ERG. Do you suppose that I'm saying this on my own account?

HEG. You will neither be eating nothing here to-day, nor yet much more than usual, so don't you be mistaken. Do you then bring an appetite to my house for your every-day fare.

ERG. Why, I'll so manage it, that you yourself shall wish to be profuse, though I myself should desire you not.

HEG. What, I? ERG. Yes, you.

HEG. Then you are my master. ERG. Yes, and a kindly disposed one. Do you wish me to make you happy?

HEG. Certainly I would, rather than miserable.

ERG. Give me your hand. HEG. (extending his hand) Here is my hand.

ERG. All the Gods are blessing you.

HEG. I don't feel it so. ERG. Why, you are not in a quickset hedge,[8] therefore you don't feel it; but order the vessels, in a clean state, to be got for you forthwith in readiness for the sacrifice, and one lamb to be brought here with all haste, a fat one.

HEG. Why? ERG. That you may offer sacrifice.

HEG. To which one of the Gods?

ERG. To myself, i' faith, for now am I your supreme Jupiter. I likewise am your salvation, your fortune, your life, your delight, your joy. Do you at once, then, make this Divinity propitious to you by cramming him.

HEU. You seem to me to be hungry.

ERG. For myself am I hungry, and not for you.

HEG. I readily allow of it at your own good will.

ERG. I believe you; from a boy you were in the habit—[9]

HEG. May Jupiter and the Gods confound you.

ERG. I' troth, 'tis fair that for my news you should return me thanks; such great happiness do I now bring you from the harbour.

HEG. Now you are flattering me. Begone, you simpleton; you have arrived behind time, too late.

ERG. If I had come sooner, then for that reason you might rather have said that. Now, receive this joyous news of me which I bring you; for at the harbour I just now saw your son Philopolemus in the common fly-boat, alive, safe and sound, and likewise there that other young man together with him, and Stalagmus your slave, who fled from your house, who stole from you your little son, the child of four years old.

HEG. Away with you to utter perdition! You are trifling with me

ERG. So may holy Gluttony [10] love me, Hegio, and so may she ever dignify me with her name, I did see—

HEG. My son? ERG. Your son, and my good Genius.

HEG. That Elean captive, too?

ERG. Yes, by Apollo. [11]

HEG. The slave, too? My slave Stalagmus, he that stole my son—?

ERG. Yes, by Cora HEG. So long a time ago?

ERG. Yes, by Praeneste! HEG. Is he arrived?

ERG. Yes, by Signia! HEG. For sure?

ERG. Yes, by Phrysinone! HEG. Have a care, if you please.

ERG. Yes, by Alatrium! HEG. Why are you swearing by foreign cities?

ERG. Why, because they are just as disagreable as you were declaring your fare to be.

HEG. Woe be to you! ERG. Because that you don't believe me at all in what I say in sober earnestness. But of what country was Stalagmus, at the time when he departed hence?

HEG. A Sicilian. ERG. But now he is not a Sicilian—he is a Boian; he has got a Boian woman [12]. A wife, I suppose, has been given to him for the sake of obtaining children.

HEG. Tell me, have you said these words to me in good earnest?

ERG. In good earnest. HEG. Immortal Gods, I seem to be born again, if you are telling the truth.

ERG. Do you say so? Will you still entertain doubts, when I have solemnly sworn to you? In fine, Hegio, if you have little confidence in my oath, go yourself to the harbour and see.

HEG. I'm determined to do so. Do you arrange in-doors what's requisite. Use, ask for, take from my larder what you like; I appoint you cellarman.

ERG. Now, by my troth, if I have not prophesied truly to you, do you comb me out with a cudgel.

HEG. I'll find you in victuals to the end, if you are telling me the truth.

ERG. Whence shall it be? HEG. From myself and from my son.

ERG. Do you promise that? HEG. I do promise it.

ERG. But I, in return, promise [13] you that your son has arrived.

HEG. Manage as well as ever you can.

ERG. A happy walk there to you, and a happy walk back.

(Exit HEGIO.

[Footnote 1: To be picking up their teeth)—Ver. 803. "Dentilegos." He says that he will knock their teeth out, and so make them pick them up from the ground. We must suppose that while he is thus hurrying on, he is walking up one of the long streets which were represented as emerging on the Roman stage, opposite to the audience.]

[Footnote 2: Galling pace)—Ver. 819. "Crucianti" may mean either "tormenting" the spectator by reason of the slowness of its pace, or galling to the rider. "Quadrupedanti crucianti cauterio" is a phrase, both in sound and meaning, much resembling what our song-books call the "galloping dreary dun."]

[Footnote 3: In the Basilica)—Ver. 820. The "Basilica" was a building which served as a court of law, and a place of meeting for merchants and men of business. The name was perhaps derived from the Greek word Basileus, as the title of the second Athenian Archon, who had his tribunal or court of justice. The building was probably, in its original form, an insulated portico. The first edifice of this kind at Rome was erected B.C. 184; probably about the period when this Play was composed. It was situate in the Forum, and was built by Porcius Cato, from whom it was called the "Porcian Basilica." Twenty others were afterwards erected at different periods in the city. The loungers here mentioned, in the present instance, were probably sauntering about under the porticos of the Basilica, when their olfactory nerves were offended by the unsavoury smell of the fishermen's baskets.]

[Footnote 4: About killing lamb)—Ver. 824. In these lines he seems to accuse the butchers of three faults—cruelty, knavery, and extortion. The general reading is "duplam," but Rost suggests "dupla," "at double the price." If "duplam" is retained, might it not possibly mean that the butchers agree to kill lamb for you, and bring to you "duplam agninam," "double lamb," or, in other words, lamb twice as old as it ought to be? No doubt there was some particular age at which lamb, in the estimation of Ergasilus and his brother-epicures, was considered to be in its greatest perfection.]

[Footnote 5: Inspector of markets)—Ver. 829. "Agoranomum." The Aediles were the inspectors of markets at Rome, while the "Agoranomi" had a similar office in the Grecian cities.]

[Footnote 6: Both these doors)—Ver. 836. The street-doors of the ancients were generally "bivalve," or "folding-doors."]

[Footnote 7: Every spot of sorrow )—Ver. 846. He alludes, figuratively, to the art of the fuller or scourer, in taking the spots out of soiled garments.]

[Footnote 8: In a quickset hedge)—Ver. 865. Here is a most wretched attempt at wit, which cannot be expressed in a literal translation. Hegio says, "Nihil sentio," "I don't feel it." Ergasilus plays upon the resemblance of the verb "sentio" to "sentis" and "senticetum," a "bramble-bush" or quickset hedge;" and says, 'You don't feel it so," "non sentis," "because you are not in a quickset hedge,' "in senticeto." ]

[Footnote 9: From a boy)—Ver. 872. An indelicate allusion is covertly intended in this line. ]

[Footnote 10: So may holy Gluttony—Ver. 882. The Parasite very appropriately deifies Gluttony: as the Goddess of Bellyful would, of course, merit his constant worship.]

[Footnote 11: Yes, by Apollo)—Ver. 885. In the exuberance of his joy at his prospects of good eating, the Parasite gives this, and his next five replies, in the Greek language; just as the diner-out, and the man of bon-mots and repartee, might in our day couch his replies in French, with the shrug of the shoulder and the becoming grimace. He first swears by Apollo, and then by Cora, which may mean either a city of Campania so called, or the Goddess Proserpine, who was called by the Greeks, [Greek: Korae], "the maiden." He then swears by four places in Campania—Praeneste, Signia, Phrysinone, and Alatrium. As the scene is in Greece, Hegio asks him why he swears by these foreign places; to which he gives answer merely because they are as disagreable as the unsavoury dinner of vegetables which he had some time since promised him. This is, probably, merely an excuse for obtruding a slighting remark upon these places, which would meet with a ready response from a Roman audience, as the Campanians had sided with Hannibal against Rome in the second Punic war. They were probably miserable places on which the more refined Romans looked with supreme contempt.]

[Footnote 12: Got a Boian woman)—Vet. 893. There is an indelicate meaning in the expression "Buiam terere." The whole line is intended as a play upon words. "Boia" means either "a collar," which was placed round a prisoner's neck, or a female of the nation of the Boii in Gaul. "Boiam terere" may mean either "to have the prisoner's collar on," or, paraphrastically, "to be coupled with a Boian woman." Ergasilus having seen Stalagmus in the packet-boat with this collar on, declares that Stalagmus is a Sicilian no longer, for be has turned Boian, having a Boian helpmate.]

[Footnote 13: I, in return, promise)—Ver. 904. Ergasilus says, "Do you really promise me this fine entertainment?" To which, Hegio answers, "Spondeo," "I do promise." On this, Ergasilus replies, "that your son really has returned, I answer you," "respondeo," or, as he intends it to be meant, "I promise you once again," or "in return for your promise."]

SCENE III.—ERGASILUS, alone.

ERG. He has gone away from here, and has entrusted to me the most important concern of catering. Immortal Gods! how I shall now be slicing necks off of sides; how vast a downfall will befall the gammon [1]; how vast a belabouring the bacon! How great a using-up of udders, how vast a bewailing for the brawn! How great a bestirring for the butchers, how great a preparation for the porksellers! But if I were to enumerate the rest of the things which minister to the supply of the stomach, 'twould be sheer delay. Now will I go off to my government, to give laws to the bacon, and, those gammons that are hanging uncondemned, [2] to give aid to them. (Goes into the house.)

[Footnote 1: Befall the gammon)—Ver. 908. An alliteration is employed in these two lines, which cannot be well kept up in a literal translation. As, however, in the translation an attempt is made to give the spirit of the passage, the literal meaning may be here stated. "Pernis pestis," "a plague to the gammons;" "labes larido," "a fall for the bacon;" "sumini absumedo," "a consumption of udder;" "callo calamitas," "destruction to the brawn;" and "laniis lassitudo," "weariness to the butchers." Sows' udder, with the milk in it, first dried, and then cooked in some peculiar manner, was considered a great delicacy by the Roman epicures.]

[Footnote 2: Hanging uncondemned)—Ver. 913. He'll commute the punishment of the gammons and hams, for they shall hang no longer.]

ACT V.—SCENE I.

Enter a LAD, a servant of HEGIO.

LAD. May Jupiter and the Deities confound you, Ergasilus, and your stomach, and all Parasites, and every one who henceforth shall give a dinner to Parasites. Destruction and devastation and ruin have just now entered our house. I was afraid that he would be making an attack on me, as though he had been an hungry wolf. And very dreadfully, upon my faith, was I frightened at him; he made such a gnashing with his teeth. On his arrival, the whole larder, with the meat, he turned upside down. He seized a knife, and first cut off the kernels of the neck [1] from three sides. All the pots and cups he broke, except those that held a couple of gallons [2]; of the cook he made enquiry whether the salting pans could be set on the fire to be made hot. All the cellars in the house he has broken into, and has laid the store-closet [3] open. (At the door.) Watch him, servants, if you please; I'll go to meet the old gentleman. I'll tell him to get ready some provisions for his own self, if, indeed, he wishes himself to make use of any. For in this place, as this man, indeed, is managing, either there's nothing already, or very soon there will be nothing. (Exit.

[Footnote 1: The kernels of the neck)—Ver. 920. The "glandia" were the kernels or tonsils of the throat, situate just below the root of the tongue. These portions of the dead pig seem to have been much prized as delicate eating. Judging from the present passage, the whole side of the pig, including the half-head, was salted and dried in one piece: The first thing that the Parasite does, is to cut the kernels from off of three sides, which he has relieved from the punishment of hanging.]

[Footnote 2: A couple of gallons)—Ver. 921. "Modiales." Literally, containing a "modius," which contained sixteen sextarii, something more than a peck of dry-measure English.]

[Footnote 3: The store-closet)—Ver. 923. "Armarium" was to called because it was originally a place for keeping arms. It afterwards came to signify a cupboard in a wall, in which clothes, books, money, and other articles of value, were placed. It was generally in the "atrium," or principal room of the house. In this instance it evidently means the store-closet, distinguished from the larder and the]

SCENE II.—Enter HEGIO, PHILOPOLEMUS, PHILOCRATES, and behind them, STALAGMUS.

HEG. To Jove and to the Deities I return with reason hearty thanks, inasmuch as they have restored you to your father, and inasmuch as they have delivered me from very many afflictions, which, while I was obliged to be here without you, I was enduring, and inasmuch as I see that that fellow (pointing to STALAGMUS) is in my power, and inasmuch as his word (pointing to PHILOCRATES) has been found true to me.

PHILOP. Enough now have I grieved from my very soul, and enough with care and tears have I disquieted myself. Enough now have I heard of your woes, which at the harbour you told me of. Let us now to this business.

PHIL. What now, since I've kept my word with you, and have caused him to be restored back again to freedom?

HEG. Philocrates, you have acted so that I can never return you thanks enough, in the degree that you merit from myself and my son.

PHILOP. Nay, but you can, father, and you will be able, and I shall be able; and the Divinities will give the means for you to return the kindness he merits to one who deserves so highly of us; as, my father, you are able to do to this person who so especially deserves it.

HEG. What need is there of words? I have no tongue with which to deny whatever you may ask of me.

PHIL. I ask of you to restore to me that servant whom I left here as a surety for myself; who has always proved more faithful to me than to himself; in order that for his services I may be enabled to give him a reward.

HEG. Because you have acted thus kindly, the favour shall be returned, the thing that you ask; both that and anything else that you shall ask of me, you shall obtain. And I would not have you blame me, because in my anger I have treated him harshly.

PHIL. What have you done? HEG. I confined him in fetters at the stone- quarries, when I found out that I had been imposed upon.

PHIL. Ah wretched me! That for my safety misfortunes should have happened to that best of men.

HEG. Now, on this account, you need not give me even one groat of silver [1] for him. Receive him of me without cost that he may be free.

PHIL. On my word, Hegio, you act with kindness; but I entreat that you will order this man to be sent for.

HEG. Certainly. (To the attendants, who immediately obey.) Where are you? Go this instant, and bring Tyndarus here. (To PHILOPOLEMUS and PHILOCRATES.) Do you go in-doors; in the meantime, I wish to enquire of this statue for whipping [2], what was done with my younger son. Do you go bathe in the meantime.

PHILOP. Philocrates, follow me this way in-doors.

PHIL. I follow you. (They go into the house.)

[Footnote 1: One groat of silver)—Ver. 952. "Libella" was the name of the smallest silver coin with the Romans, being the tenth part of a denarius. Hegio seems to make something of a favour of this, and to give his liberty to Tyndarus in consideration of his punishment; whereas he had originally agreed with Philocrates that, if Philopolemus was liberated, both he and Tyndarus should be set at liberty.]

[Footnote 2: This statue for whipping)—Ver. 956. The same expression occurs in the Pseudolus, I. 911.]

SCENE III.—HEGIO and STALAGMUS.

HEG. Come you, step this way, you worthy fellow, my fine slave.

STAL. What is fitting for me to do, when you, such a man as you are, are speaking false? I was never a handsome or a fine, or a good person, or an honest one, nor shall I ever be; assuredly, don't you be forming any hopes that I shall be honest.

HEG. You easily understand pretty well in what situation your fortunes are. If you shall prove truth-telling, you'll make your lot from bad somewhat better. Speak out, then, correctly and truthfully; but never yet truthfully or correctly have you acted.

STAL. Do you think that I'm ashamed to own it, when you affirm it?

HEG. But I'll make you to be ashamed; for I'll cause you to be blushes all over [1].

STAL. Heyday—you're threatening stripes, I suppose, to me, quite unaccustomed to them! Away with them, I beg. Tell me what you bring, that you may carry off hence what you are in want of.

HEG. Very fluent indeed. But now I wish this prating to be cut short.

STAL. As you desire, so be it done.

HEG. (to the AUDIENCE). As a boy he was very obedient [2]; now that suits him not. Let's to this business; now give your attention, and inform me upon what I ask. If you tell the truth, you'll make your fortunes somewhat better.

STAL. That's mere trifling. Don't you think that I know what I'm deserving of?

HEG. Still, it is in your power to escape a small portion of it, if not the whole.

STAL. A small portion I shall escape, I know; but much will befall me, and with my deserving it, because I both ran away, and stole your son and sold him.

HEG. To what person? STAL. To Theodoromedes the Polyplusian, in Elis, for six minae.

HEG. O ye immortal Gods! He surely is the father of this person, Philocrates.

STAL. Why, I know him better than yourself, and have seen him more times.

HEG. Supreme Jove, preserve both myself and my son for me. (He goes to the door, and calls aloud.) Philocrates, by your good Genius, I do entreat you, come out, I want you.

[Footnote 1: Be blushes all over)—Ver. 967. He means that be will have him flogged until he is red all over.]

[Footnote 2: Was very obedient)—Ver. 971. An indelicate remark is covertly intended in this passage.]

SCENE IV.—Enter PHILOCRATES, from the house.

PHIL. Hegio, here am I; if you want anything of me, command me.

HEG. He (pointing to STALAGMUS) declares that he sold my son to your father, in Elis, for six minae.

PHIL. (to STALAGMUS). How long since did that happen?

STAL. This is the twentieth year, commencing from it.

PHIL. He is speaking falsely. STAL. Either I or you do. Why, your father gave you the little child, of four years old, to be your own slave.

PHIL. What was his name? If you are speaking the truth, tell me that, then.

STAL. Paegnium, he used to be called; afterwards, you gave him the name of Tyndarus.

PHIL. Why don't I recollect you? STAL. Because it's the fashion for persons to forget, and not to know him whose favour is esteemed as worth nothing.

PHIL. Tell me, was he the person whom you sold to my father, who was given me for my private service?

STAL. It was his son (pointing to HEGIO).

HEG. Is this person now living? STAL. I received the money. I cared nothing about the rest.

HEG. (to PHILOCRATES). What do you say?

PHIL. Why, this very Tyndarus is your son, according, indeed, to the proofs that he mentions. For, a boy himself together with me from boyhood was he brought up, virtuously and modestly, even to manhood.

HEG. I am both unhappy and happy, if you are telling the truth. Unhappy for this reason, because, if he is my son, I have badly treated him. Alas! why have I done both more and less than was his due. That I have ill treated him I am grieved; would that it only could be undone. But see, he's coming here, in a guise not according to his deserts.

SCENE V.—Enter TYNDARUS, in chains, led in by the SERVANTS.

TYND. (to himself). I have seen many of the torments which take place at Acheron [1] often represented in paintings [2]; but most certainly there is no Acheron equal to where I have been in the stone- quarries. There, in fine, is the place where real lassitude must be undergone by the body in laboriousness. For when I came there, just as either jackdaws, or ducks, or quails, are given to Patrician children [3], for them to play with, so in like fashion, when I arrived, a crow was given [4] me with which to amuse myself. But see, my master's before the door; and lo! my other master has returned from Elis.

HEG. Hail to you, my much wished-for son.

TYND. Ha! how—my son? Aye, aye, I know why you pretend yourself to be the father, and me to be the son; it is

because, just as parents do, you give me the means of seeing the light [5].

PHIL. Hail to you, Tyndarus. TYND. And to you, for whose sake I am enduring these miseries.

PHIL. But now I'll make you in freedom come to wealth. For (pointing to HEGIO) this is your father; (pointing to STALAGMUS) that is the slave who stole you away from here when four years old, and sold you to my father for six minae. He gave you, when a little child, to me a little child, for my own service. He (pointing to STALAGMUS). has made a confession, for we have brought him back from Elis.

TYND. How, where's Hegio's son? PHIL. Look now; in-doors is your own brother.

TYND. How do you say? Have you brought that captive son of his?

PHIL. Why, he's in-doors, I say.

TYND. By my faith, you're done both well and happily.

PHIL. (pointing to HEGIO). Now this is your own father; (pointing to STALAGMUS) this is the thief who stole you when a little child.

TYND. But now, grown up, I shall give him grown up to the executioner for his thieving.

PHIL. He deserves it. TYND. I' faith, I'll deservedly give him the reward that he deserves. (To HEGIO.) But tell me I pray you, are you my father?

HEG, I am he, my son. TYND. Now, at length, I bring it to my recollection, when I reconsider with myself: troth, I do now at last recall to memory that I had heard, as though through a mist, that my father was called Hegio.

HEG. I am he. PHIL. I pray that your son may be lightened of these fetters, and this slave be loaded with them.

HEG. I'm resolved that that shall be the first thing attended to. Let's go in-doors, that the blacksmith may be sent for, in order that I may remove those fetters from you, and give them to him. (They go into the house.)

STAL. To one who has no savings of his own, you'll be rightly doing so [6].

The COMPANY of PLAYERS coming forward.

Spectators, this play is founded on chaste manners. No wenching is there in this, and no intriguing, no exposure of a child, no cheating out of money; and no young man in love here make his mistress free without his father's knowledge. The Poets find but few Comedies [7] of this kind, where good men might become better. Now, if it pleases you, and if we have pleased you, and have not been tedious, do you give this sign of it: you who wish that chaste manners should have their reward, give us your applause.

[Footnote 1: At Acheron)—Ver. 1003. He here speaks of Acheron, not as one of the rivers of hell, but as the infernal regions themselves.]

[Footnote 2: Represented in paintings)—Ver. 1003 Meursius thinks that the torments of the infernal regions were frequently represented in pictures, for the purpose of deterring men from evil actions, by keeping in view the certain consequences of their bad conduct.]

[Footnote 3: To Patrician children)—Ver. 1007. This passage is confirmed by what Pliny the Younger tells us in his Second Epistle. He says, that on the death of the son of Regulus, his father, in his grief, caused his favourite ponies and dogs, with his nightingales, parrots, and jackdaws, to be consumed on the funeral pile. It would certainly have been a greater compliment to his son's memory had he preserved them, and treated them kindly; but probably he intended to despatch them as playthings for the child in the other world.]

[Footnote 4: A crow was given)—Ver. 1009. "Upupa." He puns upon the twofold meaning of this word, which signified either "a mattock" or a bird called a "hoopoe," according to the context. To preserve the spirit of the pun, a somewhat different translation has been given.]

[Footnote 5: Of seeing the light)—Ver. 1013. He says, "You can only resemble a parent in the fact that you have given me the opportunity of seeing the light of day, by taking me out of the dark stone-quarries."]

[Footnote 6: Be rightly doing so)—Ver. 1033. Stalagmus chooses to take the word "dem" "may give," used by Hegio in its literal sense, and surlily replies, "I have nothing of my own by way of savings, 'peculium,' so I am the very person to whom you ought to give."]

[Footnote 7: Find but few Comedies)—Ver. 1038. He here confesses that he does not pretend to frame the plots of his Plays himself, but that he goes to Greek sources for them; and forgetting that "beggars most not be choosers," he complains that so very few of the Greek Comedies are founded upon chaste manners. Indeed, this Play is justly deemed the most pure and innocent of all the Plays of Plautus; and the Company are quite justified in the commendations which, in their Epilogue, they bestow on it, as the author has carried out the premise which he made in the Prologue (with only four slight exceptions), of presenting them with an immaculate Play.]

* * * * *

MOSTELLARIA OR, THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

THEUROPIDES, a merchant of Athens. SIMO, an aged Athenian, his neighbour. PHILOLACHES, son of Theuropides. CALLIDAMATES, a young Athenian, friend of Philolaches. TRANIO, servant of Philolaches. GRUMIO, servant of Theuropides. PHANISCUS, servant of Callidamates. ANOTHER SERVANT of Callidamates. A BANKER. A BOY.

PHILEMATIUM, a music-girl, mistress of Philolaches. SCAPHA, her attendant. DELPHIUM, mistress of Callidamates.

Scene—Athens: before the houses of THEUROPIDES and SIMO.

MOSTELLARIA [1] OR, THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

[Footnote 1: Mottellaria) This is a word probably derived from "mostellum," the diminutive of "monstrum," a "spectre" or "prodigy." It was probably coined by Plautus to serve as the title of this Play, which is called by several of the ancient Commentators by the name of "Phasma," "the Apparition."]

* * * * *

THE ACROSTIC ARGUMENT. [Supposed to have been written by Priscian the Grammarian.]

PHILOLACHES has given liberty to (Manumisit) his mistress who has been bought by him, and he consumes all (Omnem) his substance in the absence of his father. When he returns, Tranio deceives the old man (Senem); he says that frightful (Terrifica) apparitions have been seen in the house, and (Et) that at once they had removed from it. A Usurer, greedy of gain (Lucripeta), comes up in the meantime, asking for the interest of some money, and again the old man is made sport of (Lusus) for the servant says that a deposit for a house which has been bought has been taken up (Acceptum) on loan. The old man enquires (Requirit) which it is; he says that of the neighbour next door. He then looks over (Inspectat) it. Afterwards he is vexed that he has been laughed at; still by (Ab) the companion of his son he is finally appeased.

* * * * *

ACT I.—SCENE I. Enter, from the house of THEUROPIDES, GRUMIO, pushing out TRANIO.

GRU. Get out of the kitchen, will you; out of it, you whip- scoundrel, who are giving me your cavilling talk amid the platters; march out of the house, you ruin of your master. Upon my faith, if I only live, I'll be soundly revenged upon you in the country. Get out, I say, you steam of the kitchen. Why are you skulking thus?

TRA. Why the plague are you making this noise here before the house? Do you fancy yourself to be in the country[1]? Get out of the house; be off into the country. Go and hang yourself. Get away from the door. (Striking him.) There now, was it that you wanted?

GRU. (running away). I'm undone! Why are you beating me? TRA. Because you want it.

GRU. I must endure it. Only let the old gentleman return home; only let him come safe home, whom you are devouring in his absence.

TRA. You don't say what's either likely or true, you blockhead, as to any one devouring a person in his absence.

GRU. Indeed, you town wit, you minion of the mob, do you throw the country in my teeth? Really, Tranio, I do believe that you feel sure that before long you'll be handed over to the mill. Within a short period, i' faith, Tranio, you'll full soon be adding to the iron-bound race [2] in the country. While you choose to, and have the opportunity, drink on, squander his property, corrupt my master's son, a most worthy young man, drink night and day, live like Greeks [3], make purchase of mistresses, give them their freedom, feed parasites, feast yourselves sumptuously. Was it thus that the old gentleman enjoined you when he went hence abroad? Is it after this fashion that he will find his property well husbanded? Do you suppose that this is the duty of a good servant, to be ruining both the estate and the son of his master? For I do consider him as ruined, when he devotes himself to these goings on. A person, with whom not one of all the young men of Attica was before deemed equally frugal or more steady, the same is now carrying off the palm in the opposite direction. Through your management and your tutoring has that been done.

TRA. What the plague business have you with me or with, what I do? Prithee, haven't you got your cattle in the country for you to look to? I choose to drink, to intrigue, to keep my wenches; this I do at the peril of my own back, and not of yours.

GRU. Then with what assurance he does talk! (Turning away in disgust.) Faugh!

TRA. But may Jupiter and all the Deities confound you; you stink of garlick, you filth unmistakeable, you clod, you he-goat, you pig-sty, you mixture of dog and she-goat.

GRU. What would you have to be done? It isn't all that can smell of foreign perfumes, if you smell of them; or that can take their places at table above their master, or live on such exquisite dainties as you live upon. Do you keep to yourself those turtle-doves, that fish, and poultry; let me enjoy my lot upon garlick diet. You are fortunate; I unlucky. It must be endured. Let my good fortune be awaiting me, your bad yourself.

TRA. You seem, Grumio, as though you envied me, because I enjoy myself and you are wretched. It is quite my due. It's proper for me to make love, and for you to feed the cattle; for me to fare handsomely, you in a miserable way.

GRU. O riddle for the executioner [4], as I guess it will turn out; they'll be so pinking you with goads, as you carry your gibbet [5] along the streets one day, as soon as ever the old gentleman returns here.

TERA. How do you know whether that mayn't happen to yourself sooner than to me? GRU. Because I have never deserved it; you have deserved it, and you now deserve it.

TRA. Do cut short the trouble of your talking, unless you wish a heavy mischance to befall you.

GRU. Are you going to give me the tares for me to take for the cattle? If you are not, give me the money. Go on, still persist in the way in which you've commenced! Drink, live like Greeks, eat, stuff yourselves, slaughter your fatlings!

TRA. Hold your tongue, and be off into the country; I intend to go to the Piraeus to get me some fish for the evening. To-morrow I'll make some one bring you the tares to the farm. What's the matter? Why now are you staring at me, gallows-bird?

GRU. I' faith, I've an idea that will be your own title before long.

TRA. So long as it is as it is, in the meantime I'll put up with that "before long."

GRU. That's the way; and understand this one thing, that that which is disagreable comes much more speedily than that which you wish for.

TRA. Don't you be annoying; now then, away with you into the country, and betake yourself off. Don't you deceive yourself, henceforth you shan't be causing me any impediment. (Exit.

GRU. (to himself). Is he really gone? Not to care one straw for what I've said! O immortal Gods, I do implore your aid, do cause this old gentleman of ours, who has now been three years absent from here, to return hither as soon as possible, before everything is gone, both house and land. Unless he does return here, remnants to last for a few months only are left. Now I'll be off to the country; but look! I see my master's son, one who has been corrupted from having been a most excellent young man. (Exit.

[Footnote 1: In the country)—Ver. 7. Grumio appears to have been cook and herdsman combined, and perhaps generally employed at the country farm of Thenropides. On this occasion he seems to have been summoned to town to cook for the entertainment which Philolaches is giving to his friends.]

[Footnote 2: The iron-bound race)—Ver. 18. The gang of slaves, who, for their malpractices, are working in the country in chains.]

[Footnote 3: Live like Greeks)—Ver. 21. "Pergraescamini." Though the Scene is at Athens, Plautus consults the taste of a Roman Audience, as on many other occasions, in making the Greeks the patterns of riotous livers. Asconius Pedianus says that at these entertainments the Greeks drank off a cup of wine every time they named a Divinity or mentioned a friend.]

[Footnote 4: Riddle for the executioner)—Ver. 52. Riddled with holes by the scourge of the executioner.]

[Footnote 5: You carry your gibbet—Ver. 53. Bearing his own cross; a refinement of torture which was too often employed upon malefactors.]

SCENE II.—Enter PHILOLACHES, from the house of THEUROPIDES.

PHIL. (to himself). I've often thought and long reflected on it, and in my breast have held many a debate, and in my heart (if any heart I have) have revolved this matter, and long discussed it, to what thing I'm to consider man as like, and what form he has when he is born? I've now discovered this likeness. I think a man is like unto a new house when he is born. I'll give my proofs of this fact. (To the AUDIENCE.) And does not this seem to you like the truth? But so I'll manage that you shall think it is so. Beyond a doubt I'll convince you that it is true what I say. And this yourselves, I'm sure, when you have heard my words, will say is no otherwise than just as I now affirm that it is. Listen while I repeat my proofs of this fact; I want you to be equally knowing with myself upon this matter. As soon as ever a house is built up, nicely polished off [1], carefully erected, and according to rule, people praise the architect and approve of the house, they take from it each one a model for himself. Each one has something similar, quite at his own expense; they do not spare their pains. But when a worthless, lazy, dirty, negligent fellow betakes himself thither with an idle family, then is it imputed as a fault to the house, while a good house is being kept in bad repair. And this is often the case; a storm comes on and breaks the tiles and gutters; then a careless owner takes no heed to put up others. A shower comes on and streams down the walls; the rafters admit the rain; the weather rots the labours of the builder; then the utility of the house becomes diminished; and yet this is not the fault of the builder. But a great part of mankind have contracted this habit of delay; if anything can be repaired by means of money, they are always still putting it off, and don't * * * do it until the walls come tumbling down [2]; then the whole house has to be built anew. These instances from buildings I've mentioned; and now I wish to inform you how you are to suppose that men are like houses. In the first place then, the parents are the builders-up of the children, and lay the foundation for the children; they raise them up, they carefully train them to strength, and that they may be good both for service and for view before the public. They spare not either their own pains or their cost, nor do they deem expense in that to be an expense. They refine them, teach them literature, the ordinances, the laws; at their own cost and labour they struggle, that others may wish for their own children to be like to them. When they repair to the army, they then find them some relation [3] of theirs as a protector. At that moment they pass out of the builder's hands. One year's pay has now been earned; at that period, then, a sample is on view how the building will turn out. But I was always discreet and virtuous, just as long as I was under the management of the builder. After I had left him to follow the bent of my own inclinations, at once I entirely spoiled the labours of the builders. Idleness came on; that was my storm; on its arrival, upon me it brought down hail and showers, which overthrew my modesty and the bounds of virtue, and untiled them for me in an instant. After that I was neglectful to cover in again; at once passion like a torrent entered my heart; it flowed down even unto my breast, and soaked through my heart. Now both property, credit, fair fame, virtue, and honor have forsaken me; by usage have I become much worse, and, i' faith (so rotten are these rafters of mine with moisture), I do not seem to myself to be able possibly to patch up my house to prevent it from falling down totally once for all, from perishing from the foundation, and from no one being able to assist me. My heart pains me, when I reflect how I now am and how I once was, than whom in youthful age not one there was more active in the arts of exercise [4], with the quoit, the javelin, the ball, racing, arms, and horses. I then lived a joyous life [5]; in frugality and hardihood I was an example to others; all, even the most deserving, took a lesson from me for themselves. Now that I'm become worthless, to that, indeed, have I hastened through the bent of my inclinations. (He stands apart.)

[Footnote 1: Polished off)—Ver. 98. From this passage it would seem that pains were taken to give the houses a smooth and polished appearance on the outside.]

[Footnote 2: Walls come tumbling down)—Ver. 114. Warner remarks that a sentiment not unlike this is found in Scripture, Ecclesiastes, x. 18: "By much slothfulness, the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through." It may be also observed that the passage is very similar to the words of the parable of the foolish man who built his house upon sand, St. Matthew, vii. 26: "And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house, and it fell; and great was the fall thereof."]

[Footnote 3: Find them some relation)—Ver. 127. In the first year of military service the Roman youths were placed under the tutelage of some relation or friend.]

[Footnote 4: In the arts of exercise)—Ver. 147. "Arte gymnastica." Literally, "in the gymnastic art."]

[Footnote 5: Lived a joyous life)—Ver. 148. "Victitabam volup." Lambinus suggests that the true reading here is "hand volup," "not voluptuously."]

SCENE III.—Enter PHILEMATIUM and SCAPHA, with all the requisites for a toilet.

PHILE. On my word, for this long time I've not bathed in cold water with more delight than just now; nor do I think that I ever was, my dear Scapha, more thoroughly cleansed than now.

SCA. May the upshot of everything be unto you like a plenteous year's harvest.

PHILE. What has this harvest got to do with my bathing?

SCA. Not a bit more than your bathing has to do with the harvest.

PHILO. (apart). O beauteous Venus, this is that storm of mine which stripped off all the modesty with which I was roofed; through which Desire and Cupid poured their shower into my breast; and never since have I been able to roof it in. Now are my walls soaking in my heart; this building is utterly undone.

PHILE. Do look, my Scapha, there's a dear, whether this dress quite becomes me. I wish to please Philolaches my protector, the apple of my eye.

SCA. Nay but, you set yourself off to advantage with pleasing manners, inasmuch as you yourself are pleasing. The lover isn't in love with a woman's dress, but with that which stuffs out [1]the dress.

PHILO. (apart). So may the Gods bless me, Scapha is waggish; the hussy's quite knowing. How cleverly she understands all matters, the maxims of lovers too!

PHILE. Well now? SCA. What is it?

PHILE. Why look at me and examine, how this becomes me.

SCA. Thanks to your good looks, it happens that whatever you put on becomes you.

PHILO. (apart). Now then, for that expression, Scapha, I'll make you some present or other to-day, and I won't allow you to have praised her for nothing who is so pleasing to me.

PHILE. I don't want you to flatter me.

SCA. Really you are a very simple woman. Come now, would you rather be censured undeservedly, than be praised with truth? Upon thy faith, for my own part, even though undeservedly, I'd much rather be praised than be found fault with with reason, or that other people should laugh at my appearance.

PHILE. I love the truth; I wish the truth to be told me; I detest a liar.

SCA. So may you love me, and so may your Philolaches love you, how charming you are.

PHILO. (apart). How say you, you hussy? In what words did you adjure? "So may I love her?" Why wasn't "So may she love me" added as well? I revoke the present. What I just now promised you is done for; you have lost the present.

SCA. Troth, for my part I am surprised that you, a person so knowing, so clever, and so well educated, are not aware that you are acting foolishly.

PHILE. Then give me your advice, I beg, if I have done wrong in anything.

SCA. I' faith, you certainly do wrong, in setting your mind upon him alone, in fact, and humouring him in particular in this way and slighting other men. It's the part of a married woman, and not of courtesans, to be devoted to a single lover.

PHILO. (apart). O Jupiter! Why, what pest is this that has befallen my house? May all the Gods and Goddesses destroy me in the worst of fashions, if I don't kill this old hag with thirst, and hunger, and cold.

PHILE. I don't want you, Scapha, to be giving me bad advice.

SCA. You are clearly a simpleton, in thinking that he'll for everlasting be your friend and well-wisher. I warn you of that; he'll forsake you by reason of age and satiety.

PHILE. I hope not.

SCA. Things which you don't hope happen more frequently than things which you do hope. In fine, if you cannot be persuaded by words to believe this to be the truth, judge of my words from facts; consider this instance, who I now am, and who I once was. No less than you are now, was I once beloved, and I devoted myself to one, who, faith, when with age this head changed its hue, forsook and deserted me. Depend on it, the same will happen to yourself.

PHILO. (apart). I can scarcely withhold myself from flying at the eyes of this mischief-maker.

PHILE. I am of opinion that I ought to keep myself alone devoted to him, since to myself alone has he given freedom for himself alone.

PHILO. (apart). O ye immortal Gods! what a charming woman, and of a disposition how chaste! By heaven, 'tis excellently done, and I'm rejoiced at it, that it is for her sake I've got nothing left.

SCA. On my word you really are silly.

PHILE. For what reason?

SCA. Because you care for this, whether he loves you.

PHILE. Prithee, why should I not care for it?

SCA. You now are free. You've now got what you wanted;

if he didn't still love you, as much money as he gave for your liberty, he'd lose.

PHILO. (apart). Heavens, I'm a dead man if I don't torture her to death after the most shocking fashion. That evil-persuading enticer to vice is corrupting this damsel.

PHILE. Scapha, I can never return him sufficient thanks for what he deserves of me; don't you be persuading me to esteem him less.

SCA. But take care and reflect upon this one thing, if you devote yourself to him alone, while now you are at this youthful age, you'll be complaining to no purpose in your aged years.

PHILO. (apart). I could wish myself this instant changed into a quinsy, that I might seize the throat of that old witch, and put an end to the wicked mischief-maker.

PHILE. It befits me now to have the same grateful feelings since I obtained it, as formerly before I acquired it, when I used to lavish caresses upon him.

PHILO. (apart). May the Gods do towards me what they please, if for that speech I don't make you free over again, and if I don't torture Scapha to death.

SCA. If you are quite assured that you will have a provision to the end, and that this lover will be your own for life, I think that you ought to devote yourself to him alone, and assume the character of a wife [2].

PHILE. Just as a person's character is, he's in the habit of finding means accordingly; if I keep a good character for myself I shall be rich enough.

PHILO. (apart). By my troth, since selling there must be, my father shall be sold much sooner than, while I'm alive, I'll ever permit you to be in want or go a-begging.

SCA. What's to become of the rest of those who are in love with you?

PHILE. They'll love me the more when they see me displaying gratitude to one who has done me services.

PHILO. (apart). I do wish that news were brought me now that my father's dead, that I might disinherit myself of my property, and that she might be my heir.

SCA. This property of his will certainly soon be at an end; day and night there's eating and drinking, and no one displays thriftiness; 'tis downright cramming [3].

PHILO. (apart). I' faith, I'm determined to make trial on yourself for the first to be thrifty; for you shall neither eat nor drink anything at my house for the next ten days.

PHILE. If you choose to say anything good about him, you shall be at liberty to say it; if you speak otherwise than well, on my word you shall have a beating instantly.

PHILO. (apart). Upon my faith, if I had paid sacrifice to supreme Jove with that money which I gave for her liberty, never could I have so well employed it. Do see, how, from her very heart's core, she loves me! Oh, I'm a fortunate man; I've liberated in her a patron to plead my cause for me.

SCA. I see that, compared with Philolaches, you disregard all other men; now, that on his account I mayn't get a beating, I'll agree with you in preference, if you are quite satisfied that he will always prove a friend to you.

PHILE. Give me the mirror [4], and the casket with my trinkets, directly, Scapha, that I may be quite dressed when Philolaches, my delight, comes here.

SCA. A woman who neglects herself and her youthful age has occasion for a mirror; what need of a mirror have you, who yourself are in especial a mirror for a mirror.

PHILO. (apart). For that expression, Scapha, that you mayn't have said anything so pretty in vain, I'll to-day give something for your savings—to you, my Philematium.

PHILE. (while SCAPHA is dressing her hair). Will you see that each hair is nicely arranged in its own place?

SCA. When you yourself are so nice, do believe that your hair must be nice.

PHILO. (apart). Out upon it! what worse thing can possibly be spoken of than this woman? Now the jade's a flatterer, just now she was all contradictory.

PHILE. Hand me the ceruse [5].

SCA. Why, what need of ceruse have you?

PHILE. To paint my cheeks with it.

SCA. On the same principle, you would want to be making ivory white with ink.

PHILO. (apart). Cleverly said that, about the ink and the ivory! Bravo! I applaud you, Scapha.

PHILE. Well then, do you give me the rouge.

SCA. I shan't give it. You really are a clever one. Do you wish to patch up a most clever piece with new daubing? It's not right that any paint should touch that person, neither ceruse, nor quince-ointment, nor any other wash. Take the mirror, then. (Hands her the glass.)

PHILO. (apart.) Ah wretched me!—she gave the glass a kiss. I could much wish for a stone, with which to break the head of that glass.

SCA. Take the towel and wipe your hands.

PHILE. Why so, prithee?

SCA. As you've been holding the mirror, I'm afraid that your hands may smell of silver; lest Philolaches should suspect you've been receiving silver somewhere.

PHILO. (apart). I don't think that I ever did see anyone procuress more cunning. How cleverly and artfully did it occur to the jade's imagination about the mirror!

PHILE. Do you think I ought to be perfumed with unguents as well?

SCA. By no means do so. PHILE. For what reason?

SCA. Because, i' faith, a woman smells best [6] when she smells of nothing at all. For those old women who are in the habit of anointing themselves with unguents, vampt up creatures, old hags, and toothless, who hide the blemishes of the person with paint, when the sweat has blended itself with the unguents, forthwith they stink just like when a cook has poured together a variety of broths; what they smell of, you don't know, except this only, that you understand that badly they do smell.

PHILO. (apart). How very cleverly she does understand everything! There's nothing more knowing than this knowing woman! (To the AUDIENCE.) This is the truth, and a very great portion, in fact, of you know it, who have old women for wives at home who purchased you with their portions.

PHILE. Come now; examine my golden trinkets and my mantle; does this quite become me, Scapha?

SCA. It befits not me to concern myself about that.

PHILE. Whom then, prithee?

SCA. I'll tell you; Philolaches; so that he may not buy anything except that which he fancies will please you. For a lover buys the favours of a mistress for himself with gold and purple garments. What need is there for that which he doesn't want as his own, to be shown him still? Age is to be enveloped in purple; gold ornaments are unsuitable for a woman. A beautiful woman will be more beautiful naked than drest in purple. Besides, it's in vain she's well-drest if she's ill-conducted; ill- conduct soils fine ornaments worse than dirt. But if she's beauteous, she's sufficiently adorned.

PHILO. (apart). Too long have I withheld my hand. (Coming forward.) What are you about here?

PHILE. I'm decking myself out to please you.

PHILO. You are dressed enough. (To SCAPHA.) Go you hence indoors, and take away this finery. (SCAPHA goes into the house.) But, my delight, my Philematium, I have a mind to regale together with you.

PHILE. And, i' faith, so I have with you; for what you have a mind to, the same have I a mind to, my delight.

PHILO. Ha! at twenty minae that expression were cheap.

PHILE. Give me ten, there's a dear; I wish to let you have that expression bought a bargain.

PHILO. You've already got ten minae with you; or reckon up the account: thirty minae I gave for your freedom—

PHILE. Why reproach me with that?

PHILO. What, I reproach you with it? Why, I had rather that I myself were reproached with it; no money whatever for this long time have I ever laid out equally well.

PHILE. Surely, in loving you, I never could have better employed my pains.

PHILO. The account, then, of receipts and expenditure fully tallies between ourselves; you love me, I love you. Each thinks that it is so deservedly. Those who rejoice at this, may they ever rejoice at the continuance of their own happiness. Those who envy, let not any one henceforth be ever envious of their blessings.

PHILE. (pointing to a couch on the stage). Come, take your place, then. (At the door, to a SERVANT, who obeys.) Boy, bring some water for the hands; put a little table here. See where are the dice. Would you like some perfumes? (They recline on the couch.)

PHILO. What need is there? Along with myrrh I am reclining. But isn't this my friend who's coming hither with his mistress? 'Tis he; it's Callidamates; look, he's coming. Capital! my sweet one, see, our comrades are approaching; they're coming to share the spoil.

[Footnote 1: That which stuffs out)—Ver. 164. That is, the body.]

[Footnote 2: Assume the character of a wife)—Ver. 220. "Capiundos crines." Literally, "the hair mast be assumed." Festus says that it was usual on the occasion of the marriage ceremony, to add six rows of curls to the hair of the bride, in imitation of the Vestal virgins, who were patterns of purity, and were dressed in that manner. Hence the term "capere crines" came to signify "to become a wife."]

[Footnote 3: 'Tis downright cramming)—Ver. 230. "Sagina plane est." "Sagina" was the term applied to the fattening or cramming of animals for the purpose of killing. The use of the term implies Scapha'a notion of the bestial kind of life that Philolaches was leading.]

[Footnote 4: Give me the mirror)—Ver. 242. Probably a mirror with a handle, such as the servants usually held for their mistresses. There is something comical in the notion of a female coming out into the street to make her toilet.]

[Footnote 5: Hand me the ceruse)—Ver. 252. White lead, or "cerussa," was used by the Roman women for the purpose of whitening the complexion. Ovid mentions it in his Treatise on the Care of the Complexion, L 73.]

[Footnote 6: A woman smells best)—Ver. 267. Cicero and Martial have a similar sentiment; their opinion has been followed by many modern writers, and other persons as well.]

SCENE IV.—Enter CALLIDAMATES, at a distance, drunk, and DELPHIUM, followed by a SERVANT.

CALL. (to his SERVANT). I want you to come for me [1] in good time to the house of Philolaches; listen you; well then! those are your orders. (Exit SERVANT.) For from the place where I was, thence did I betake myself off; so confoundedly tired was I there with the entertainment and the discourse. Now I'll go to Philolaches to have a bout; there he'll receive us with jovial feelings and handsomely. Do I seem to you to be fairly drenched, my bubsy?

DEL. You ought always to live pursuing this course of life.

CALL. Should you like, then, for me to hug you, and you me? DEL. If you've a mind to do so, of course.

CALL. You are a charming one. (He stumbles.) Do hold me up, there's a dear.

DEL. (holding him by the arm). Take care you don't fall. Stand up.

CALL. O! you are the apple of my eye. I'm your fosterling, my honey. (He stumbles.)

DEL. (still holding him up). Only do take care that you don't recline in the street, before we get to a place where a couch is ready laid.

CALL. Do let me fall.

DEL. Well, I'll let you. (Lets go.)

CALL. (dragging her as he falls). But that as well which I've got hold of in my hand.

DEL. If you fall, you shan't fall without me falling with you. Then some one shall pick us both up as we lie. (Aside.) The man's quite drenched.

CALL. (overhearing). Do you say that I am drenched, my bubsy?

DEL. Give me your hand; I really do not want you hurt.

CALL. (giving his hand). There now, take it.

DEL. Come, move on with me.

CALL. Where am I going, do you know?

DEL. I know.

CALL. It has just come into my head: why, of course I'm going home for a booze.

DEL. Why yes, really now I do remember that.

PHILO. Won't you let me go to find them, my life? Of all persons I wish well to him especially. I'll return just now. (Goes forward towards the door.)

PHILE. That "just now" is a long time to me.

CALL. (going to the door and knocking). Is there any person here?

PHILO. 'Tis he.

CALL. (turning round). Bravo! Philolaches, good day to you, most friendly to me of all men.

PHILO. May the Gods bless you. (Pointing to a couch.) Take your place, Callidamates. (He takes his place.) Whence are you betaking yourself?

CALL. Whence a drunken man does.

PHILO. Well said. But, my Delphium, do take your place, there's a dear. (She takes her place on a couch.)

CALL. Give her something to drink. I shall go to sleep directly. (Nods and goes to sleep.)

PHILO. He doesn't do anything wonderful or strange. What shall I do with him then, my dear?

DEL. Let him alone just as he is.

PHILO. Come, you boy. Meanwhile, speedily pass the goblet round, beginning with Delphium.

[Footnote 1: You to come for me)—Ver. 306. Though none of the Editions say so, it is not improbable that this is said to Phaniscus, who, in the sequel, comes to fetch Callidamates home. The duties of the "adversitor" have been alluded to in a previous Note.]

SCENE V.—Enter TRANIO, at a distance.

TRA. (to himself). Supreme Jove, with all his might and resources, is seeking for me and Philolaches, my master's son, to be undone. Our hopes are destroyed; nowhere is there any hold for courage; not even Salvation [1] now could save us if she wished. Such an immense mountain of woe have I just now seen at the harbour: my master has arrived from abroad; Tranio is undone! (To the AUDIENCE.) Is there any person who'd like to make gain of a little money, who could this day endure to take my place in being tortured? Where are those fellows hardened to a flogging, the wearers-out of iron chains, or those, who, for the consideration of three didrachms, would get beneath besieging towers [2], where some are in the way of having their bodies pierced with fifteen spears? I'll give a talent to that man who shall be the first to run to the cross for me; but on condition that twice his feet, twice his arms [3] are fastened there. When that shall have been done, then ask the money down of me. But am I not a wretched fellow, not at full speed to be running home?

PHILO. Here come the provisions; see, here's Tranio; he's come back from the harbour.

TRA. (running). Philolaches!

PHILO. What's the matter? TRA. Both I and you—

PHILO. What about "Both I and you?"

TRA. Are undone!

PHILO. Why so? TRA. Your father's here.

PHILO. What is it I hear of you?

TRA. We are finished up. Your father's come, I say.

PHILO. (starting up.) Where is he, I do entreat you?

TRA. He's coming.

PHILO. Coming? Who says so? Who has seen him?

TRA. I saw him myself, I tell you.

PHILO. Woe unto me! what am I about?

TRA. Why the plague now do you ask me, what you are about? Taking your place at table, of course.

PHILO. Did you see him? TRA. I my own self, I tell you.

PHILO. For certain? TRA. For certain, I tell you.

PHILO. I'm undone, if you are telling the truth.

TRA. What good could it be to me if I told a lie?

PHILO. What shall I do now?

TRA. (pointing to the table and couches). Order all these things to be removed from here. (Pointing.) Who's that asleep there?

PHILO. Callidamates. TRA. Arouse him, Delphium.

DEL. (bawling out in his ear). Callidamates! Callidamates! awake! CALL. (raising himself a little). I am awake; give me something to drink.

DEL. Awake; the father of Philolaches has arrived from abroad. CALL. I hope his father's well.

PHILO. He is well indeed; but I am utterly undone.

CALL. You, utterly undone? How can that be?

PHILO. By heavens! do get up, I beg of you; my father has arrived.

CALL. Your father has come? Bid him go back again. What business had he to come back here so soon?

PHILO. What am I to do? My father will, just now, be coming and unfortunately finding me amid drunken carousals, and the house full of revellers and women. It's a shocking bad job, to be digging a well at the last moment, just when thirst has gained possession of your throat; just as I, on the arrival of my father, wretch that I am, am now enquiring what I am to do.

TRA. (pointing at CALLIDAMATES). Why look, he has laid down his head and gone to sleep. Do arouse him.

PHILO. (shaking him). Will you awake now? My father, I tell you, will be here this instant.

CALL. How say you? Your father? Give me my shoes, that I may take up arms. On my word, I'll kill your father this instant.

PHILO. (seizing hold of him). You're spoiling the whole business; do hold your tongue. (To DELPHIUM.) Prithee, do carry him off in your arms into the house.

CALL. (To DELPHIUM, who is lifting him up). Upon my faith, I'll be making an utensil of you just now, if you don't find me one. (He is led off into the house.)

PHILO. I'm undone!

TRA. Be of good courage; I'll cleverly find a remedy for this alarm. PHILO. I'm utterly ruined!

TRA. Do hold your tongue; I'll think of something by means of which to alleviate this for you. Are you satisfied, if on his arrival I shall so manage your father, not only that he shall not enter, but even that he shall run away to a distance from the house? Do you only be off from here in-doors, and remove these things from here with all haste.

PHILO. Where am I to be? TRA. Where you especially desire: with her (pointing to PHILEMATIUM); with this girl, too, you'll be. (Pointing to DELPHIUM.)

DEL. How then? Are we to go away from here?

TRA. Not far from here, Delphium. For carouse away in the house not a bit the less on account of this.

PHILO. Ah me! I'm in a sweat with fear as to how these fine words are to end! TRA. Can you not be tranquil in your mind, and do as I bid you?

PHILO. I can be. TRA. In the first place of all, Philematium, do you go in-doors; and you, Delphium.

DEL. We'll both be obedient to you. (They go into the house.)

TRA. May Jupiter grant it so! Now then, do you give attention as to what I'd have attended to. In the first place, then, before anything, cause the house to be shut up at once. Take care and don't let any one whisper a word in-doors.

PHILO. Care shall be taken. TRA. Just as though no living being were dwelling within the house.

PHILO. Very well. TRA. And let no one answer, when the old gentleman knocks at the door.

PHILO. Anything else?

TRA. Order the master-key [4] of the house to be brought me at once from within; this house I'll lock here on the outside.

PHILO. To your charge I commit myself, Tranio, and my hopes. (He goes into the house, and the things are removed from the stage.)

TRA. (to himself). It matters not a feather whether a patron or a dependant is the nearest at hand for that man who has got no courage in his breast. For to every man, whether very good or very bad, even at a moment's notice, it is easy to act with craft; but this must be looked to, this is the duty of a prudent man, that what has been planned and done in craftiness, may all come about smoothly and without mishap; so that he may not have to put up with anything by reason of which he might be loth to live; just as I shall manage, that, from the confusion which we shall here create, all shall really go on smoothly and tranquilly, and not produce us any inconvenience in the results. (Enter a BOY, from the house.) But, why have you come out? I'm undone! (The BOY shows him the key.) O very well, you've obeyed my orders most opportunely.

BOY. He bade me most earnestly to entreat you some way or other to scare away his father, that he may not enter the house.

TRA. Even more, tell him this, that I'll cause that he shan't venture even to look at the house, and to take to flight, covering up his head [5] with the greatest alarm. Give me the key (taking it), and be off in-doors, and shut to the door, and I'll lock it on this side. (The BOY goes into the house, and TRANIO locks the door.) Bid him now come forthwith. For the old gentleman here while still alive this day will I institute games [6] in his presence, such as I fancy there will never be for him when he's dead. (Moving away.) I'll go away from the door to this spot; hence, I'll look out afar in which direction to lay the burden on the old fellow on his arrival. (Exit to a little distance.)

[Footnote 1: Not even Salvation)—Ver. 342. See the Captivi, 1. 535, and the Note to the passage.]

[Footnote 2: Beneath besieging towers)—Ver 348. "Falae" were wooden towers, placed on the top of walls or fortified places; of course the attack of these would imply extreme danger to those who attempted it.]

[Footnote 3: Twice his feet, twice his arms)—Ver. 351. Some suppose that by "bis pedes, bis brachia," he means that two nails were to be driven into each leg and foot. It seems more probable that be means two for the feet and two for the hands.]

[Footnote 4: Order the master-key)—Ver. 395. "Clavem— Laconicam;" literally, "the Laconian key." This was a kind of key originally invented by the Spartans, by means of which a door could be locked from the outside, but not from within. According to some, this key was called "Laconica," from its rough appearance, in allusion to the inelegant exterior of the Spartans. In his Thesmophoriazusae, Aristophanes informs us that these keys had three wards.]

[Footnote 5: Covering up his head)—Ver. 414. With the ancients, when either ashamed or alarmed at anything, it was the custom to throw a part of the dress over the head, as a hood.]

[Footnote 6: Will I institute games)—Ver. 417. He plays on the double meaning of "ludes," which means either "tricks," or "funeral games" in honor of the dead, according to the context.]

ACT II.—SCENE I.

Enter THEUROPIDES, followed by ATTENDANTS.

THEU. (to himself). Neptune, I do return extreme thanks to thee that thou hast just dismissed me from thee, though scarce alive. But if, from this time forward, thou shalt only know that I have stirred a foot upon the main, there is no reason why, that instant, thou shouldst not do with me that which thou hast now wished to do. Away with you, away with you from me henceforth for ever after to-day; what I was to entrust to thee, all of it have I now entrusted.

Enter TRANIO, overhearing him.

TRA. (apart). By my troth, Neptune, you've been much to blame, to have lost this opportunity so fair.

THEU. After three years, I've arrived home from Aegypt. I shall come a welcome guest to my household, I suppose.

TRA. (apart). Upon my faith, he might have come a much more welcome one, who had brought the tidings you were dead.

THEU. (looking at the door). But what means this? Is the door shut in the daytime? I'll knock. (Knocks at the door.) Hallo, there! is any one going to open this door for me?

TRA. (coming forward, and speaking aloud). What person is it that has come so near to our house?

THEU. Surely this is my servant Tranio.

TRA. O Theuropides, my master, welcome; I'm glad that you've arrived in safety. Have you been well all along?

THEU. All along, as you see.

TRA. That's very good.

THEU. What about yourselves? Are you all mad?

TRA. Why so?

THEU. For this reason; because you are walking about outside; not a born person is keeping watch in the house, either to open or to give an answer. With kicking with my feet I've almost broken in the pannels?

TRA. How now? Have you been touching this house?

THEU. Why shouldn't I touch it? Why, with kicking it, I tell you, I've almost broken down the door.

TRA. What, you touched it?

THEU. I touched it, I tell you, and knocked at it.

TRA. Out upon you! THEU. Why so?

TRA. By heavens! 'twas ill done.

THEU. What is the matter? TRA. It cannot be expressed, how shocking and dreadful a mischief you've been guilty of.

THEU. How so?

TRA. Take to flight, I beseech you, and get away from the house. Fly in this direction, fly closer to me. (He runs towards TRANIO.) What, did you touch the door?

THEU. How could I knock, if I didn't touch it?

TRA. By all that's holy, you've been the death—

THEU. Of what person? TRA. Of all your family.

THEU. May the Gods and Goddesses confound you with that omen.

TRA. I'm afraid that you can't make satisfaction for yourself and them.

THEU. For what reason, or what new affair is this that you thus suddenly bring me news of?

TRA. And (whispering) hark you, prithee, do bid those people to move away from here. (Pointing to the ATTENDANTS of THEUROPIDES.)

THEU. (to the ATTENDANTS). More away from here.

TRA. Don't you touch the house. Touch you the ground [1]

as well. (Exeunt the ATTENDANTS.

THEU. I' faith, prithee, do speak out now.

TRA. Because it is now seven months that not a person has set foot within this house, and since we once for all left it.

THEU. Tell me, why so?

TRA. Just look around, whether there's any person to overhear our discourse.

THEU. (looking around). All's quite safe.

TRA. Look around once more.

THEU. (looking around). There's nobody; now then, speak out. TRA. (in a loud whisper). The house has been guilty of a capital offence [2].

THEU. I don't understand you. TRA. A crime, tell you, has

been committed there, a long while ago, one of olden time and ancient date.

THEU. Of ancient date?

TRA. 'Tis but recently, in fact, that we've discovered this deed.

THEU. What is this crime, or who committed it? Tell me.

TRA. A host slew his guest, seized with his hand: he, I fancy, who sold you the house.

THEU. Slew him?

TRA. And robbed this guest of his gold, and buried this guest there in the house, on the spot.

THEU. For what reason do you suspect that this took place?

TRA. I'll tell you; listen. One day, when your son had dined away from home, after he returned home from dining; we all went to bed, and fell asleep. By accident, I had forgotten to put out my lamp; and he, all of a sudden, called out aloud—

THEU. What person? My son?

TRA. Hist! hold your peace: just listen. He said that a dead man came to him in his sleep—

THEU. In his dreams, then, you mean?

TRA. Just so. But only listen. He said that he had met with his death by these means—

THEU. What, in his sleep?

TRA. It would have been surprising if he had told him awake, who had been murdered sixty years ago. On some occasions you are absurdly simple. But look what he said: "I am the guest of Diapontius, from beyond the seas; here do I dwell; this has been assigned me as my abode; for Oreus would not receive me in Acheron, because prematurely I lost my life. Through confiding was I deceived: my entertainer slew me here, and that villain secretly laid me in the ground without funereal rites, in this house, on the spot, for the sake of gold. Now do you depart from here; this house is accursed, this dwelling is defiled." The wonders that here take place, hardly in a year could I recount them. Hush, hush! (He starts.)

THEU. Troth now, what has happened, prithee?

TRA. The door made a noise. Was it he that was knocking?

THEU. (turning pale). I have not one drop of blood! Dead men are come to fetch me to Acheron, while alive!

TRA. (aside). I'm undone! those people there will mar my plot. (A noise is heard from within.) How much I dread, lest be should catch me in the fact.

THEU. What are you talking about to yourself? (Goes near the door.)

TRA. Do get away from the door. By heavens, fly, I do beseech you.

THEU. Fly where? Fly yourself, as well.

TRA. I am not afraid: I am at peace with the dead.

A VOICE (from within). Hallo! Tranio [3].

TRA. (in a low voice, near the door). You won't be calling me, if you are wise. (Aloud, as if speaking to the APPARITION.) 'Tis not I that's guilty; I did not knock at the door.

THEU. Pray, what is it that's wrong? What matter is agitating you, Tranio? To whom are you saying these things?

TRA. Prithee, was it you that called me? So may the Gods bless me, I fancied it was this dead man expostulating because you had knocked at the door. But are you still standing there, and not doing what I advise you?

THEU. What am I to do? TRA. Take care not to look back. Fly; cover up your head!

THEU. Why don't you fly?

TRA. I am at peace with the dead.

THEU. I recollect. Why then were you so dreadfully alarmed just now?

TREA. Have no care for me, I tell you; I'll see to myself. You, as you have begun to do, fly as quick as ever you can; Hercules, too [4], you will invoke.

THEU. Hercules, I do invoke thee! (Runs off.)

TRA. (to himself.) And I, as well, old fellow, that this day he'll send some heavy mishap upon you. O ye immortal Gods, I do implore your aid. Plague on it! what a mess I have got into to-day. (Exit.

[Footnote 1: Touch you the ground)—Ver. 457. The ancients were in the habit of reverentially touching the earth, when engaged in any affairs that related to the dead or the infernal Deities.]

[Footnote 2: Guilty of a capital offence)—Ver. 464. "Capitalis aedes facta est;" meaning that a murder had been committed in it.]

[Footnote 3: Hallo! Tranio)—Ver. 502. Weise's Edition gives these words to Theuropides. Rost, no doubt rightly, suggests that these words are spoken by Philolaches from inside (perhaps in a low voice, to ask Tranio how matters are going on). On this, Tranio turns it to good account, by pretending that the Ghost is calling out to him for his supposed impiety in daring to knock at the door.]

[Footnote 4: Hercules, too)—Ver. 514. Hercules having slain so many monsters, was naturally regarded as a Deity likely to give aid in extreme danger.]

ACT III.—SCENE I.

Enter a BANKER, at the end of the stage.

BAN. (to himself). I never knew any year worse for money upon interest, than this year has turned out to me. From morning even until night, I spend my time in the Forum; I cannot lend out a coin of silver to any one.

Enter TRANIO.

TRA. (apart). Now, faith, I am clearly undone in an everlasting way! The Banker's here who found the money with which his mistress was bought. The matter's all out, unless I meet him a bit beforehand, so that the old man may not at present come to know of this. I'll go meet him. But (seeing THEUROPIDES) I wonder why he has so soon betaken himself homeward again. I'm afraid that he has heard something about this affair. I'll meet him, and accost him. But how dreadfully frightened I am! Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man with a guilty conscience, such as possesses myself. But however this matter turns out, I'll proceed to perplex it still further: so does this affair require.

Enter THEUROPIDES.

TRA. (accosting him). Whence come you?

THEU. I met that person from whom I bought this house.

TRA. Did you tell him anything about that which I was telling you?

THEU. I' faith, I certainly told him everything.

TRA. (aside). Woe to unfortunate me! I'm afraid that my schemes are everlastingly undone!

THEU. What is it you are saying to yourself?

TRA. Why nothing. But tell me, prithee, did you really tell him?

THEU. I told him everything in its order, I tell you.

TRA. Does he, then, confess about the guest?

THEU. Why no; he utterly denies it.

TRA. Does he deny it?

THEU. Do you ask me again? I should tell you if he had confessed it. What now are you of opinion ought to be done?

TRA. What is my opinion? By my troth, I beg of you, appoint an arbitrator together with him; but take you care that you appoint one who will believe me; you'll overcome him as easily as a fox eats a pear [1]

BAN. (to himself). But see, here's Tranio, the servant of Philolaches, people who pay me neither interest nor principal on my money. (Goes towards TRANIO, who steps forward to meet him.)

THEU. (to TRANIO). Whither are you betaking yourself?

TRA. I'm going no whither. (Aside.) For sure, I am a wretch, a rascal, one born with all the Gods my foes! He'll now be accosting me in the old man's presence. Assuredly, I am a wretched man; in such a fashion both this way and that do they find business for me. But I'll make haste and accost him. (Moves towards the BANKER.)

BAN. (apart). He's coming towards me. I'm all right; I've some hopes of my money; he's smiling.

TRA. (to himself). The fellow's deceived. (To the BANKER.) I heartily bid you hail, my friend Saturides [2].

BAN. And hail to you. What about the money?

TRA. Be off with you, will you, you brute. Directly you come, you commence the attack [3] against me.

BAN. (apart). This fellow's empty-handed.

TRA. (overhearing him). This fellow's surely a conjurer.

BAN. But why don't you put an end to this trifling?

TRA. Tell me, then, what it is you want.

BAN. Where is Philolaches?

TRA. You never could have met me more opportunely than you have met me. BAN. How's that?

TRA. (taking him aside). Step this way.

BAN. (aloud). Why isn't the money repaid me?

TRA. I know that you have a good voice; don't bawl out so loud. BAN. (aloud). I' faith, I certainly shall bawl out.

TRA. O, do humour me now.

BAN. What do you want me to humour you in?

TRA. Prithee, be off hence home.

BAN. Be off? TRA. Return here about mid-day.

BAN. Will the interest be paid then?

TRA. It will be paid. Be off.

BAN. Why should I run to and fro here, or use or waste my pains? What if I remain here until mid-day in preference?

TRA. Why no; be off home. On my word, I'm telling the truth. Only do be off.

BAN. (aloud). Then do you pay me my interest. Why do you trifle with me this way?

TRA. Bravo! faith. Really now, do be off; do attend to me.

BAN. (aloud). I' faith, I'll call him now by name.

TRA. Bravo! stoutly done! Really you are quite rich now when you bawl out.

BAN. (aloud). I'm asking for my own. In this way you've been disappointing me for these many days past. If I'm troublesome, give me back the money; I'll go away then: That expression [4] puts an end to all replies.

TRA. (pretending to offer it him). Then, take the principal [5].

BAN. (aloud). Why no, the interest; I want that first.

TRA. What? Have you, you fellow most foul of all fellows, come here to burst yourself? Do what lies in your power. He's not going to pay you; he doesn't owe it.

BAN. Not owe it?

TRA. Not a tittle, indeed, can you get from here. Would you prefer for him to go abroad, and leave the city in exile, driven hence for your sake? Why then, in preference let him pay the [6] principal.

BAN. But I don't ask for it.

THEU. (calling out to TRANIO,from a distance). Hark you! you whip-knave, come back to me.

TRA. (to THEUROPIDES). I'll be there just now. (To the BANKER.) Don't you be troublesome: no one's going to pay you; do what you please. You are the only person, I suppose, that lends money upon interest. (Moves towards THEUROPIDES.)

BAN. (bawling aloud). Give me my interest! pay me my interest! you pay my interest! Are you going to give me my interest this instant? Give me my interest!

TRA. Interest here, interest there! The old rogue knows how to talk about nothing but interest. I do not think that ever I saw any beast more vile than you.

BAN. Upon my faith, you don't alarm me now with those expressions. This is of a hot nature; although it is at a distance off, it scorches badly [7].

TRA. Don't you be troublesome; no one's going to pay you; do what you please. You are the only person, I suppose, that lends money upon interest.

THEU. (to TRANIO). Pray, what interest is this that he is asking for?

TRA. (in a low voice, to the BANKER). Look now; his father has arrived from abroad, not long since; he'll pay you both, interest and principal; don't you then attempt any further to make us your enemies. See whether he puts you off.

BAN. Nay but, I'll take it, if anything's offered.

THEU. (to TRANIO, coming towards him). What do you say, then—? TRA. What is it you mean?

THEU. Who is this? What is he asking for? Why is he thus rudely speaking of my son Philolaches in this way, and giving you abuse to your face? What's owing him?

TRA. (to THEUROPIDES). I beg of you, do order the money to be thrown in the face of this dirty brute.

THEU. I, order it?

TRA. Order the fellow's face to be pelted with money.

BAN. (coming nearer). I could very well put up with a pelting with money.

THEU. (to TRANIO). What money's this?

TRA. Philolaches owes this person a little.

THEU. How much?

TRA. About forty minae.

BAN. (to THEUROPIDES). Really, don't think much of that; it's a trifle, in fact.

TRA. Don't you hear him? Troth now, prithee, doesn't he seem just suited to be a Banker—a generation that's most roguish?

THEU. I don't care, just now, for that, who he is or whence he is; this I want to be told me, this I very much wish to know—I heard from him that there was interest owing on the money as well.

TRA. Forty-four minae are due to him. Say that you'll pay it, that he may be off.

THEU. I, say that I'll pay it?

TRA. Do say so.

THEU. What, I?

TRA. You yourself. Do only say so. Do be guided by me. Do promise. Come now, I say; I beg of you.

THEU. Answer me; what has been done with this money?

TRA. It's safe.

THEU. Pay it yourselves then, if it's safe.

TRA. Your son has bought a house.

THEU. A house?

TRA. A house.

THEU. Bravo! Philolaches is taking after his father! The fellow now turns to merchandize. A house, say you?

TRA. A house, I tell you. But do you know of what sort?

THEU. How can I know?

TRA. Out with you!

THEU. What's the matter?

TRA. Don't ask me that.

THEU. But why so?

TRA. Bright as a mirror, pure brilliancy itself.

THEU. Excellently done, upon my faith! Well, how much did he agree to give for it?

TRA. As many great talents as you and I put together make; but these forty minae he paid by way of earnest. (Pointing to the BANKER.) From him he received what we paid the other man. Do you quite understand? [8] For after this house was in such a state as I mentioned to you, he at once purchased another house for himself.

THEU. Excellently done, upon my faith!

BAN. (touching TRANIO). Hark you. Mid-day is now close at hand.

TRA. Prithee, do dismiss this puking fellow, that he mayn't worry us to death. Forty-four minae are due to him, both principal and interest.

BAN. 'Tis just that much; I ask for nothing more.

TRA. Upon my faith, I really could have wished that you had asked more, if only by a single coin.

THEU. (to the BANKER). Young man, transact the business with me.

BAN. I'm to ask it of you, you mean?

THEU. Come for it to-morrow.

BAN. I'll be off, then; I'm quite satisfied if I get it tomorrow.

(Exit

TRA. (aside). A plague may all the Gods and Goddesses send upon him! so utterly has he disarranged my plans. On my word, no class of men is there more disgusting, or less acquainted with fair dealing than the banking race.

THEU. In what neighbourhood did my son buy this house?

TRA. (aside). Just see that, now! I'm undone!

THEU. Are you going to tell me that which I ask you?

TRA. I'll tell you; but I'm thinking what was the name of the owner. (Pretends to think.)

THEU. Well, call it to mind, then.

TRA. (aside). What am I to do now, except put the lie upon this neighbour of ours next door? I'll say that his son has bought that house. I' faith, I've heard say that a lie piping-hot is the best lie; this is piping-hot; although it is at a distance off, it scorches badly. Whatever the Gods dictate, that am I determined to say.

THEU. Well now? Have you recollected it by this?

TRA. (aside). May the Gods confound that fellow!—no, this other fellow, rather. (To THEUROPIDES.) Your son has bought the house of this next-door neighbour of yours.

THEU. In real truth?

TRA. If, indeed, you are going to pay down the money, then in real truth; if you are not going to pay it, in real truth he has not bought it.

THEU. He hasn't bought it in a very good situation.

TRA. Why yes, in a very good one.

THEU. I' faith, I should like to look over this house; just knock at the door, and call some one to you from within, Tranio.

TRA. (aside). Why just look now, again I don't know what I'm to say. Once more, now, are the surges bearing me upon the self-same rock. What now? I' faith, I can't discover what I am now to do; I'm caught in the fact.

THEU. Just call some one out of doors; ask him to show us round.

TRA. (going to the door of SIMO's house). Hallo there, you! (Turning round.) But there are ladies here; we must first see whether they are willing or unwilling.

THEU. You say what's good and proper; just make enquiry, and ask. I'll wait here outside until you come out.

TRA. (aside). May all the Gods and Goddesses utterly confound you, old gentleman! in such a fashion are you thwarting my artful plans in every way. Bravo! very good! Look, Simo himself, the owner of the house, is coming out of doors. I'll step aside here, until I have convened the senate of council in my mind. Then, when I've discovered what I am to do, I'll join him. (THEUROPIDES and TRANIO stand at a distance from SIMO's house, in opposite directions, THEUROPIDES being out of sight.)

[Footnote 1: As a fox eats a pear)—Ver. 543. This may either mean, very easily indeed, or not at all. It is not clear that a fox will eat a pear; but if does, his teeth will go through it with the greatest ease. Not improbably, Tranio uses the expression for its ambiguity.]

[Footnote 2: Friend Saturides)—Ver. 552. A nickname coined by the author, from "satur," "brimful," of money, probably.]

[Footnote 3: Commence the attack)—Ver. 564. "Pilum injecisti." Literally, "you have thrown the dart." "To throw the dart" was a common expression, signifying to make the first attack;" as the darts were thrown before recourse was had to the sword.]

[Footnote 4: That expression)—Ver. 574. By "hoc verbum" he probably alludes to the expression, "reddite argentum," "down with the money."]

[Footnote 5: Take the principal)—Ver. 575. He finds he must say something, so he says this, although he has no money with him. He knows, however, that the usurer will first insist on the interest being paid, because if he takes the principal, it will be a legal waver of his right to claim the interest.]

[Footnote 6: Let him pay the)—Ver. 581. "Quin sortem potius dare licet?" is the reading here, in Weise's Edition; but the line seems hopelessly incorrect.]

[Footnote 7: It scorches badly)—Ver. 592. This line is given by Gruter to Theuropides, by Acidalius to Tranio, and by Lambinus to the Banker. The latter seems the most appropriate owner of it; and he probably alludes, aside, to the effects of his pressing in a loud voice for the money. Tranio is introduced as using the same expression, in l.650; but there can be no doubt that the line, as there inserted, is spurious.]

[Footnote 8: Do you quite understand)—Ver. 629. Warner suggests, that by using this expression before the Banker, he intends to make a secret of the house being haunted, and that he keeps up the mystery in the succeeding line.]

SCENE II.—Enter SIMO, from his house.

SIM. (to himself). I've not enjoyed myself better at home this year than I have to-day, nor has at any time any meal pleased me better. My wife provided a very nice breakfast for me; now she bids me go take a nap. By no means! It instantly struck me that it didn't so happen by chance. She provided a better breakfast than is her wont; and then, the old lady wanted to draw me away to my chamber. Sleep is not good [1] after breakfast—out upon it! I secretly stole away from the house, out of doors. My wife, I'm sure, is now quite bursting with rage at home.

TRA. (apart). A sore mischance is provided for this old fellow by the evening; for he must both dine and go to bed in-doors in sorry fashion.

SIM. (continuing). The more I reflect upon it in my mind: if any person has a dowried wife, sleep has no charms for him. I detest going to take a nap. It's a settled matter with me to be off to the Forum from here, rather than nap it at home. And, i' faith (to the AUDIENCE), I don't know how your wives are in their behaviour; this wife of mine, I know right well how badly she treats me, and that she will prove more annoying to me hereafter than she has been.

TRA. (apart). If your escape, old gentleman, turns out amiss, there'll be no reason for you to be accusing any one of the Gods; by very good right, you may justly lay the blame upon yourself. It's time now for me to accost this old fellow. 'Tis down upon him. [2] I've hit upon a plan whereby to cajole the old fellow, by means of which to drive grief [3] away from me. I'll accost him. (Accosting him.) May the Gods, Simo, send on you many blessings! (Takes him by the hand.)

SIM. Save you, Tranio! TRA. How fare you?

SIM. Not amiss. What are you about?

TRA. Holding by the hand a very worthy man.

SIM. You act in a friendly way, in speaking well of me.

TRA. It certainly is your due.

SIM. But, i' faith, in you I don't hold a good servant by the hand.

THEU. (calling from a distance, where he is not perceived by SIMO). Hark you! you whip-knave, come back to me.

TRA. (turning round). I'll be there just now.

SIM. Well now, how soon—?

TRA. What is it? SIM. The usual goings-on.

TRA. Tell me then, these usual goings-on, what are they?

SIM. The way that you yourselves proceed. But, Tranio, to say the truth, according as men are, it so befits you to humour them; reflecting, at the same time, how short life is.

TRA. What of all this? Dear me, at last, after some difficulty,

I perceive that you are talking about these goings-on of ours.

SIM. I' faith, you people are living a merry life, just as befits you: on wine, good cheer, nice dainty fish, you enjoy life.

TRA. Why yes, so it was in time past, indeed; but now these things have come to an end all at once. SIM. How so?