits the lower order of Parasites, who ingratiated themselves by sharping and roguery, as in the Eunuchus he describes Parasites of a higher rank, and of a newer species, who obtained their ends by flattery.

48. In the stocks at last)—Ver. 325. “In nervum crumpat denique.” There are several interpretations suggested for these words. Some think they allude to the drawing of a bow till it breaks; but they are more generally thought to imply termination in corporal punishment. “Nervus” is supposed to have been the name of a kind of stocks used in torturing slaves, and so called from being formed, in part at least, of the sinews of animals.

49. They will take you)—Ver. 334. At Rome, insolvent debtors became the slaves of their creditors till their debts were paid.

50. To his patron)—Ver. 338. “Regi.” The Parasites were in the habit of calling their patron “Rex,” their “King.”

51. At free cost)—Ver. 339. “Asymbolum.” Without having paid his “symbola,” or “club,” for the entertainment. Donatus informs us that the whole of this passage is borrowed from one of Ennius, which is still preserved.

52. First to drink)—Ver. 342. To be the first to drink, and to take the higher place on the couch when eating, was the privilege of the most honored guests, who usually bathed, and were then anointed before the repast.

53. Banquet full of doubts)—Ver. 342. “Coena dubia.” Horace, who borrows many of his phrases from Terence, uses the same expression.

54. Since you reign alone)—Ver. 605. This is a remark well put into the mouth of an Athenian, as the public were very jealous of any person becoming paramount to the laws, and to prevent it, were frequently guilty of the most odious oppression.

55. So many minds)—Ver. 454. “Quot homines, tot sententiæ.” This is a famous adage. One similar to the succeeding one is found in the Second Eclogue of Virgil, l. 65: “Trahit sua quemque voluptas,” exactly equivalent to our saying, “Every man to his taste.”

56. Must deliberate further)—Ver. 457. “Amplius deliberandum.” This is probably a satirical allusion to the judicial system of procrastination, which, by the Romans, was called “ampliatio.” When the judges could not come to a satisfactory conclusion about a cause, they signified it by the letters N. L. (for “non liquet,” “it is not clear”), and put off the suit for a rehearing.

57. Much more at a loss)—Ver. 459. See the Poenulus of Plautus, where advocates or assistants are introduced among the Dramatic Personæ. Colman has the following remarks on this quaint passage: “I believe there is no Scene in Comedy more highly seasoned with the ridiculous than this before us. The idea is truly comic, and it is worked up with all that simplicity and chastity so peculiar to the manner of Terence. An ordinary writer would have indulged himself in twenty little conceits on this occasion; but the dry gravity of Terence infinitely surpasses, as true humor, all the drolleries which, perhaps, even those great masters of Comedy, Plautus or Molière, might have been tempted to throw out. It is the highest art of a Dramatic Author, on some occasions, to leave a good deal to the Actor; and it has been remarked by Heinsius and others, that Terence was particularly attentive to this circumstance.”

58. From his place of exercise)—Ver. 484. “Palæstra.” He alludes to the Procurer’s house under this name.

59. Befall his own safety)—Ver. 490. Overhearing Phædria earnest and determined, and the Procurer obstinate and inflexible, Antipho and Geta join in apprehending that the brutality of the latter may provoke Phædria to some act of violence.

60. With fine words)—Ver. 499. “Phaleratis dictis.” “Phaleræ” were, properly, the silver ornaments with which horses were decked out, and being only for show, and not for use, gave rise to this saying. “Ductes” was an obscene word, and not likely to be used by any but such characters as Dorio.

61. A wolf by the ears)—Ver. 505. A proverbial expression which, according to Suetonius, was frequently in the mouth of Tiberius Cæsar.

62. A word to the wise)—Ver. 540. “Dictum sapienti sat est.” The same proverb is found in the Persa of Plautus, l. 736.

63. To shake myself)—Ver. 585. “Me excutiam.” In reference to the custom of the Greeks, and the Eastern nations, of shaking their clothes at the door of any house which they were going to leave.

64. Rely on at home)—Ver. 586. “Nam ego meorum solus sum meus.” He means that he is the only person in his house friendly to himself, inasmuch as his wife, from her wealth, has supreme power over the domestics, in whom he himself can place no trust.

65. Good terms with him)—Ver. 635. Meaning, “Is he in his senses or not?”

66. Amount of his life)—Ver. 660. “Quid si animam debet?” Erasmus tells us that this was a proverb among the Greeks applied to those who ran so deeply in debt, that their persons, and consequently, in one sense, their very existence, came into the power of their creditors.

67. Six hundred actions)—Ver. 667. “Sescentos;” literally, “six hundred.” The Romans used this term as we do the words “ten thousand,” to signify a large, but indefinite number.

68. A strange black dog)—Ver. 705. This omen, Plautus calls, in the Casina, l. 937, “canina scæva.”

69. Through the sky-light)—Ver. 706. So in the Amphitryon of Plautus, l. 1108, two great snakes come down through the “impluvium,” or “sky-light.” On the subject of the “impluvium,” see the Notes to the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, l. 159.

70. A hen crowed)—Ver. 707. Donatus tells us that it was a saying, that in the house where a hen crowed, the wife had the upper hand.

71. The soothsayer—the diviner)—Ver. 708. According to some accounts there was this difference between the “hariolus” and the “aruspex,” that the former foretold human events, the latter those relating to the Deities. Donatus has remarked on these passages, that Terence seems to sneer at the superstitions referred to.

72. Can find them now)—Ver. 726. His Lemnian wife and daughter. Colman remarks: “This is intended as a transition to the next Scene; but I think it would have been better if it had followed without this kind of introduction. The Scene itself is admirable, and is, in many places, both affecting and comic, and the discovery of the real character of Phanium is made at a very proper time.”

73. My daughter’s nurse)—Ver. 735. Among the ancients, it was the custom for nurses who had brought up children to remain with them in after-life.

74. Where are the ladies?)—Ver. 748. “Ubi illæ?” literally, “Where are these women?”

75. Run beyond the house)—Ver. 767. “Fugias ne præter casam.” This passage has given much trouble to the Commentators; but it is pretty clear that the explanation of Donatus is the correct one: “Don’t abandon your own home,” that being the safest place. Stallbaum agrees with Gronovius in thinking that it was first applied as a piece of advice to runaway slaves, as being likely to become worse off by the change; probably much in the same spirit as we say, “Out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

76. Paying by borrowing)—Ver. 779. “Versura solvere,” was “to pay a debt by borrowing money,” and consequently to be no better off than before. Geta having, by the money he has procured, freed Phædria from all danger of losing his mistress, but at the same time having brought Antipho into still greater danger of losing his wife.

77. Or his talking)—Ver. 782. “Ejus” here alludes, not to Nausistrata but to Phormio. Madame Dacier suggests that it should be “hujus.”

78. With your money)—Ver. 785. Colman observes: “Alluding to the money borrowed of her to pay Phormio; and as Donatus observes in another place, it is admirably contrived, in order to bring about a humorous catastrophe that Chremes should make use of his wife’s money on this occasion.”

79. Our friend’s)—Ver. 811. Chremes himself is so called, to deceive Nausistrata.

80. O good luck)—Ver. 840. “Fors fortuna,” “good fortune;” while “fortuna” merely means “chance.”

81. Throwing my cloak)—Ver. 843. When expedition was required, it was usual to throw the ends of the “pallium,” or “cloak,” over the shoulders.

82. Carry me off)—Ver. 881. Madame Dacier says that Antipho is so rejoiced here at Geta’s news, that he jumps upon his shoulders, and is carried off in triumph, which was a sort of stage-trick, and was very diverting to the Audience. On this, Colman observes: “I believe Madame Dacier has not the least foundation for this extraordinary piece of information; and I must confess, that I have too high an opinion, both of the Roman audience and actors, to believe it to be true.”

83. That as to what)—Ver. 898. Lemaire suggests that he is about to say: “that as to what was agreed upon between us, I may take home this young woman, and make her my wife.”

84. Is she not genteel-looking)—Ver. 904. Patrick has the following note here: “One can not conceive any thing more happy or just than these words of Chremes. Demipho’s thoughts are wholly taken up how to recover the money, and Phormio is equally solicitous to retain it; but Chremes, who had just left his daughter, is regardless of their discourse, and fresh from the impressions which she had made on him, longs to know if his brother’s sentiments of her were equally favorable, and naturally puts this paternal question to him.”

85. Transferred to my account)—Ver. 921. “Rescribere argentum,” or “nummos,” meant “to transfer,” or “set down money to the account of another person in one’s banker’s books.” A passage in the Asinaria of Plautus, l. 445, seems to have the same meaning.

86. For the well portioned)—Ver. 939. Though Colman thinks otherwise, it is pretty clear that he alludes to Nausistrata in these words.

87. To be carrying off)—Ver. 954. Patrick has the following note here: “The different characters of the two brothers are admirably preserved throughout this Scene. Chremes stands greatly in awe of his wife, and will submit to any thing rather than the story should come to her ears; but Demipho can not brook the thoughts of losing so much money, and encourages his brother to behave with spirit and resolution, promising to make up matters between him and his wife.”

88. Dead and gone)—Ver. 965. “E medio excedere,” was an Euphemism signifying “to die,” which it was deemed of ill omen to mention.

89. Those who have)—Ver. 1025. He here uses the terms which it was customary to employ in the celebration of a public funeral. See also the form of proclaiming an auction, at the end of the Menæchmi of Plautus.

90. Have him victimised)—Ver. 1027. “Mactatus” was the term applied to the pouring of wine and frankincense on the victim about to be sacrificed, on which it was said to be “magis auctus,” “increased,” or “amplified;” which, in time, became corrupted into the word “mactatus,” or “mactus.”

91. Grant us your applause)—Ver. 1054. Thus concludes the last, and certainly not the least meritorious of the Plays of our Author; indeed, for genuine comic spirit, it may challenge comparison with the Eunuch, which is in general considered to be the best.

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