DEM. Oh, oh, I weep for joy.

SYRUS. ——"You squander not The money only, but your life, your honor."

DEM. Heav'n bless him; he is like his ancestors. (Weeping.)

SYRUS. Father's own son, I warrant him.

DEM. Oh, Syrus! He's full of all those precepts, he!

SYRUS. No doubt on't: He need not go from home for good instruction.

DEM. I spare no pains; neglect no means; I train him. —In short, I bid him look into the lives Of all, as in a mirror, and thence draw From others an example for himself. —"Do this."——

SYRUS. Good!

DEM. "Fly that."

SYRUS. Very good!

DEM. "This deed Is commendable."

SYRUS. That's the thing!

DEM. "That's reprehensible."

SYRUS. Most excellent!

DEM. "And then moreover——"

SYRUS. Faith, I have not time To give you further audience just at present, I've got an admirable dish of fish; And I must take good care they are not spoil'd. For that were an offense as grievous, Demea, In us, as 'twere in you to leave undone The things you just now mentioned: and I try, According to my weak abilities, To teach my fellow-slaves the self-same way. —"This is too salt.—This is burnt up too much. That is not nice and cleanly.—That's well done. Mind, and do so again."—I spare no pains, And give them the best precepts that I can. In short, I bid them look into the dishes, As in a mirror, Demea, and thence learn The duty of a cook.—This school of ours, I own, is idle: but what can you do? According to the man must be the lesson. —Would you aught else with us?

DEM. Your reformation.

SYRUS. Do you go hence into the country?

DEM. Straight.

SYRUS. For what should you do here, where nobody, However good your precepts, cares to mind them? (Exit.

[Changes:

Harper SYRUS. We've just Disclos'd the whole of this affair to Micio, Colman 1768 SYRUS. We've just disclos'd The whole of this affair to Micio,

Harper DEM. So! if you'd have your business well ta'en care of, Colman 1768 DEM. So! if you'd have your business well discharg'd

Harper Cleanse you the rest of those fish, Dromo: let Colman 1768 Here! Hark ye, Dromo! see you gut and scale The other fish immediately: But let

SYRUS. As fathers form their children, so they prove. _Harper text reads "as fathers from"

Harper DEM. But now we're speaking of him, have you seen The lad to-day? SYRUS. Your son d'ye mean?—I'll drive him Into the country. —He is hard at work Upon your grounds by this time. DEM. Are you sure on't? Colman 1768 DEM. But, prithee, have you seen the lad to-day? SYRUS. Your son, d'ye mean?—I'll drive him out of town. He's hard at work upon your grounds by this time. DEM. Ay? Are you sure he's gone into the country?]

Harper Do you commit these crimes? and do you bring Such a disgrace upon our family? Colman 1768 These your persuits? enormities like these? Oh shame! oh scandal to our family!

Harper Is commendable. Colman 1768 Is highly commendable.]

SCENE V.

DEMEA alone.

I then will hence, since he, on whose account I hither came, is gone into the country. He is my only care, He's my concern. My brother, since he needs will have it so, May look to AEschinus himself.——But who Is coming yonder? Hegio, of our tribe? If I see plainly, beyond doubt 'tis he. Ah, we've been old acquaintance quite from boys; And such men nowadays are wondrous scarce. A citizen of ancient faith and virtue! The commonwealth will ne'er reap harm from him. How I rejoice to see but the remains Of this old stock! Ah, life's a pleasure now. I'll wait, that I may ask about his health, And have a little conversation with him.

SCENE VI.

Enter HEGIO, GETA conversing at a distance.

HEGIO. Good Heaven! a most unworthy action, Geta!

GETA. Ev'n so.

HEGIO. A deed so base Sprung from that family?—Oh AEschinus, I'm sure this was not acting like your father.

DEM. (behind.) So! he has heard about this Music-Girl, And is affected at it, though a stranger, While his good father truly thinks it nothing. Oh monstrous! would that he were somewhere nigh, And heard all this!

HEGIO. Unless they do what's just, They shall not carry off the matter thus.

GETA. Our only hope is in you, Hegio. You're our sole friend, our guardian, and our father, The good old Simulus, on his death-bed Bequeath'd us to your care. If you desert us, We are undone indeed.

HEGIO. Ah, name it not! I will not, and with honesty, I can not.

DEM. I'll go up to him.—Save you, Hegio!

HEGIO. The man I look'd for.—Save you, Demea!

DEM. Your pleasure!

HEGIO. AEschinus, your elder son, Adopted by your brother, has committed A deed unworthy of an honest man, And of a gentleman.

DEM. How so?

HEGIO. You knew Our friend and good acquaintance, Simulus?

DEM. Aye, sure.

HEGIO. He has debauch'd his daughter.

DEM. How!

HEGIO. Hold, Demea, for the worst is still to come.

DEM. Is there aught worse?

HEGIO. Much worse: for this perhaps Might be excus'd. The night, love, wine, and youth, Might prompt him. 'Tis the frailty of our nature. —Soon as his sense returning made him conscious Of his rash outrage, of his own accord He came to the girl's mother, weeping, praying. Entreating, vowing constancy, and swearing That he would take her home.—He was forgiven; The thing conceal'd; and his vows credited. The girl from that encounter prov'd with child: This is the tenth month.—He, good gentleman, Has got a music-girl, Heav'n bless the mark! With whom he means to live, and quit the other.

DEM. And are you well assur'd of this?

HEGIO. The mother, The girl, the fact itself, are all before you, Joining to vouch the truth on't. And besides, This Geta here—as servants go, no bad one, Nor given up to idleness—maintains them; The sole support of all the family. Here take him, bind him, force the truth from him.

GETA. Aye, torture me, if 'tis not so, good Demea! Nay, AEschinus, I'm sure, will not deny it. Bring me before him.

DEM. (aside). I'm asham'd: and what To do, or what to say to him, I know not.

PAMPHILA (within). Ah me! I'm torn in pieces!—Racking pains! Juno Lucina, help me! save, I pray thee!

HEGIO. Ha! Is she then in labor, Geta?

GETA. Yes, Sir.

HEGIO. Hark! she now calls upon your justice, Demea! Grant her then freely, what law else will claim. And Heaven send, that you may rather do What honor bids! but if you mean it not, Be sure of this; that with my utmost force I'll vindicate the girl, and her dead father; He was my kinsman; we were bred together From children; and our fortunes twin'd together In war, and peace, and bitter poverty. Wherefore I'll try, endeavor, strive, nay lose My life itself, before I will forsake them. —What is your answer?

DEM. I'll find out my brother: What he advises, I will follow, Hegio.

HEGIO. But still remember, Demea, that the more You live at ease; the more your pow'r, your wealth, Your riches, and nobility; the more It is your duty to act honorably, If you regard the name of honest men.

DEM. Go to: we'll do you justice.

HEGIO. 'Twill become you. Geta, conduct me in to Sostrata. (Exit with GETA.

[Changes:

Harper HEGIO. Good Heaven! a most unworthy action, Geta! GETA. Ev'n so. HEGIO. A deed so base Sprung from that family?—Oh AEschinus, I'm sure this was not acting like your father. DEM. So! he has heard about this Music-Girl, Colman 1768 HEGIO. Can it be true? GETA. Ev'n so. HEGIO. A deed so base Sprung from that family?—Oh AEschinus, This was not acting like your father. DEM. So! He has just heard about this Musick-Girl,

Harper HEGIO. Unless they do what's just Colman 1768 HEGIO. Unless they do you justice

Harper The good old Simulus, on his death-bed Colman 1768 On his death-bed, the good old Simulus

Harper HEGIO. AEschinus, your elder son, Adopted by your brother, has committed Colman 1768 HEGIO. AEschinus, your elder son, Your brother's by adoption, has committed

HEGIO. Ha! Is she then in labor, Geta? "Geta" italicized in Harper edition]

SCENE VII.

DEMEA alone.

This is no more than I foretold: and well If his intemp'rance would stop here!—But this Immoderate indulgence must produce Some terrible misfortune in the end. —I'll hence, find out my brother, tell my news, And empty all my indignation on him. (Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Re-enter HEGIO, speaking to SOSTRATA at the door.

Be of good cheer, my Sostrata; and comfort, As much as in your pow'r, poor Pamphila! I'll find out Micio, if he's at the Forum, And tell him the whole story: if he'll act With honor in it, why 'tis well; if not, Let him but speak his mind to me, and then I shall know how to act accordingly. (Exit.



ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

CTESIPHO, SYRUS.

CTES. My father gone into the country, say you?

SYRUS. Long since.

CTES. Nay; speak the truth!

SYRUS. He's at his farm, And hard at work, I warrant you.

CTES. I wish, So that his health were not the worse for it, He might so heartily fatigue himself, As to be forc'd to keep his bed these three days!

SYRUS. I wish so too; and more, if possible.

CTES. With all my heart: for I would fain consume, As I've begun, the livelong day in pleasure. Nor do I hate that farm of ours so much For any thing, as that it is so near. For if 'twas at a greater distance, night Would come upon him ere he could return. But now, not finding me, I'm very sure He'll hobble back again immediately; Question me where I've been, that I've not seen him All the day long; and what shall I reply?

SYRUS. What? can you think of nothing?

CTES. No, not I.

SYRUS. So much the worse.—Have you no client, friend, Or guest?

CTES. I have. What then?

SYRUS. You've been engag'd With them.

CTES. When not engag'd? It can not be.

SYRUS. It may.

CTES. Aye, marry, for the day I grant you. But if I pass the night here, what excuse Then, Syrus?

SYRUS. Ah! I would it were the custom To be engag'd at night too with one's friends! —But be at ease! I know his mind so well, That when he raves the loudest, I can make him As gentle as a lamb.

CTES. How so?

SYRUS. He loves To hear you prais'd. I sing your praises to him, And make you out a little God.

CTES. Me!

SYRUS. You. And then the old man blubbers like a child, For very joy.—But have a care! (Looking out.)

CTES. What now?

SYRUS. The wolf i' th' fable!

CTES. What, my father?

SYRUS. He.

CTES. What's the best, Syrus?

SYRUS. In! fly! I'll take care.

CTES. You have not seen me, if he asks: d'ye hear?

SYRUS. Can't you be quiet? (Pushes out CTESIPHO.)

SCENE II.

Enter DEMEA at another part of the stage.

DEM. Verily I am A most unhappy man! for first of all, I can not find my brother any where: And then besides, in looking after him, I chanc'd on one of my day laborers, Who had but newly left my farm, and told me Ctesipho was not there. What shall I do?

{CTESIPHO and SYRUS apart.}

CTES. (peeping out.) Syrus?

SYRUS. What?

CTES. Does he seek me?

SYRUS. Yes.

CTES. Undone!

SYRUS. Courage!

DEM. (to himself). Plague on it, what ill luck is this? I can't account for it: but I believe That I was born for nothing but misfortunes. I am the first who feels our woes; the first Who knows of them; the first who tells the news: And come what may, I bear the weight alone.

SYRUS (behind). Ridiculous! he says he knows all first; And he alone is ignorant of all.

DEM. I'm now return'd to see if Micio Be yet come home again.

{CTESIPHO and SYRUS apart.}

CTES. (peeping out). Take care, good Syrus, He don't rush in upon us unawares!

SYRUS. Peace! I'll take care.

CTES. 'Faith, I'll not trust to you, But shut myself and her in some by-place Together: that's the safest.

SYRUS. Well, away! (CTESIPHO disappears.) I'll drive the old man hence, I warrant you.

DEM. (seeing SYRUS). But see that rascal Syrus coming hither!

SYRUS (advancing hastily, and pretending not to see DEMEA). By Hercules, there is no living here, For any one, at this rate.—I'd fain know How many masters I'm to have.—Oh monstrous!

DEM. What does he howl for? what's the meaning on't? Hark ye, my good Sir! prithee tell me if My brother be at home.

SYRUS. My good Sir! Plague! Why do you come with your good Sirs to me? I'm half-kill'd.

DEM. What's the matter?

SYRUS. What's the matter! Ctesipho, vengeance on him, fell upon me, And cudgel'd me and the poor Music-Girl Almost to death.

DEM. Indeed?

SYRUS. Indeed. Nay see How he has cut my lip. (Pretending to show it.)

DEM. On what account?

SYRUS. The girl, he says, was bought by my advice.

DEM. Did not you say you saw him out of town A little while ago?

SYRUS. And so I did. But he came back soon after, like a madman. He had no mercy.—Was not he asham'd To beat a poor old fellow? to beat me; Who bore him in my arms but t'other day, An urchin thus high? (Showing.)

DEM. Oh rare, Ctesipho! Father's own son! a man, I warrant him.

SYRUS. Oh rare, d'ye cry? I' faith, if he is wise, He'll hold his hands another time.

DEM. Oh brave!

SYRUS. Oh mighty brave, indeed!—Because he beat A helpless girl, and me a wretched slave, Who durst not strike again;—oh, to be sure, Mighty brave, truly!

DEM. Oh, most exquisite! My Ctesipho perceived, as well as I, That you was the contriver of this business. —But is my brother here?

SYRUS. Not he. (Sulkily.)

DEM. I'm thinking Where I shall seek him.

SYRUS. I know where he is: But I'll not tell.

DEM. How, Sirrah?

SYRUS. Even so.

DEM. I'll break your head.

SYRUS. I can not tell the name Of him he's gone to, but I know the place.

DEM. Well, where's the place?

SYRUS. D'ye know the Portico Just by the market, down this way? (Pointing.)

DEM. I do.

SYRUS. Go up that street; keep straight along: and then You'll see a hill; go straight down that: and then On this hand, there's a chapel; and just by A narrow lane. (Pointing.)

DEM. Where? (Looking.)

SYRUS. There; by the great wild fig-tree. D'ye know it, Sir?

DEM. I do.

SYRUS. Go through that lane.

DEM. That lane's no thoroughfare.

SYRUS. Aye, very true: No more it is, Sir.—What a fool I am! I was mistaken—You must go quite back Into the portico; and after all, This is the nearest and the safest way. —D'ye know Cratinus' house? the rich man?

DEM. Aye.

SYRUS. When you've pass'd that, turn short upon the left. Keep straight along that street, and when you reach Diana's Temple, turn upon the right. And then, on this side of the city gate, Just by the pond, there is a baker's shop, And opposite a joiner's.—There he is.

DEM. What business has he there?

SYRUS. He has bespoke Some tables to be made with oaken legs To stand the sun.

DEM. For you to drink upon. Oh brave! But I lose time. I'll after him. (Exit hastily.

[Changes:

Harper SYRUS. Go up that street; keep straight along: and then Colman 1768 SYRUS. Go straight along that street: and at the end]

SCENE III.

SYRUS alone.

Aye, go your ways! I'll work your old shrunk shanks As you deserve, old Drybones!—AEschinus Loiters intolerably. Dinner's spoil'd. Ctesipho thinks of nothing but his girl. 'Tis time for me to look to myself too. Faith, then I'll in immediately; pick out All the tid-bits, and tossing off my cups, In lazy leisure lengthen out the day. (Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter MICIO and HEGIO.

MICIO. I can see nothing in this matter, Hegio, Wherein I merit so much commendation. 'Tis but my duty, to redress the wrongs That we have caus'd: unless perhaps you took me For one of those who, having injur'd you, Term fair expostulation an affront; And having first offended, are the first To turn accusers.—I've not acted thus: And is't for this that I am thank'd?

HEGIO. Ah, no; I never thought you other than you are. But let me beg you, Micio, go with me To the young woman's mother, and repeat Yourself to her what you have just told me: —That the suspicion, fall'n on AEschinus, Sprung from his brother and the Music-Girl.

MICIO. If you believe I ought, or think it needful, Let's go!

HEGIO. 'Tis very kind in you: for thus You'll raise her spirit drooping with the load Of grief and misery, and have perform'd Ev'ry good office of benevolence. But if you like it not, I'll go myself, And tell her the whole story.

MICIO. No, I'll go.

HEGIO. 'Tis good and tender in your nature, Micio. For they, whose fortunes are less prosperous, Are all I know not how, the more suspicious; And think themselves neglected and contemn'd, Because of their distress and poverty. Wherefore I think 'twould satisfy them more If you would clear up this affair yourself.

MICIO. What you have said is just, and very true.

HEGIO. Let me conduct you in!

MICIO. With all my heart. (Exeunt.

SCENE V.

AESCHINUS alone.

Oh torture to my mind! that this misfortune Should come thus unexpectedly upon me! I know not what to do, which way to turn. Fear shakes my limbs, amazement fills my soul, And in my breast despair shuts out all counsel. Ah, by what means can I acquit myself? Such a suspicion is now fallen on me; And that too grounded on appearances. Sostrata thinks that on my own account I bought the Music-Girl. That's plain enough From the old nurse. For meeting her by chance, As she was sent from hence to call a midwife, I ran, and ask'd her of my Pamphila. —"Is she in labor? are you going now To call a midwife?"—"Go, go, AEschinus! Away, you have deceiv'd us long enough, Fool'd us enough with your fine promises," Cried she.—"What now?" says I.—"Farewell, enjoy The girl that you're so taken with!"—I saw Immediately their cause of jealousy: Yet I contain'd myself, nor would disclose My brother's business to a tattling gossip, By whom the knowledge on't might be betray'd. —But what shall I do now? shall I confess The girl to be my brother's; an affair Which should by no means be reveal'd?—But not To dwell on that.—Perhaps they'd not disclose it. Nay, I much doubt if they would credit it: So many proofs concur against myself.—— I bore her off: I paid the money down; She was brought home to me.—All this, I own, Is my own fault. For should I not have told My father, be it as it might, the whole? I should, I doubt not, have obtain'd his leave To marry Pamphila.—What indolence, Ev'n, till this hour! now, AEschinus, awake! —But first I'll go and clear myself to them. I'll to the door. (Goes up.) Confusion! how I tremble! How guilty like I seem when I approach This house! (Knocks.) Holloa! within! 'Tis I; 'Tis AEschinus. Come, open somebody The door immediately!—Who's here? A stranger! I'll step aside. (Retires.)

SCENE VI.

Enter MICIO.

MICIO (to SOSTRATA, within). Do as I have told you, Sostrata. I'll find out AEschinus, and tell him all. —But who knock'd at the door? (Coming forward.)

AESCH. (behind). By Heav'n, my father! Confusion!

MICIO (seeing him). AEschinus!

AESCH. What does he here? (Aside.)

MICIO. Was't you that knock'd? What, not a word! Suppose I banter him a little. He deserves it, For never trusting this affair to me. (Aside.) —Why don't you speak?

AESCH. Not I, as I remember. (Disordered.)

MICIO. No, I dare say, not you: for I was wond'ring What business could have brought you here.—He blushes. All's safe, I find. (Aside.)

AESCH. (recovering.) But prithee, tell me, Sir, What brought you here?

MICIO. No business of my own. But a friend drew me hither from the Forum, To be his advocate.

AESCH. In what?

MICIO. I'll tell you. This house is tenanted by some poor women, Whom, I believe, you know not;—Nay, I'm sure on't, For 'twas but lately they came over hither.

AESCH. Well?

MICIO. A young woman and her mother.

AESCH. Well?

MICIO. The father's dead.—This friend of mine, it seems, Being her next relation, by the law Is forc'd to marry her.

AESCH. Confusion! (Aside.)

MICIO. How?

AESCH. Nothing.—Well?—pray go on, Sir!——

MICIO. He's now come To take her home, for he is of Miletus.

AESCH. How! take her home with him?

MICIO. Yes, take her home.

AESCH. What, to Miletus?

MICIO. Aye.

AESCH. Oh torture! (Aside.)— Well? What say the women?

MICIO. Why, what should they? Nothing. Indeed the mother has devis'd a tale About her daughter's having had a child By some one else, but never mentions whom: His claim, she says, is prior; and my friend Ought not to have her.

AESCH. Well? and did not this Seem a sufficient reason?

MICIO. No.

AESCH. No, Sir? And shall this next relation take her off?

MICIO. Aye, to be sure: why not?

AESCH. Oh barbarous, cruel! And to speak plainly, Sir—ungenerous!

MICIO. Why so?

AESCH. Why so, Sir?—What d'ye think Will come of him, the poor unhappy youth Who was connected with her first—who still Loves her, perhaps, as dearly as his life;—— When he shall see her torn out of his arms, And borne away forever?—Oh shame, shame!

MICIO. Where is the shame on't?—Who betroth'd, who gave her? When was she married? and to whom? Where is he, And wherefore did he wed another's right?

AESCH. Was it for her, a girl of such an age, To sit at home, expecting till a kinsman Came, nobody knows whence, to marry her? —This, Sir, it was your business to have said, And to have dwelt on it.

MICIO. Ridiculous! Should I have pleaded against him to whom I came an advocate?—But after all, What's this affair to us? or, what have we To do with them? let's go!—Ha! why those tears?

AESCH. Father, beseech you, hear me!

MICIO. AEschinus, I have heard all, and I know all, already: For I do love you; wherefore all your actions Touch me the more.

AESCH. So may you ever love me, And so may I deserve your love, my father, As I am sorry to have done this fault, And am asham'd to see you!

MICIO. I believe it; For well I know you have a liberal mind: But I'm afraid you are too negligent, For in what city do you think you live? You have abus'd a virgin, whom the law Forbade your touching.—'Twas a fault, a great one; But yet a natural failing. Many others, Some not bad men, have often done the same. —But after this event, can you pretend You took the least precaution? or consider'd What should be done, or how?—If shame forbade Your telling me yourself, you should have found Some other means to let me know of it. Lost in these doubts, ten months have slipp'd away. You have betray'd, as far as in you lay, Yourself, the poor young woman, and your child. What! did you think the Gods would bring about This business in your sleep; and that your wife, Without your stir, would be convey'd to you Into your bed-chamber?—I would not have you Thus negligent in other matters.—Come, Cheer up, son! you shall wed her.

AESCH. How!

MICIO. Cheer up, I say!

AESCH. Nay, prithee, do not mock me, father!

MICIO. Mock you? I? wherefore?

AESCH. I don't know; unless That I so much desire it may be true, I therefore fear it more.

MICIO. —Away; go home; And pray the Gods, that you may call your wife Away!

AESCH. How's that? my wife? what! now?

MICIO. Now.

AESCH. Now?

MICIO. Ev'n now, as soon as possible.

AESCH. May all The Gods desert me, Sir, but I do love you, More than my eyes!

MICIO. Than her?

AESCH. As well.

MICIO. That's much.

AESCH. But where is that Milesian?

MICIO. Gone: Vanish'd: on board the ship.—But why d'ye loiter?

AESCH. Ah, Sir, you rather go, and pray the Gods; For, being a much better man than I, They will the sooner hear your pray'rs.

MICIO. I'll in, To see the needful preparations made. You, if you're wise, do as I said. (Exit.

[Changes:

More than my eyes! Harper edition has question mark

SCENE VII.

AESCHINUS alone.

How's this? Is this to be a father? Or is this To be a son?—Were he my friend or brother, Could he be more complacent to my wish? Should I not love him? bear him in my bosom! Ah! his great kindness has so wrought upon me, That it shall be the study of my life To shun all follies, lest they give him pain. —But I'll in straight, that I may not retard My marriage by my own delay. (Exit.

[Changes:

Harper —But I'll in straight, that I may not retard My marriage by my own delay. Colman 1768 But wherefore do I loiter here, and thus Retard my marriage by my own delay?

SCENE VIII.

DEMEA alone.

I'm tir'd With walking.—Now great Jove confound you, Syrus; You and your blind directions! I have crawl'd All the town over: to the gate; the pond; Where not? No sign of any shop was there, Nor any person who had seen my brother. —Now I'll in, therefore, and set up my rest In his own house, till he comes home again. (Going.

[Changes:

Harper I'm tir'd With walking.—Now great Jove confound you, Syrus; Colman 1768 I've walk'd, and walk'd, till I'm quite tir'd with walking. —Almighty Jove confound you, Syrus, I say;]

SCENE IX.

Enter MICIO.

MICIO. I'll go and let the women know we're ready.

DEM. But here he is.—I have long sought you, Micio.

MICIO. What now?

DEM. I bring you more offenses: great ones; Of that sweet youth——

MICIO. See there!

DEM. New; capital!

MICIO. Nay, nay, no more!

DEM. Ah, you don't know——

MICIO. I do.

DEM. O fool, you think I mean the Music-Girl. This is a rape upon a citizen.

MICIO. I know it.

DEM. How? d'ye know it, and endure it?

MICIO. Why not endure it?

DEM. Tell me, don't you rave? Don't you go mad?

MICIO. No: to be sure I'd rather——

DEM. There's a child born.

MICIO. Heav'n bless it!

DEM. And the girl Has nothing.

MICIO. I have heard so.

DEM. And is he To marry her without a fortune?

MICIO. Aye.

DEM. What's to be done then?

MICIO. What the case requires. The girl shall be brought over here.

DEM. Oh Jove! Can that be proper?

MICIO. What can I do else?

DEM. What can you do!—If you're not really griev'd, It were at least your duty to appear so.

MICIO. I have contracted the young woman to him: The thing is settled: 'tis their wedding-day: And all their apprehensions I've remov'd. This is still more my duty.

DEM. Are you pleas'd then With this adventure, Micio?

MICIO. Not at all, If I could help it: now 'tis past all cure, I bear it patiently. The life of man Is like a game at tables. If the cast Which is most necessary be not thrown, That which chance sends you must correct by art.

DEM. Oh rare Corrector!—By your art no less Than twenty minae have been thrown away On yonder Music-wench; who out of hand, Must be sent packing; if no buyer, gratis.

MICIO. Not in the least; nor do I mean to sell her.

DEM. What will you do, then?

MICIO. Keep her in my house.

DEM. Oh Heav'n and earth! a harlot and a wife In the same house!

MICIO. Why not?

DEM. Have you your wits?

MICIO. Truly I think so.

DEM. Now, so help me Heav'n, Seeing your folly, I believe you keep her To sing with you.

MICIO. Why not?

DEM. And the young bride Shall be her pupil?

MICIO. To be sure.

DEM. And you Dance hand in hand with them?

MICIO. Aye.

DEM. Aye?

MICIO. And you Make one among us too upon occasion.

DEM. Ah! are you not asham'd on't?

MICIO. Patience, Demea! Lay by your wrath, and seem, as it becomes you, Cheerful and free of heart at your son's wedding. —I'll but speak with the bride and Sostrata, And then return to you immediately. (Exit.

[Changes:

Harper —I'll but speak with the bride and Sostrata Colman 1768 —I'll go and warn the bride and Sostrata]

SCENE X.

DEMEA alone.

Jove, what a life! what manners! what distraction! A bride just coming home without a portion; A Music-Girl already there in keeping: A house of waste; the youth a libertine; Th' old man a dotard!—'Tis not in the pow'r Of Providence herself, howe'er desirous, To save from ruin such a family.

SCENE XI.

Enter at a distance SYRUS, drunk.

SYRUS. (to himself). Faith, little Syrus, you've ta'en special care Of your sweet self, and play'd your part most rarely. —Well, go your ways:—but having had my fill Of ev'ry thing within, I've now march'd forth To take a turn or two abroad.

DEM. (behind). Look there! A pattern of instruction!

SYRUS. (seeing him). But see there: Yonder's old Demea. (Going up to him.) What's the matter now? And why so melancholy?

DEM. Oh thou villain!

SYRUS. What! are you spouting sentences, old wisdom?

DEM. Were you my servant——

SYRUS. You'd be plaguy rich, And settle your affairs most wonderfully.

DEM. I'd make you an example.

SYRUS. Why? for what?

DEM. Why, Sirrah?—In the midst of the disturbance, And in the heat of a most heavy crime, While all is yet confusion, you've got drunk, As if for joy, you rascal!

SYRUS. Why the plague Did not I keep within? (Aside.)

SCENE XII.

Enter DROMO, hastily.

DROMO. Here! hark ye, Syrus! Ctesipho begs that you'd come back.

SYRUS. Away! (Pushes him off.)

DEM. What's this he says of Ctesipho?

SYRUS. Pshaw! nothing.

DEM. How! dog, is Ctesipho within?

SYRUS. Not he.

DEM. Why does he name him then?

SYRUS. It is another. Of the same name—a little parasite—— D'ye know him?

DEM. But I will immediately. (Going.)

SYRUS. (stopping him). What now? where now?

{DEMEA and SYRUS struggling.}

DEM. Let me alone.

SYRUS. Don't go!

DEM. Hands off! what won't you? must I brain you, rascal? (Disengages himself from SYRUS, and Exit.

SCENE XIII.

SYRUS alone.

He's gone—gone in—and faith no welcome roarer—— —Especially to Ctesipho.—But what Can I do now; unless, till this blows over, I sneak into some corner, and sleep off This wine that lies upon my head?—I'll do't. (Exit reeling.

SCENE XIV.

Enter MICIO from SOSTRATA.

MICIO. (to SOSTRATA within). All is prepar'd: and we are ready, Sostrata, As I have already told you, when you please. (Comes forward.) But who's this forces open our street door With so much violence?

Enter DEMEA on t'other side.

DEM. Confusion! death! What shall I do? or how resolve? where vent My cries and exclamations? Heav'n! Earth! Sea!

MICIO (behind.) So! all's discover'd: that's the thing he raves at. —Now for a quarrel!—I must help the boy.

DEM. (seeing him.) Oh, there's the grand corrupter of our children!

MICIO. Appease your wrath, and be yourself again!

DEM. Well, I've appeas'd it; I'm myself again; I spare reproaches; let us to the point! It was agreed between us, and it was Your own proposal too, that you should never Concern yourself with Ctesipho, nor I With AEschinus. Say, was't not so?

MICIO. It was. I don't deny it.

DEM. Why does Ctesipho Revel with you then? Why do you receive him? Buy him a mistress, Micio?—Is not justice My due from you, as well as yours from me? Since I do not concern myself with yours, Meddle not you with mine!

MICIO. This is not fair; Indeed it is not. Think on the old saying, "All things are common among friends."

DEM. How smart! Put off with quips and sentences at last!

MICIO. Nay, hear me, if you can have patience, Demea. —First, if you're griev'd at their extravagance, Let this reflection calm you! Formerly, You bred them both according to your fortune, Supposing it sufficient for them both: Then too you thought that I should take a wife. Still follow the old rule you then laid down: Hoard, scrape, and save; do ev'ry thing you can To leave them nobly! Be that glory yours. My fortune, fall'n beyond their hopes upon them, Let them use freely! As your capital Will not be wasted, what addition comes From mine, consider as clear gain: and thus, Weighing all this impartially, you'll spare Yourself, and me, and them, a world of trouble.

DEM. Money is not the thing: their morals——

MICIO. Hold! I understand; and meant to speak of that. There are in nature sundry marks, good Demea, By which you may conjecture easily, That when two persons do the self-same thing, It oftentimes falls out that in the one 'Tis criminal, in t'other 'tis not so: Not that the thing itself is different, But he who does it.—In these youths I see The marks of virtue; and, I trust, they'll prove Such as we wish them. They have sense, I know; Attention; in its season, liberal shame; And fondness for each other; all sure signs Of an ingenuous mind and noble nature: And though they stray, you may at any time Reclaim them.—But perhaps you fear they'll prove Too inattentive to their interest. Oh my dear Demea, in all matters else Increase of years increases wisdom in us: This only vice age brings along with it; "We're all more worldly-minded than there's need:" Which passion age, that kills all passions else, Will ripen in your sons too.

DEM. Have a care That these fine arguments and this great mildness Don't prove the ruin of us, Micio.

MICIO. Peace! It shall not be: away with all your fears! This day be rul'd by me: come, smooth your brow.

DEM. Well, since at present things are so, I must, But then I'll to the country with my son To-morrow, at first peep of day.

MICIO. At midnight, So you'll but smile to-day.

DEM. And that wench too I'll drag away with me.

MICIO. Aye; there you've hit it. For by that means you'll keep your son at home; Do but secure her.

DEM. I'll see that: for there I'll put her in the kitchen and the mill, And make her full of ashes, smoke, and meal: Nay at high noon too she shall gather stubble. I'll burn her up, and make her black as coal.

MICIO. Right! now you're wise.—And then I'd make my son Go to bed to her, though against his will.

DEM. D'ye laugh at me? how happy in your temper! I feel——

MICIO. Ah! that again?

DEM. I've done.

MICIO. In then! And let us suit our humor to the time. (Exeunt.

[Changes:

Harper By which you may conjecture easily, That when two persons do the self-same thing, It oftentimes falls out that in the one 'Tis criminal, in t'other 'tis not so: Colman 1768 By which you may conjecture of men's minds; And when two persons do the self-same thing, May oftentimes pronounce, that in the one 'Tis dangerous, in t'other 'tis not so]



ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

DEMEA alone.

Never did man lay down so fair a plan, So wise a rule of life, but fortune, age, Or long experience made some change in it; And taught him that those things he thought he knew He did not know, and what he held as best, In practice he threw by. The very thing That happens to myself. For that hard life Which I have ever led, my race near run, Now in the last stage, I renounce: and why? But that by dear experience I've been told, There's nothing so advantages a man As mildness and complacency. Of this My brother and myself are living proofs: He always led an easy, cheerful life; Good-humor'd, mild, offending nobody, Smiling on all; a jovial bachelor, His whole expenses centred in himself. I, on the contrary, rough, rigid, cross, Saving, morose, and thrifty, took a wife: —What miseries did marriage bring!—had children; —A new uneasiness!—and then besides, Striving all ways to make a fortune for them, I have worn out my prime of life and health: And now, my course near finish'd, what return Do I receive for all my toil? Their hate. Meanwhile my brother, without any care, Reaps all a father's comforts. Him they love, Me they avoid: to him they open all Their secret counsels; doat on him; and both Repair to him; while I am quite forsaken. His life they pray for, but expect my death. Thus those, brought up by my exceeding labor, He, at a small expense, has made his own: The care all mine, and all the pleasure his. —Well then, let me endeavor in my turn To teach my tongue civility, to give With open-handed generosity, Since I am challeng'd to't!—and let me too Obtain the love and reverence of my children! And if 'tis bought by bounty and indulgence, I will not be behind-hand.—Cash will fail: What's that to me, who am the eldest born?

SCENE II.

Enter SYRUS.

SYRUS. Oh Sir! your brother has dispatch'd me to you To beg you'd not go further off.

DEM. Who's there?—— What, honest Syrus! save you: how is't with you? How goes it?

SYRUS. Very well, Sir.

DEM. (aside.) Excellent! Now for the first time, I, against my nature, Have added these three phrases, "Honest Syrus!—— How is't?—How goes it?"— (To SYRUS.) You have prov'd yourself A worthy servant. I'll reward you for it.

SYRUS. I thank you, Sir.

DEM. I will, I promise you; And you shall be convinc'd on't very soon.

SCENE III.

Enter GETA.

GETA (to SOSTRATA within). Madam, I'm going to look after them, That they may call the bride immediately. —But here is Demea. Save you!

DEM. Oh! your name?

GETA. Geta, Sir.

DEM. Geta, I this day have found you To be a fellow of uncommon worth: For sure that servant's faith is well approv'd Who holds his master's interest at heart, As I perceiv'd that you did, Geta! wherefore, Soon as occasion offers, I'll reward you. —I am endeavoring to be affable, And not without success. (Aside.)

GETA. 'Tis kind in you To think of your poor slave, Sir.

DEM. (aside.) First of all I court the mob, and win them by degrees.

SCENE IV.

Enter AESCHINUS.

AESCH. They murder me with their delays; and while They lavish all this pomp upon the nuptials, They waste the livelong day in preparation.

DEM. How does my son?

AESCH. My father! are you here?

DEM. Aye, by affection, and by blood your father, Who love you better than my eyes.—But why Do you not call the bride?

AESCH. 'Tis what I long for: But wait the music and the singers.

DEM. Pshaw! Will you for once be rul'd by an old fellow?

AESCH. Well?

DEM. Ne'er mind singers, company, lights, music; But tell them to throw down the garden-wall, As soon as possible. Convey the bride That way, and lay both houses into one. Bring too the mother, and whole family, Over to us.

AESCH. I will. O charming father!

DEM. (aside). Charming! See there! he calls me charming now. —My brother's house will be a thoroughfare; Throng'd with whole crowds of people; much expense Will follow; very much: what's that to me? I am call'd charming, and get into favor. —Ho! order Babylo immediately To pay him twenty minae.—Prithee, Syrus, Why don't you execute your orders?

SYRUS. What?

DEM. Down with the wall!— (Exit SYRUS.) You, Geta, go and bring The ladies over.

GETA. Heaven bless you, Demea, For all your friendship to our family! (Exit GETA.

DEM. They're worthy of it.—What say you to this? (To AESCHINUS.)

AESCH. I think it admirable.

DEM. 'Tis much better Than for a poor soul, sick, and lying-in, To be conducted through the street.

AESCH. I never Saw any thing concerted better, Sir.

DEM. 'Tis just my way.—But here comes Micio.

SCENE V.

Enter MICIO.

MICIO (at entering.) My brother order it, d'ye say? where is he? —Was this your order, Demea?

DEM. 'Twas my order: And by this means, and every other way, I would unite, serve, cherish, and oblige, And join the family to ours!

AESCH. Pray do, Sir! (To MICIO.)

MICIO. I don't oppose it.

DEM. Nay, but 'tis our duty. First, there's the mother of the bride——

MICIO. What then?

DEM. Worthy and modest.

MICIO. So they say.

DEM. In years.

MICIO. True.

DEM. And so far advanc'd, that she is long Past child-bearing, a poor lone woman too, With none to comfort her.

MICIO. What means all this?

DEM. This woman 'tis your place to marry, brother; —And yours (to AESCHINUS) to bring him to't.

MICIO. I marry her?

DEM. You.

MICIO. I?

DEM. Yes, you I say.

MICIO. Ridiculous!

DEM. (to AESCHINUS). If you're a man, he'll do't.

AESCH. (to MICIO). Dear father!

MICIO. How! Do you then join him, fool?

DEM. Nay, don't deny. It can't be otherwise.

MICIO. You've lost your senses!

AESCH. Let me prevail upon you, Sir!

MICIO. You're mad. Away!

DEM. Oblige your son.

MICIO. Have you your wits? I a new married man at sixty-five! And marry a decrepit poor old woman! Is that what you advise me!

AESCH. Do it, Sir! I've promis'd them.

MICIO. You've promis'd them, indeed! Prithee, boy, promise for yourself.

DEM. Come, come! What if he ask'd still more of you?

MICIO. As if This was not ev'n the utmost.

DEM. Nay, comply!

AESCH. Be not obdurate!

DEM. Come, come, promise him.

MICIO. Won't you desist?

AESCH. No, not till I prevail.

MICIO. This is mere force.

DEM. Nay, nay, comply, good Micio!

MICIO. Though this appears to me absurd, wrong, foolish, And quite repugnant to my scheme of life, Yet, if you're so much bent on't, let it be!

AESCH. Obliging father, worthy my best love!

DEM. (aside). What now?—This answers to my wish.—What more? —Hegio's their kinsman (to MICIO), our relation too, And very poor. We should do him some service.

MICIO. Do what?

DEM. There is a little piece of ground, Which you let out near town. Let's give it him To live upon.

MICIO. So little, do you call it?

DEM. Well, if 'tis large, let's give it. He has been Father to her; a good man; our relation. It will be given worthily. In short, That saying, Micio, I now make my own, Which you so lately and so wisely quoted; "It is the common failing of old men To be too much intent on worldly matters." Let us wipe off that stain. The saying's true, And should be practic'd.

MICIO. Well, well; be it so, If he requires it. (Pointing to AESCHINUS.)

AESCH. I beseech it, father.

DEM. Now you're indeed my brother, soul and body.

MICIO. I'm glad to find you think me so.

DEM. I foil him At his own weapons. (Aside.)

[Changes:

Harper [Demea's entire speech, beginning Well, if 'tis large ...] Colman 1768 DEM. Well, if 'tis large, let's give it. He has been A father to the bride; a worthy man; Our kinsman too. It will be well bestow'd. In short, that saying I now make my own, Which you but now so wisely quoted, Micio; "It is the common failing of old men To be too much intent on worldly matters." Let us wipe off that stain. The saying's true, And worthy notice.]

SCENE VI.

To them SYRUS.

SYRUS. I have executed Your orders, Demea.

DEM. A good fellow!——Truly Syrus, I think, should be made free to-day.

MICIO. Made free! He!——Wherefore?

DEM. Oh, for many reasons.

SYRUS. Oh Demea, you're a noble gentleman. I've taken care of both your sons from boys; Taught them, instructed them, and given them The wholesomest advice that I was able.

DEM. The thing's apparent: and these offices, To cater;—bring a wench in, safe and snug; —Or in mid-day prepare an entertainment;—— All these are talents of no common man.

SYRUS. Oh most delightful gentleman!

DEM. Besides, He has been instrumental too this day In purchasing the Music-Girl. He manag'd The whole affair. We should reward him for it. It will encourage others.—In a word, Your AEschinus would have it so.

MICIO. Do you Desire it?

AESCH. Yes, Sir.

MICIO. Well, if you desire it—— Come hither, Syrus!—Be thou free! (SYRUS kneels; MICIO strikes him, being the ceremony of manumission, or giving a slave his freedom.)

SYRUS. I thank you: Thanks to you all; but most of all, to Demea!

DEM. I'm glad of your good fortune.

AESCH. So am I.

SYRUS. I do believe it; and I wish this joy Were quite complete, and I might see my wife, My Phrygia too, made free, as well as I.

DEM. The very best of women!

SYRUS. And the first That suckled my young master's son, your grandson.

DEM. Indeed! the first who suckled him!—Nay then, Beyond all doubt, she should be free.

MICIO. For what?

DEM. For that. Nay, take the sum, whate'er it be, Of me.

SYRUS. Now all the powers above grant all Your wishes, Demea!

MICIO. You have thriv'd to-day Most rarely, Syrus.

DEM. And besides this, Micio, It would be handsome to advance him something To try his fortune with. He'll soon return it.

MICIO. Not that. (Snapping his fingers.)

AESCH. He's honest.

SYRUS. Faith I will return it. Do but advance it.

AESCH. Do, Sir!

MICIO. Well, I'll think on't.

DEM. I'll see that he shall do't. (To SYRUS.)

SYRUS. Thou best of men!

AESCH. My most indulgent father!

MICIO. What means this? Whence comes this hasty change of manners, brother? Whence flows all this extravagance? and whence This sudden prodigality?

DEM. I'll tell you: To show you, that the reason why our sons Think you so pleasant and agreeable, Is not from your deserts, or truth, or justice, But your compliance, bounty, and indulgence. —Now, therefore, if I'm odious to you, son, Because I'm not subservient to your humor In all things, right or wrong; away with care! Spend, squander, and do what you will!—but if, In those affairs where youth has made you blind, Eager, and thoughtless, you will suffer me To counsel and correct—and in due season Indulge you—I am at your service.

AESCH. Father, In all things we submit ourselves to you. What's fit and proper, you know best.—But what Shall come of my poor brother?

DEM. I consent That he shall have her: let him finish there.

AESCH. All now is as it should be.— (To the audience.) Clap your hands!

* * * * * * * * *

THE STEP-MOTHER.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

PROLOGUE. LACHES. PHIDIPPUS. PAMPHILUS. PARMENO. SOSIA. BOY, and other Servants.

SOSTRATA. MYRRHINA. BACCHIS. PHILOTIS. SYRA. NURSE, Servants to Bacchis, etc.

SCENE, ATHENS.



PROLOGUE.

This play is call'd the STEP-MOTHER. When first It was presented, such a hurricane, A tumult so uncommon interven'd, It neither could be seen nor understood: So taken were the people, so engag'd By a rope-dancer!—It is now brought on As a new piece: and he who wrote the play Suffer'd it not to be repeated then, That he might profit by a second sale. Others, his plays, you have already known; Now then, let me beseech you, know this too.

ANOTHER PROLOGUE.

I come a pleader, in the shape of prologue: Let me then gain my cause, and now grown old. Experience the same favor as when young; Who then recover'd many a lost play, Breath'd a new life into the scenes, and sav'd The author and his writings from oblivion. Of those which first I studied of Caecilius, In some I was excluded; and in some Hardly maintain'd my ground. But knowing well The variable fortunes of the scene, I was content to hazard certain toil For an uncertain gain. I undertook To rescue those same plays from condemnation, And labor'd to reverse your sentence on them; That the same Poet might afford me more, And no ill fortune damp young Genius in him. My cares prevail'd; the plays were heard; and thus Did I restore an Author, nearly lost Through the malevolence of adversaries, To study, labor, and the Poet's art. But had I at that time despis'd his plays, Or labor'd to deter him from the task, It had been easy to have kept him idle, And to have scar'd him from attempting more: For my sake, therefore, deign to hear with candor The suit I mean to offer to you now.

Once more I bring the STEP-MOTHER before you, Which yet in silence I might never play; So did confusion crush it: which confusion Your prudence may allay, if it will deign To second our endeavors.—When I first Began to play this piece, the sturdy Boxers, (The dancers on the rope expected too,) Th' increasing crowds, the noise and women's clamor, Oblig'd me to retire before my time. I, upon this occasion, had recourse To my old way. I brought it on again. In the first act I please: meanwhile there spreads A rumor of the Gladiators: then The people flock together, riot, roar, And fight for places. I meanwhile my place Could not maintain—To-day there's no disturbance; All's silence and attention; a clear stage: 'Tis yours to give these games their proper grace. Let not, oh let not the Dramatic Art Fall to a few! let your authority Assist and second mine! if I for gain Ne'er overrated my abilities, If I have made it still my only care To be obedient to your will, oh grant That he who hath committed his performance To my defense, and who hath thrown himself On your protection, be not giv'n to scorn, And foul derision of his envious foes!

Admit this plea for my sake, and be silent; That other Poets may not fear to write, That I too may hereafter find it meet To play new pieces bought at my expense.



ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

PHILOTIS, SYRA.

PHI. Now, by my troth, a woman of the town Scarce ever finds a faithful lover, Syra. This very Pamphilus, how many times He swore to Bacchis, swore so solemnly One could not but believe him, that he never Would, in her lifetime, marry. See! he's married.

SYRA. I warn you, therefore, and most earnestly Conjure you, to have pity upon none. But plunder, fleece, and beggar ev'ry man That falls into your pow'r.

PHI. What! spare none?

SYRA. None. For know, there is not one of all your sparks But studies to cajole you with fine speeches, And have his will as cheaply as he can. Should not you, then, endeavor to fool them?

PHI. But to treat all alike is wrong.

SYRA. What! wrong? To be reveng'd upon your enemies? Or to snare those who spread their snares for you? —Alas! why have not I your youth and beauty, Or you my sentiments?

SCENE II.

Enter PARMENO.

PAR. (to SCRITUS within). If our old gentleman Asks for me, tell him I'm this very moment Gone to the Port to seek for Pamphilus. D'ye understand my meaning, Scritus? If he asks, Tell him that; if he should not ask, say nothing; That this excuse may serve another time. (Comes forward. —But is not that Philotis? Whence comes she? Philotis, save you!

PHI. Save you, Parmeno!

SYRA. Save you, good Parmeno!

PAR. And save you, Syra! —Tell me, Philotis, where have you been gadding? Taking your pleasure this long time?

PHI. I've taken No pleasure, Parmeno, indeed. I went With a most brutal Captain hence to Corinth, There have I led a wretched life with him For two whole years.

PAR. Aye, aye, I warrant you That you have often wish'd to be in Athens; Often repented of your journey.

PHI. Oh, 'Tis quite impossible to tell how much I long'd to be at home, how much I long'd To leave the Captain, see you, revel with you, After the good old fashion, free and easy. For there I durst not speak a single word, But what, and when the mighty Captain pleas'd.

PAR. 'Twas cruel in him thus to tie your tongue: At least, I'll warrant, that you thought it so.

PHI. But what's this business, Parmeno? this story That Bacchis has been telling me within? I could not have believ'd that Pamphilus Would in her lifetime marry.

PAR. Marry truly!

PHI. Why he is married: is not he?

PAR. He is. But I'm afraid 'twill prove a crazy match, And will not hold together long.

PHI. Heav'n grant it. So it turn out to Bacchis's advantage! But how can I believe this, Parmeno? Tell me.

PAR. It is not fit it should be told. Inquire no more.

PHI. For fear I should divulge it? Now Heav'n so prosper me, as I inquire, Not for the sake of telling it again, But to rejoice within myself.

PAR. All these Fair words, Philotis, sha'n't prevail on me To trust my back to your discretion.

PHI. Well; Don't tell me, Parmeno.—As if you had not Much rather tell this secret than I hear it.

PAR. She's in the right: I am a blab, 'tis true, It is my greatest failing.—Give your word You'll not reveal it, and I'll tell you.

PHI. Now You're like yourself again. I give my word. Speak.

PAR. Listen then.

PHI. I'm all ear.

PAR. Pamphilus Doted on Bacchis still as much as ever, When the old gentleman began to tease him To marry, in the common cant of fathers; —"That he was now grown old; and Pamphilus His only child; and that he long'd for heirs, As props of his old age." At first my master Withstood his instances, but as his father Became more hot and urgent, Pamphilus Began to waver in his mind, and felt A conflict betwixt love and duty in him. At length, by hammering on marriage still, And daily instances, th' old man prevail'd, And made a match with our next neighbor's daughter. Pamphilus did not take it much to heart, Till just upon the very brink of wedlock: But when he saw the nuptial rites prepar'd, And, without respite, he must many; then It came so home to him, that even Bacchis, Had she been present, must have pitied him. Whenever he could steal from company, And talk to me alone,—"Oh Parmeno, What have I done?" he'd cry.—"I'm lost forever. Into what ruin have I plung'd myself! I can not bear it, Parmeno. Ah wretch! I am undone."

PHI. Now all the powers of heav'n Confound you, Laches, for thus teasing him?

PAR. In short, he marries, and brings home his wife. The first night he ne'er touch'd her! nor the next.

PHI. How! he a youth, and she a maidenhead! Tipsy, and never touch her! 'Tis not likely; Nor do I think it can be true.

PAR. No wonder. For they that come to you come all desire: But he was bound to her against his will.

PHI. What followed upon this?

PAR. A few days after, Pamphilus, taking me aside, informs me, "That the maid still remain'd a maid for him; That he had hop'd, before he brought her home, He might have borne the marriage:—but resolving Within myself not to retain her long, I held it neither honesty in me, Nor of advantage to the maid herself, That I should throw her off to scorn:—but rather Return her to her friends, as I receiv'd her, Chaste and inviolate."

PHI. A worthy youth, And of great modesty!

PAR. "To make this public Would not, I think, do well: and to return her Upon her father's hands, no crime alleg'd, As arrogant: but she, I hope, as soon As she perceives she can not live with me, Will of her own accord depart."

PHI. But tell me; Went he meanwhile to Bacchis?

PAR. Every day. But she, as is the way you know, perceiving He was another's property, became More cross and mercenary.

PHI. Troth, no wonder.

PAR. Aye, but 'twas that detach'd him chiefly from her. For when he had examined well himself, Bacchis, and her at home; and had compar'd Their different manners; seeing that his bride, After the fashion of a lib'ral mind, Was decent, modest, patient of affronts, And anxious to conceal the wrongs he did her; Touch'd partly with compassion for his wife, And partly tir'd with t'other's insolence, He by degrees withdrew his heart from Bacchis, Transferring it to her, whose disposition Was so congenial to his own. Meanwhile An old relation of the family Dies in the isle of Imbrus. His estate Comes by the law to them; and our old man Dispatching thither, much against his will, The now-fond Pamphilus, he leaves his wife Here with his mother. The old gentleman Retir'd into the country, and but seldom Comes up to town.

PHI. But what is there in this That can affect the marriage?

PAR. You shall hear Immediately. At first, for some few days, The women seem'd to live on friendly terms: Till all at once the bride, forsooth, conceiv'd A wonderful disgust to Sostrata: And yet there was no open breach between them, And no complaints on either side.

PHI. What then?

PAR. If Sostrata, for conversation' sake, Went to the bride, she instantly withdrew, Shunning her company. At length, not able To bear it any longer, she pretends Her mother had sent for her to assist At some home-sacrifice. Away she went. After a few days' absence, Sostrata Sent for her back. They made some lame excuse, I know not what. She sends again. No lady. Then after several messages, at last They say the gentlewoman's sick. My mistress Goes on a visit to her: not let in. Th' old gentleman, inform'd of all this, came On this occasion yesterday to town; And waited on the father of the bride. What pass'd between them, I as yet can't tell; And yet I long to know the end of this. —There's the whole business. Now I'll on my way.

PHI. And I: for there's a stranger here, with whom I have an assignation.

PAR. Speed the plow!

PHI. Parmeno, fare you well!

PAR. Farewell, Philotis! (Exeunt severally.

[Changes:

Harper PAR. (to SCRITUS within). ... D'ye understand my meaning, Scritus? Colman 1768 PAR. (to SCIRTUS within). ... D'ye understand my meaning, Scirtus?

Harper PAR. All these Fair words, Philotis, sha'n't prevail on me Colman 1768 PAR. No, no: Fair words, Philotis, sha'n't prevail on me

Harper As arrogant: but she, I hope, as soon Colman 1768 Is arrogant: but she, I hope, as soon

The women seem'd to live on friendly terms: Harper edition reads "The woman"

Harper Shunning her company. At length, not able Colman 1768 Shunning her company. At length, unable]



ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

LACHES, SOSTRATA.

LACH. Oh heav'n and earth, what animals are women! What a conspiracy between them all, To do or not do, love or hate alike! Not one but has the sex so strong in her, She differs nothing from the rest. Step-mothers All hate their Step-daughters: and every wife Studies alike to contradict her husband, The same perverseness running through them all. Each seems train'd up in the same school of mischief: And of that school, if any such there be, My wife, I think, is schoolmistress.

SOSTRA. Ah me! Who know not why I am accus'd.

LACH. Not know?

SOSTRA. No, as I hope for mercy! as I hope We may live long together!

LACH. Heav'n forbid!

SOSTRA. Hereafter, Laches, you'll be sensible How wrongfully you have accus'd me.

LACH. I? Accuse you wrongfully?——Is't possible To speak too hardly of your late behavior? Disgracing me, yourself, and family; Laying up sorrow for your absent son; Converting into foes his new-made friends, Who thought him worthy of their child in marriage. You've been our bane, and by your shrewishness Brew'd this disturbance.

SOSTRA. I?

LACH. You, woman, you! Who take me for a stone, and not a man. Think ye, because I'm mostly in the country, I'm ignorant of your proceedings here? No, no; I know much better what's done here, Than where I'm chiefly resident. Because Upon my family at home depends My character abroad. I knew long since Philumena's disgust to you;——no wonder! Nay, 'twere a wonder, had it not been so. Yet I imagin'd not her hate so strong, 'Twould vent itself upon the family: Which had I dream'd of, she should have remain'd, And you pack'd off.—Consider, Sostrata, How little cause you had to vex me thus. In complaisance to you, and husbanding My fortune, I retir'd into the country: Scraping, and laboring beyond the bounds Of reason, or my age, that my estate Might furnish means for your expense and pleasure. —Was it not then your duty, in return, To see that nothing happen'd here to vex me?

SOSTRA. 'Twas not my doing, nor my fault indeed.

LACH. 'Twas your fault, Sostrata; your fault alone. You was sole mistress here; and in your care The house, though I had freed you of all other cares. A woman, an old woman too, and quarrel With a green girl! oh shame upon't!—You'll say That 'twas her fault.

SOSTRA. Not I indeed, my Laches.

LACH. 'Fore Heav'n, I'm glad on't! on my son's account. For as for you, I'm well enough assur'd, No fault can make you worse.

SOSTRA. But prithee, husband, How can you tell that her aversion to me Is not a mere pretense, that she may stay The longer with her mother?

LACH. No such thing. Was not your visit yesterday a proof, From their denial to admit you to her?

SOSTRA. They said she was so sick she could not see me.

LACH. Sick of your humors; nothing else, I fancy. And well she might: for there's not one of you But want your sons to take a wife: and that's No sooner over, but the very woman Which, by your instigation, they have married, They, by your instigation, put away.

[Changes:

Harper You was sole mistress here; and in your care Colman 1768 You were sole mistress here; and in your care]

SCENE II.

Enter PHIDIPPUS.

PHID. (to PHILUMENA within). Although, Philumena, I know my pow'r To force you to comply with my commands; Yet yielding to paternal tenderness, I e'en give way, nor cross your humor.

LACH. See, Phidippus in good time! I'll learn from him The cause of this.— (Going up to him.) Phidippus, though I own Myself indulgent to my family, Yet my complacency and easiness Runs not to that extreme, that my good-nature Corrupts their morals. Would you act like me, 'Twould be of service to both families. But you, I see, are wholly in their power.

PHID. See there!

LACH. I waited on you yesterday About your daughter: but I went away No wiser than I came. It is not right, If you would have the alliance last between us, To smother your resentment. If we seem In fault, declare it; that we may refute, Or make amends for our offense: and you Shall carve the satisfaction out yourself. But if her sickness only is the cause Of her remaining in your family, Trust me, Phidippus, but you do me wrong, To doubt her due attendance at my house. For, by the pow'rs of heav'n, I'll not allow That you, although her father, wish her better Than I. I love her on my son's account; To whom, I'm well convinc'd, she is as dear As he is to himself: and I can tell How deeply 'twill affect him, if he knows this. Wherefore I wish she should come home again, Before my son's return.

PHID. My good friend Laches, I know your care, and your benevolence; Nor doubt that all is as you say; and hope That you'll believe I wish for her return, So I could but effect it.

LACH. What prevents it? Tell me, Phidippus! does she blame her husband?

PHID. Not in the least. For when I urg'd it home, And threaten'd to oblige her to return, She vow'd most solemnly she could not bear Your house, so long as Pamphilus was absent. —All have their failings: I am of so soft A nature, I can't thwart my family.

LACH. Ha, Sostrata! (To SOSTRATA, apart.)

SOSTRA. Wretch that I am! Ah me! (Aside.)

LACH. And her return's impossible? (To PHIDIPPUS.)

PHID. At present. —Would you aught else with me? for I have business That calls me to the Forum.

LACH. I'll go with you. (Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Manet SOSTRATA.

SOSTRA. How unjustly Do husbands stretch their censures to all wives For the offenses of a few, whose vices Reflect dishonor on the rest!—For, Heaven So help me, as I'm wholly innocent Of what my husband now accuses me! But 'tis no easy task to clear myself; So fix'd and rooted is the notion in them, That Step-Mothers are all severe.—Not I; For I have ever lov'd Philumena As my own daughter; nor can I conceive What accident has drawn her hatred on me. My son's return, I hope, will settle all; And, ah, I've too much cause to wish his coming. (Exit.

[Changes:

Harper For the offenses of a few, whose vices Reflect dishonor on the rest!—For, Heaven So help me, as I'm wholly innocent Colman 1768 Because of the offences of a few, Whose faults reflect dishonour on the rest! —For, heav'n so help me, as I'm innocent]



ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

Enter PAMPHILUS and PARMENO.

PAM. Never did man experience greater ills, More miseries in love than I.—Distraction! Was it for this I held my life so dear? For this was I so anxious to return? Better, much better were it to have liv'd In any place, than come to this again! To feel and know myself a wretch!—For when Mischance befalls us, all the interval Between its happening, and our knowledge of it, May be esteem'd clear gain.

PAR. But as it is, You'll sooner be deliver'd from your troubles: For had you not return'd, the breach between them Had been made wider. But now, Pamphilus, Both will, I doubt not, reverence your presence. You'll know the whole, make up their difference, And reconcile them to each other.—These Are all mere trifles, which you think so grievous.

PAM. Ah, why will you attempt to comfort me? Was ever such a wretch?—Before I married, My heart, you know, was wedded to another. —But I'll not dwell upon that misery, Which may he easily conceiv'd: and yet I had not courage to refuse the match My father forc'd upon me.—Scarcely wean'd From my old love, my lim'd soul scarcely freed From Bacchis, and devoted to my wife, Than, lo, a new calamity arises, Threatening to tear me from Philumena. For either I shall find my mother faulty, Or else my wife: In either case unhappy. For duty, Parmeno, obliges me To bear with all the failings of a mother: And then I am so bounden to my wife, Who, calm as patience, bore the wrongs I did her, Nor ever murmur'd a complaint.—But sure 'Twas somewhat very serious, Parmeno, That could occasion such a lasting quarrel.

PAR. Rather some trifle, if you knew the truth. The greatest quarrels do not always rise From deepest injuries. We often see That what would never move another's spleen Renders the choleric your worst of foes. Observe how lightly children squabble.—Why? Because they're govern'd by a feeble mind. Women, like children, too, are impotent, And weak of soul. A single word, perhaps, Has kindled all this enmity between them.

PAM. Go, Parmeno, and let them know I'm come.

(Noise within.)

PAR. Ha! what's all this?

PAM. Hush!

PAR. I perceive a bustle, And running to and fro.—Come this way, Sir! —To the door!—nearer still!—There, there, d'ye hear?

(Noise continues.)

PAM. Peace; hush! (Shriek within.) Oh Jupiter, I heard a shriek!

PAR. You talk yourself, and bid me hold my tongue.

MYRRHINA (within). Hush, my dear child, for Heaven's sake!

PAM. It seem'd The voice of my wife's mother. I am ruin'd!

PAR. How so?

PAM. Undone!

PAR. And why?

PAM. Ah, Parmeno, They hide some terrible misfortune from me!

PAR. They said your wife Philumena was ill: Whether 'tis that, I can not tell.

PAM. Death, Sirrah! Why did you not inform me that before?

PAR. Because I could not tell you all at once.

PAM. What's her disorder?

PAR. I don't know.

PAM. But tell me, Has she had no physician?

PAR. I don't know.

PAM. But why do I delay to enter straight, That I may learn the truth, be what it will? —Oh my Philumena, in what condition Shall I now find thee?—If there's danger of thee, My life's in danger too. (Exit.

SCENE II.

PARMENO alone.

It were not good That I should follow him into the house: For all our family are odious to them. That's plain from their denying Sostrata Admittance yesterday.—And if by chance Her illness should increase (which Heav'n forbid, For my poor master's sake!), they'll cry directly, "Sostrata's servant came into the house:" Swear,—"that I brought the plague along with me, Put all their lives in danger, and increas'd Philumena's distemper."—By which means My mistress will be blam'd, and I be beaten.

SCENE III.

Enter SOSTRATA.

SOSTRA. Alas, I hear a dreadful noise within. Philumena, I fear, grows worse and worse: Which AEsculapius, and thou, Health, forbid! But now I'll visit her. (Goes toward the house.)

PAR. Ho, Sostrata!

SOSTRA. Who's there?

PAR. You'll be shut out a second time.

SOSTRA. Ha, Parmeno, are you there?—Wretched woman! What shall I do?—Not visit my son's wife, When she lies sick at next door!

PAR. Do not go; No, nor send any body else; for they That love the folks, to whom themselves are odious, I think are guilty of a double folly: Their labor proves but idle to themselves, And troublesome to those for whom 'tis meant. Besides, your son, the moment he arriv'd, Went in to visit her.

SOSTRA. How, Parmeno! Is Pamphilus arriv'd?

PAR. He is.

SOSTRA. Thank Heav'n! Oh, how my comfort is reviv'd by that!

PAR. And therefore I ne'er went into the house. For if Philumena's complaints abate, She'll tell him, face to face, the whole affair, And what has pass'd between you to create This difference.—But here he comes—how sad!

SCENE IV.

Enter PAMPHILUS.

SOSTRA. My dear boy, Pamphilus!

PAM. My mother, save you! (Disordered.)

SOSTRA. I'm glad to see you safe return'd—How does Your wife!

PAM. A little better.

SOSTRA. Grant it, Heav'n! —But why d'ye weep, and why are you so sad?

PAM. Nothing, good mother.

SOSTRA. What was all that bustle? Tell me, did pain attack her suddenly?

PAM. It did.

SOSTRA. And what is her complaint?

PAM. A fever.

SOSTRA. What! a quotidian?

PAR. So they say.—But in, Good mother, and I'll follow.

SOSTRA. Be it so. (Exit.

PAM. Do you run, Parmeno, to meet the servants, And give your help in bringing home the baggage.

PAR. As if they did not know the road!

PAM. Away! (Exit PARMENO.

SCENE V.

PAMPHILUS alone.

Which way shall I begin the wretched tale Of my misfortunes, which have fall'n upon me Thus unexpectedly? which even now These very eyes have seen, these ears have heard? And which, discover'd, drove me out o'doors. Cover'd with deep confusion?—For but now As I rush'd in, all anxious for my wife, And thinking to have found her visited, Alas! with a far different complaint; Soon as her women saw me, at first sight Struck and o'erjoy'd, they all exclaim'd, "He's come!" And then as soon each countenance was chang'd, That chance had brought me so unseasonably. Meanwhile one of them ran before, to speak Of my arrival. I, who long'd to see her, Directly follow'd; and no sooner enter'd, Than her disorder was, alas! too plain: For neither had they leisure to disguise it, Nor could she silence the loud cries of travail. Soon as I saw it, "Oh shame, shame!" I cried, And rush'd away in tears and agony, O'erwhelm'd with horror at a stroke so grievous. The mother follows me, and at the threshold Falls on her knees before me all in tears. This touch'd me to the soul. And certainly 'Tis in the very nature of our minds, To rise and fall according to our fortunes. Thus she address'd me.— "Oh, my Pamphilus, The cause of her removal from your house You've now discover'd. To my virgin-daughter Some unknown villain offer'd violence; And she fled hither to conceal her labor From you and from your family."—Alas! When I but call her earnest prayers to mind, I can not choose but weep.—"Whatever chance," Continued she, "whatever accident, Brought you to-day thus suddenly upon us, By that we both conjure you—if in justice And equity we may—to keep in silence, And cover her distress.—Oh, Pamphilus, If e'er you witness'd her affection for you, By that affection she implores you now Not to refuse us!—for recalling her, Do as your own discretion shall direct. That she's in labor now, or has conceiv'd By any other person, is a secret Known but to you alone. For I've been told, The two first months you had no commerce with her, And it is now the seventh since your union. Your sentiments on this are evident. But now, my Pamphilus, if possible, I'll call it a miscarriage: no one else But will believe, as probable, 'tis yours. The child shall be immediately expos'd. No inconvenience will arise to you; While thus you shall conceal the injury That my poor girl unworthily sustain'd." —I promis'd her; and I will keep my word. But to recall her would be poor indeed: Nor will I do it, though I love her still. And former commerce binds me strongly to her. —I can't but weep, to think how sad and lonely My future life will be.—Oh fickle fortune! How transient are thy smiles!—But I've been school'd To patience by my former hapless passion, Which I subdued by reason: and I'll try By reason to subdue this too.—But yonder Comes Parmeno, I see, with th' other slaves! He must by no means now be present, since To him alone I formerly reveal'd That I abstain'd from her when first we married: And if he hears her frequent cries, I fear That he'll discover her to be in labor. I must dispatch him on some idle errand, Until Philumena's deliver'd.

SCENE VI.

Enter at a distance PARMENO, SOSIA, and other slaves with baggage.

PAR. (to SOSIA). Aye? And had you such a wretched voyage, say you?

SOSIA. Oh Parmeno, words can't express how wretched A sea-life is.

PAR. Indeed?

SOSIA. Oh happy Parmeno! You little know the dangers you've escap'd, Who've never been at sea.—For not to dwell On other hardships, only think of this! I was on shipboard thirty days or more, In constant fear of sinking all the while, The winds so contrary, such stormy weather!

PAR. Dreadful!

SOSIA. I found it so, I promise you. In short, were I assur'd I must return, 'Fore Heaven, Parmeno, I'd run away, Rather than go on board a ship again.

PAR. You have been apt enough to think of that On slighter reasons, Sosia, before now. —But yonder's my young master Pamphilus Standing before that door.—Go in! I'll to him, And see if he has any business for me.

(Exeunt SOSIA, and the rest of the slaves with the baggage.

Master, are you here still? (To PAMPHILUS.)

PAM. Oh Parmeno! I waited for you.

PAR. What's your pleasure, Sir?

PAM. Run to the Citadel.

PAR. Who?

PAM. You.

PAR. The Citadel! For what?

PAM. Find out one Callidemides, My landlord of Mycone, who came over In the same ship with me.

PAR. A plague upon it! Would not one swear that he had made a vow To break my wind, if he came home in safety, With running on his errands?

PAM. Away, Sirrah!

PAR. What message? must I only find him out?

PAM. Yes; tell him that it is not in my power To meet him there to-day, as I appointed; That he mayn't wait for me in vain.—Hence; fly!

PAR. But I don't know him, if I see him, Sir.

PAM. (impatiently). Well; I'll describe him, so you can not miss him. —A large, red, frizzle-pated, gross, blear-eyed, Ill-looking fellow.

PAR. Plague on him, say I! —What if he should not come, Sir, must I wait Till evening for him?

PAM. Wait.—Be quick!

PAR. Be quick? I can't be quick,—I'm so much tir'd. (Exit.

SCENE VII.

PAMPHILOS alone.

He's gone. What shall I do? Alas! I scarcely know How to conceal, as Myrrhina desir'd, Her daughter's labor. Yet I pity her; And what I can, I am resolv'd to do, Consistent with my duty: for my parents Must be obey'd before my love.—But see! My father and Phidippus come this way. How I shall act, Heav'n knows.

[Changes:

Harper And what I can, I am resolv'd to do, Consistent with my duty: for my parents Colman 1768 And what I can, consistent with my duty, I am resolv'd to do: and yet my parents

SCENE VIII.

Enter at a distance LACHES and PHIDIPPUS.

LACH. Did not you say She only waited my son's coming?

PHID. Aye.

LACH. They say that he's arriv'd. Let us return then!

PAM. (behind). What reason I shall frame to give my father, For not recalling her, I can not tell.

LACH. (overhearing). Whose voice was that?

PAM. (to himself). And yet I am resolv'd To stand to my first purpose.

LACH. (seeing PAMPHILUS). He himself, Whom I was speaking of!

PAM. (going up). My father, save you!

LACH. Save you, my son!

PHID. Pamphilus, welcome home! I'm glad to see you safe, and in good health.

PAM. I do believe it.

LACH. Are you just now come?

PAM. Just now, Sir.

LACH. Well; and tell me, Pamphilus, What has our kinsman Phania left us?

PAM. Ah, Sir, He, his whole lifetime, was a man of pleasure, And such men seldom much enrich their heirs. Yet he has left at least this praise behind him, "While he liv'd, he liv'd well."

LACH. And have you brought Nothing home with you but this single sentence?

PAM. What he has left, though small, is of advantage.

LACH. Advantage? No, it is a disadvantage: For I could wish he was alive and well.

PHID. That you may safely; for your wishing for't Will never bring the man to life again: Yet I know well enough which you'd like best. (Aside.)

LACH. (to PAMPHILUS). Phidippus order'd that Philumena Should be sent over to him yesterday. —Say that you order'd it. (Aside to PHIDIPPUS, thrusting him.)

PHID. (aside to LACHES). Don't thrust me so.—— I did. (Aloud.)

LACH. But now he'll send her home again.

PHID. I will.

PAM. Nay, nay, I know the whole affair. Since my arrival, I have heard it all.

LACH. Now plague upon these envious tale-bearers, Who are so glad to fetch and carry news!

PAM. (to PHIDIPPUS). That I've endeavor'd to deserve no blame From any of the family, I'm conscious. Were it my inclination to relate How true I've been, how kind and gentle tow'rd her, I well might do it: but I rather choose You should collect it from herself. For when She, although now there's enmity between us, Bespeaks me fair, you will the sooner credit My disposition tow'rd her. And I call The Gods to witness that this separation Has not arisen from my fault. But since She thinks it is beneath her to comply With Sostrata, and bear my mother's temper; And since no other means are to be found Of reconciliation, I, Phidippus, Must leave my mother or Philumena. Duty then calls me to regard my mother.

LACH. My Pamphilus, I can not be displeas'd That you prefer to all the world a parent. But take heed your resentment don't transport you Beyond the bounds of reason, Pamphilus.

PAM. Ah, what resentment can I bear to her, Who ne'er did any thing I'd wish undone, But has so often deserv'd well of me? I love her, own her worth, and languish for her; For I have known her tenderness of soul: And Heaven grant that with some other husband She find that happiness she miss'd in me; From whom the strong hand of necessity Divorces her forever!

PHID. That event 'Tis in your pow'r to hinder.

LACH. If you're wise, Take your wife home again!

PAM. I can not, father. I must not slack my duty to my mother. (Going.)

LACH. Where are you going? (Exit PAMPHILUS.

SCENE IX.

Manent LACHES and PHIDIPPUS.

PHID. How perverse is this! (Angrily.)

LACH. Did not I say he'd take it ill, Phidippus, And therefore begg'd you to send back your daughter?

PHID. 'Fore Heaven I did not think him such a churl. What! does he fancy I'll go cringing to him? No;—if he'll take his wife he may:—if not, Let him refund her portion;—there's an end!

LACH. See there now! you're as fractious as himself.

PHID. You're come back obstinate and proud enough In conscience, Pamphilus! (Angrily.)

LACH. This anger will subside, Though he has had some cause to be disturb'd.

PHID. Because you've had a little money left you, Your minds are so exalted!

LACH. What, d'ye quarrel With me too?

PHID. Let him take to-day to think on't, And send me word if he shall have her home Or not: that if she don't remain his wife, She may be given to another. (Exit hastily.

SCENE X.

LACHES alone.

Stay! Hear me! one word, Phidippus! Stay!—He's gone. —What is't to me? (Angrily.) E'en let them settle it Among themselves; since nor my son, nor he Take my advice, nor mind one word I say. —This quarrel shall go round, I promise them: I'll to my wife, the author of this mischief, And vent my spleen and anger upon her. (Exit.



ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

Enter MYRRHINA hastily.

MYRR. What shall I do?—Confusion!—which way turn? Alas! what answer shall I make my husband? For I dare say he heard the infant's cries, He ran so hastily, without a word, Into my daughter's chamber. If he finds That she has been deliver'd, what excuse To make, for having thus conceal'd her labor, I can't devise.—But our door creaks!—'tis he. I am undone.

SCENE II.

Enter PHIDIPPUS.

PHID. Soon as my wife perceiv'd That I was going to my daughter's chamber, She stole directly out o'doors.—But there She stands.—Why, how now, Myrrhina? Holo, I say! (She affects not to see him.)

MYRR. D'ye call me, husband?

PHID. Husband! Am I your husband? am I ev'n a man? For had you thought me to be either, woman, You would not dare to play upon me thus.

MYRR. How!

PHID. How?—My daughter has been brought to bed. —Ha! are you dumb?—By whom?

MYRR. Is that a question For you, who are her father, to demand? Alas! by whom d'ye think, unless her husband?

PHID. So I believe: nor is it for a father To suppose otherwise. But yet I wonder That you have thus conceal'd her labor from us, Especially as she has been deliver'd At her full time, and all is as it should be. What! Is there such perverseness in your nature, As rather to desire the infant's death, Than that his birth should knit the bond of friendship Closer betwixt us; rather than my daughter, Against your liking, should remain the wife Of Pamphilus?—I thought all this Had been their fault, while you're alone to blame.

MYRR. How wretched am I!

PHID. Would to Heav'n you were! —But now I recollect your conversation When first we made this match, you then declar'd You'd not endure she should remain the wife Of Pamphilus, who follow'd mistresses, And pass'd the nights abroad.

MYRR. I had much rather He should think any reason than the true one. (Aside.)

PHID. I knew he kept a mistress; knew it long Ere you did, Myrrhina; but I could never Think that offense so grievous in a youth, Seeing 'tis natural to them all: and soon The time shall come when he'll stand self-reprov'd. But you, perverse and willful as at first, Could take no rest till you had brought away Your daughter, and annull'd the match I made: There's not a circumstance but loudly speaks Your evil disposition to the marriage.

MYRR. D'ye think me then so obstinate, that I, Who am her mother, should betray this spirit, Granting the match were of advantage to us?

PHID. Is it for you then to foresee, or judge What's of advantage to us? You perhaps Have heard from some officious busy-body, That they have seen him going to his mistress, Or coming from her house: and what of that, So it were done discreetly, and but seldom? Were it not better that we should dissemble Our knowledge of it, than pry into things Which to appear to know would make him hate us? For could he tear her from his heart at once, To whom he'd been so many years attach'd, I should not think he were a man, or likely To prove a constant husband to my daughter.

MYRR. No more of Pamphilus or my offense; Since you will have it so!—Go, find him out; Confer with him alone, and fairly ask him, Will he, or no, take back Philumena? If he avows his inclination to't, Restore her; but if he refuses it, Allow, I've ta'en good counsel for my child.

PHID. Grant, he should prove repugnant to the match, Grant, you perceiv'd this in him, Myrrhina; Was not I present! had not I a right To be consulted in't?—It makes me mad. That you should dare to act without my order: And I forbid you to remove the child Out of this house.—But what a fool am I, Enjoining her obedience to my orders! I'll in, and charge the servants not to suffer The infant to be carried forth. (Exit.

SCENE III.

MYRRHINA alone.

No woman more unhappy than myself: For how he'd bear it, did he know the whole, When he has taken such offense at this, Which is of much less consequence, is plain. Nor by what means to reconcile him to it, Can I devise. After so many ills, This only misery there yet remain'd, To be oblig'd to educate the child, Ignorant of the father's quality. For he, the cruel spoiler of her honor, Taking advantage of the night and darkness, My daughter was not able to discern His person; nor to force a token from him, Whereby he might be afterward discover'd: But he, at his departure, pluck'd by force A ring from off her finger.—I fear too, That Pamphilus will not contain himself, Nor longer keep our secret, when he finds Another's child acknowledg'd for his own. (Exit.

SCENE IV.

SOSTRATA, PAMPHILUS.

SOSTRA. Dear son, I'm not to learn that you suppose, Though you dissemble your suspicions to me, That my ill-humor caus'd your wife's departure. But by my trust in Heav'n, and hopes in you, I never knowingly did any thing To draw her hatred and disgust upon me. I always thought you lov'd me, and to-day You have confirm'd my faith: for even now Your father has been telling me within, How much you held me dearer than your love. Now therefore, on my part, I am resolv'd To equal you in all good offices; That you may know your mother ne'er withholds The just rewards of filial piety; Finding it then both meet for your repose, My Pamphilus, as well as my good name, I have determin'd to retire directly From hence into the country with your father; So shall my presence be no obstacle, Nor any cause remain, but that your wife Return immediately.

PAM. What thoughts are these? Shall her perverseness drive you out of town? It shall not be: Nor will I draw, good mother, That censure on me, that my obstinacy, Not your good-nature, was the cause.—Besides, That you should quit relations, friends, diversions, On my account, I can't allow.

SOSTRA. Alas! Those things have no allurements for me now. While I was young, and 'twas the season for them, I had my share, and I am satisfied. 'Tis now my chief concern to make my age Easy to all, that no one may regret My lengthen'd life, nor languish for my death. Here, although undeservedly, I see My presence odious: I had best retire: So shall I best cut off all discontent, Absolve myself from this unjust suspicion, And humor them. Permit me then to shun The common scandal thrown upon the sex.

PAM. How fortunate in every thing but one, Having so good a mother,—such a wife!

SOSTRA. Patience, my Pamphilus! Is't possible You can't endure one inconvenience in her? If in all else, as I believe, you like her, Dear son, be rul'd by me, and take her home!

PAM. Wretch that I am!

SOSTRA. And I am wretched too: For this grieves me, my son, no less than you.

[Changes:

Harper Finding it then both meet for your repose, My Pamphilus, as well as my good name Colman 1768 Finding it then both meet, my Pamphilus, For your repose, as well as my good name]

SCENE V.

Enter LACHES.

LACH. I have been standing at a distance, wife, And overheard your conversation with him. You have done wisely to subdue your temper, And freely to comply with what, perhaps, Hereafter must be done.

SOSTRA. And let it be!

LACH. Now then retire with me into the country: There I shall bear with you, and you with me.

SOSTRA. I hope we shall.

LACH. Go in then, and pack up The necessaries you would carry with you. Away!

SOSTRA. I shall obey your orders. (Exit.

PAM. Father!

LACH. Well, Pamphilus?

PAM. My mother leave the town? By no means.

LACH. Why?

PAM. Because I'm yet uncertain What I shall do about my wife.

LACH. How's that? What would you do but take her home again?

PAM. 'Tis what I wish for, and can scarce forbear it. But I'll not alter what I first design'd. What's best I'll follow: and I'm well convinc'd That there's no other way to make them friends, But that I should not take her home again.

LACH. You don't know that: but 'tis of no importance Whether they're friends or not, when Sostrata Is gone into the country. We old folks Are odious to the young. We'd best retire. In short, we're grown a by-word, Pamphilus, "The old man and old woman."—But I see Phidippus coming in good time. Let's meet him!

[Changes:

Harper PAM. 'Tis what I wish for, and can scarce forbear it. Colman 1768 PAM. 'Tis what I wish for, and can scarce forbear.

Harper That there's no other way to make them friends Colman 1768 No other means remain to make them friends]