THE BROTHERS.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
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Prologue. Demea. Micio. Æschinus. Ctesipho. Hegio. Sannio. Geta. Syrus. |
Geta. Dromo. Parmeno, other Servants, etc.
Sostrata. Canthara. Music-Girl, and other Mutes. |
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Scene, Athens. |
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PROLOGUE.
The Bard perceiving his piece cavil’d at
By partial critics, and his adversaries
Misrepresenting what we’re now to play,
Pleads his own cause: and you shall be the judges,
Whether he merits praise or condemnation.
The Synapothnescontes is a piece
By Diphilus, a comedy which Plautus,
Having translated, call’d Commorientes.
In the beginning of the Grecian play
There is a youth, who rends a girl perforce
From a procurer: and this incident,
Untouch’d by Plautus, render’d word for word,
Has our bard interwoven with his Brothers;
The new piece which we represent to-day.
Say then if this be theft, or honest use
Of what remain’d unoccupied.—For that
Which malice tells, that certain noble persons
Assist the Bard, and write in concert with him;
That which they deem a heavy slander, He
Esteems his greatest praise: that he can please
Those who please you, who all the people please;
Those who in war, in peace, in counsel, ever
Have render’d you the dearest services,
And ever borne their faculties so meekly.
Expect not now the story of the play:
Part the old men, who first appear, will open;
Part will in act be shown.—Be favorable;
And let your candor to the poet now
Increase his future earnestness to write!
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
Enter Micio.
Ho, Storax!—No reply?—Then Aeschinus
Never return’d, it seems, last night from supper;
Nor any of the slaves, who went to meet him.
—’Tis commonly—and oh how truly!—said,
If you are absent, or delay, ’twere best
That should befall you, which your wife declares
Or which in anger she supposes of you
Than that which kindest parents fear.—Your wife,
If you delay, suspects that you’re engag’d
In some intrigue, debauch, or entertainment;
Consulting your own happiness abroad,
While she, poor soul! is left to pine at home.
But what a world of fears possess me now!
How many ills I figure to myself,
As causes that my son is not return’d!
Lest he have taken cold, or had a fall,
Or broke a limb!—Good heavens! that a man
Shou’d doat so much, or suffer any one
To wind himself so close about his heart,
As to grow dearer to him than himself!
Ho, Storax!—Æschinus did not return
Last night from supper; no, nor any one
Of all the slaves who went to see for him.
—’Tis commonly—and oh how truly!—said,
If you are absent, or delay, ’twere best
That should befall you, which your wife denounces,
Or which in anger she calls down upon you,
Than that which kindest parents fear.—Your wife,
If you delay, or thinks that you’re in love,
Or lov’d, or drink, or entertain yourself,
Taking your pleasure, while she pines at home.
—And what a world of fears possess me now!
How anxious that my son is not return’d;
Lest he take cold, or fall, or break a limb!
—Gods, that a man should suffer any one
To wind himself so close about his heart,
As to grow dearer to him than himself!
And yet he is not my son, but my brother’s,
Whose bent of mind is wholly different.
I, from youth upward even to this day,
Have led a quiet and serene town-life;
And, as some reckon fortunate, ne’er married.
He, in all points the opposite of this,
Has pass’d his days entirely in the country
With thrift and labor; married; had two sons;
The elder boy is by adoption mine;
I’ve brought him up; kept; lov’d him as my own;
Made him my joy, and all my soul holds dear,
Striving to make myself as dear to him.
I give, o’erlook, nor think it requisite
That all his deeds should be controll’d by me,
Giving him scope to act as of himself;
So that the pranks of youth, which other children
Hide from their fathers, I have us’d my son
Not to conceal from me. For whosoe’er
Hath won upon himself to play the false one,
And practice impositions on a father,
Will do the same with less remorse to others;
And ’tis, in my opinion, better far
To bind your children to you by the ties
Of gentleness and modesty, than fear.
And yet my brother don’t accord in this,
Nor do these notions nor this conduct please him.
Oft he comes open-mouth’d—“Why how now, Micio?
Why do you ruin this young lad of ours?
Why does he wench? why drink? and why do you
Allow him money to afford all this?
You let him dress too fine. ’Tis idle in you.”
—’Tis hard in him, unjust and out of reason.
And he, I think, deceives himself indeed,
Who fancies that authority more firm
Founded on force, than what is built on friendship;
For thus I reason, thus persuade myself:
He who performs his duty driven to’t
By fear of punishment, while he believes
His actions are observ’d, so long he’s wary;
But if he hopes for secrecy, returns
To his own ways again: But he whom kindness,
Him also inclination makes your own:
He burns to make a due return, and acts,
Present or absent, evermore the same.
’Tis this then is the duty of a father,
To make a son embrace a life of virtue,
Rather from choice than terror or constraint.
Here lies the mighty difference between
A father and a master. He who knows not
How to do this, let him confess he knows not
How to rule children.—But is this the man
Whom I was speaking of? Yes, yes, ’tis he.
He seems uneasy too, I know not why,
And I suppose, as usual, comes to wrangle.
SCENE II.
Enter Demea.
Micio. Demea, I’m glad to see you well.
Demea. Oho!
Well met: the very man I came to seek.
Micio. But you appear uneasy: What’s the matter?
Demea. Uneasy? well I may.—The matter, say you?
What can the matter be but Æschinus?
Micio. I said it wou’d be so.—What has he done?
Demea. What has he done! a wretch whom neither fear,
Nor modesty, nor any law can bind!
For not to speak of all his former pranks,
What has he been about but even now!
Demea. Is it a question, when there’s Æschinus
To trouble us, what makes me so uneasy?
Micio. I said it would be so.—What has he done?
Demea. What has he done? a wretch, whom neither ties
Of shame, nor fear, nor any law can bind!
For not to speak of all his former pranks,
What has he been about but even now!
Micio. What has he done?
Demea. Burst open doors, and made
His way by force into another’s house;
Half-kill’d the master and his family,
And carried off a wench whom he was fond of.
All Athens cries out shame upon him for it.
I have been told of it a hundred times
Since my arrival. ’Tis the town-talk, Micio.
And if we needs must draw comparisons,
Micio. What has he done?
Demea. Burst open doors, and forc’d
His way into another’s house, and beat
The master and his family half dead;
And carried off a wench whom he was fond of.
The whole town cries out shame upon him, Micio.
I have been told of it a hundred times
Since my arrival. ’Tis the common talk.——
And if we needs must draw comparisons,
Does not he see his brother thrifty, sober,
Attentive to his business in the country?
Not given to these practices; and when
I say all this to him, to you I say it.
You are his ruin, Micio.
Micio. How unjust
Is he who wants experience! who believes
Nothing is right but what he does himself!
Demea. Why d’ye say that?
Micio. Because you, Demea,
Misjudge these matters. ’Tis no heinous crime
Judge wrongly of these matters. ’Tis no crime
For a young man to wench or drink.—’Tis not,
Believe me!—nor to force doors open.—This,
If neither you nor I have done, it was
That poverty allow’d us not. And now
You claim a merit to yourself, from that
Which want constrain’d you to. It is not fair.
For had there been but wherewithal to do’t,
We likewise should have done thus. Wherefore you,
Were you a man, would let your younger son,
Now, while it suits his age, pursue his pleasures;
Rather than, when it less becomes his years,
When, after wishing long, he shall at last
Be rid of you, he should run riot then.
Demea. Oh Jupiter! the man will drive me mad.
Is it no crime, d’ye say, for a young man
To take these courses?
Micio. Nay, nay; do but hear me,
Nor stun me with the self-same thing forever!
Your elder son you gave me for adoption:
He’s mine, then, Demea; and if he offends,
’Tis an offense to me, and I must bear
The burden. Does he treat? or drink? or dress?
’Tis at my cost.—Or wench? I will supply him,
While ’tis convenient to me; when ’tis not,
His mistresses perhaps will shut him out.
—Has he broke open doors? we’ll make them good.
Or torn a coat? it shall be mended. I,
Thank Heaven, have enough to do all this,
And ’tis as yet not irksome.—In a word,
Have done, or chuse some arbiter between us:
Or cease, or choose some arbiter between us:
I’ll prove that you are more in fault than I.
Demea. Ah, learn to be a father; learn from those
Who know what ’tis to be indeed a parent!
Micio. By nature you’re his father, I by counsel.
Demea. You! do you counsel any thing?
Micio. Nay, nay;
If you persist, I’m gone.
Demea. Is’t thus you treat me?
Micio. Must I be plagued with the same thing so often?
Micio. Must I still hear the same thing o’er and o’er?
Demea. It touches me.
Micio. And me it touches too.
But, Demea, let us each look to our own;
Let me take care of one, and mind you t’other.
For to concern yourself with both, appears
As if you’d redemand the boy you gave.
Demea. Ah, Micio!
Micio. So it seems to me.
Demea. Well, well;
Let him, if ’tis your pleasure, waste, destroy.
And squander; it is no concern of mine.
If henceforth I e’er say one word——
Micio. Again?
Angry again, good Demea?
Demea. You may trust me.
Do I demand him back again I gave you?
—It hurts me. I am not a stranger to him.
—But if I once oppose—Well, well, I’ve done.
You wish I should take care of one. I do
Take special care of him; and he, thank Heav’n,
Is as I wish he should be: which your ward,
I warrant, shall find out one time or other.
I will not say aught worse of him at present.
Exit.
SCENE III.
Micio alone.
Though what he says be not entirely true,
There’s something in it, and it touches me.
But I dissembled my concern with him,
Because the nature of the man is such,
To pacify, I must oppose and thwart him;
And even thus I scarce can teach him patience.
But were I to inflame, or aid his anger,
I were as great a madman as himself.
Yet Æschinus, ’tis true, has been to blame.
What wench is there but he is her gallant?
Or tempts her with some gift?—But lately too
What wench is there he has not lov’d? to whom
He has not made some present—And but lately
(Tir’d, I suppose, and sick of wantonness)
He told me he propos’d to take a wife.
I hop’d the heyday of the blood was over,
And was rejoic’d: but his intemperance
Breaks out afresh.—Well, be it what it may,
I’ll find him out; and know it instantly,
If he is to be met with at the Forum.
Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
Enter Æschinus, Sannio, Parmeno, the Music-Girl, and a crowd of People.
San. Help, help, dear countrymen, for Heaven’s sake!
Assist a miserable, harmless man!
Help the distress’d!
Æsch. (to the Girl). Fear nothing: stand just there!
Why d’ye look back? you’re in no danger. Never,
While I am by, shall he lay hands upon you.
San. Aye, but I will, in spite of all the world.
Æsch. Rogue as he is, he’ll scarce do any thing
To make me cudgel him again to-day.
San. One word, Sir Æschinus! that you may not
Pretend to ignorance of my profession;
I’m a procurer.
Æsch. True.
San. And in my way
Of as good faith as any man alive.
Hereafter, to absolve yourself, you’ll cry,
That you repent of having wrong’d me thus.
I sha’n’t care that for your excuse. (Snapping his fingers.) Be sure
I’ll prosecute my right; nor shall fine words
Atone for evil deeds. I know your way,
—“I’m sorry that I did it: and I’ll swear
You are unworthy of this injury”——
Though all the while I’m us’d most scurvily.
Æsch. (to Par.) Do you go forward, Parmeno, and throw
The door wide open.
San. That sha’n’t signify.
Æsch. (to Parmeno). Now in with her!
San. (stepping between). I’ll not allow it.
Æsch. (to Parmeno). Here!
Come hither, Parmeno!—you’re too far off.——
Stand close to that pimp’s side—There—there—just there!
And now be sure you always keep your eyes
Steadfastly fix’d on mine; and when I wink,
To drive your fist directly in his face.
San. Aye, if he dare.
Æsch. (to Parmeno). Now mind!— (To Sannio). Let go the girl (Sannio still struggling with the Girl, Æschinus winks, and Parmeno strikes Sannio).
San. Oh monstrous!
Æsch. He shall double it, unless
You mend your manners.
Parmeno strikes Sannio again.
San. Help, help: murder, murder!
Æsch. (to Parmeno). I did not wink: but you had better err
That way than t’other.—Now go in with her.
Parmeno leads the Girl into Micio’s house.
San. How’s this?—Do you reign king here, Æschinus?
Æsch. Did I reign king, you should be recompens’d
According to your virtues, I assure you.
San. What business have you with me?
Æsch. None.
San. D’ye know
Who I am, Æschinus?
Æsch. Nor want to know.
San. Have I touch’d aught of yours, Sir?
Æsch. If you had,
You should have suffer’d for’t.
San. What greater right
Have you to take away my slave, for whom
I paid my money? answer me!
Æsch. ’Twere best
You’d leave off bellowing before our door:
If you continue to be troublesome,
I’ll have you dragg’d into the house, and there
Lash’d without mercy.
San. How, a freeman lash’d!
Æsch. Ev’n so.
San. O monstrous tyranny! Is this,
Is this the liberty they boast of here,
Common to all?
Æsch. If you have brawl’d enough,
Please to indulge me with one word, you pimp.
San. Who has brawl’d most, yourself or I?
Æsch. Well, well!
No more of that, but to the point!
San. What point?
What would you have?
Æsch. Will you allow me then
To speak of what concerns you?
San. Willingly:
Speak, but in justice.
Æsch. Very fine! a pimp,
And talks of justice!
San. Well, I am a pimp;
The common bane of youth, a perjurer,
A public nuisance, I confess it: yet
I never did you wrong.
Æsch. No, that’s to come.
San. Prithee return to whence you first set out, Sir!
Æsch. You, plague upon you for it! bought the girl
For twenty minæ; which sum we will give you.
San. What if I do not choose to sell the girl?
Will you oblige me?
Æsch. No.
San. I fear’d you would.
Æsch. She’s a free-woman, and should not be sold,
And, as such, by due course of law I claim her.
Now then consider which you like the best,
To take the money, or maintain your action.
Think on this, Pimp, till I come back again.
Exit.
SCENE II.
Sannio alone.
Oh Jupiter! I do not wonder now
That men run mad with injuries. He drags me
Out of my own house; cudgels me most soundly;
And carries off my slave against my will:
And after this ill-treatment, he demands
The Music-Girl to be made over to him
At the same price I bought her.—He has pour’d
His blows upon me, thick as hail; for which,
Since he deserves so nobly at my hands,
He should no doubt be gratified.—Nay, nay,
Let me but touch the cash, I’m still content.
But this I guess will be the case: as soon
As I shall have agreed to take his price,
He’ll produce witnesses immediately,
To prove that I have sold her—And the money
Will be mere moonshine.—“By-and-by.”—“To-morrow.”
—Yet I could bear that too, although much wrong,
Might I but get the money after all:
For thus it is, friend Sannio; when a man
Has taken up this trade, he must receive,
And pocket the affronts of young gallants.
—But nobody will pay me, and I draw
Conclusions to no purpose.
SCENE III.
Enter Syrus.
Syrus (to Æsch. within). Say no more!
Let me alone to talk with him! I warrant
I’ll make him take the money; aye, and own
That he’s well treated too. (Coming forward.) Why how now, Sannio?
What’s the dispute I overheard just now
’Twixt you and my young master?
San. Never was
Any dispute conducted more unfairly,
Than that between us two to-day! Poor I
With being drubb’d, and he with drubbing me,
’Till we were both quite weary.
Syrus. All your fault.
San. What could I do?
Syrus. Give a young man his way.
San. What could I give him more, who gave my face?
Syrus. Nay, but d’ye know my meaning, Sannio?
To seem upon occasion to slight money,
Proves in the end, sometimes, the greatest gain.
Why prithee, blockhead, could you be afraid,
Had you abated somewhat of your right,
And humor’d the young gentleman, he would not
Have paid you back again with interest?
San. I never purchase hope with ready money.
Syrus. Away! you’ll never thrive. You do not know
How to ensnare men, Sannio.
San. Well, perhaps,
Your way were best: yet I was ne’er so crafty
But I had rather, when ’twas in my power,
Receive prompt payment.
Syrus. Pshaw! I know your spirit:
As if you valued twenty minæ now,
So you might do a kindness to my master!
—Besides, they say you’re setting out for Cyprus. (Carelessly.)
San. Ha! (Alarmed.)
Syrus. —And have bought up a large stock of goods
To carry over thither.—Hir’d a vessel.
That ’tis, I know, which keeps you in suspense:
When you return, I hope, you’ll settle this.
San. I shall not budge a foot.—Undone by Heav’n!
Urg’d by these hopes they’ve undertaken this. (Aside.)
Syrus. He fears. I hinted Cyprus. There’s the rub.
Syrus. He fears. I’ve thrown a small rub in his way. (Aside.)
San. (to himself.) Confusion! they have nick’d me to a hair!
I’ve bought up sev’ral slaves, and other wares,
For exportation; and to miss my time
At Cyprus-fair would be a heavy loss.
Then if I leave this business broken thus,
All’s over with me; and at my return
’Twill come to nothing, grown quite cold and stale.
“—What! come at last?—Why did you stay so long?
Where have you been?”—that it were better lose it,
Than wait for it so long, or sue for’t then.
Syrus (coming up to him.) Well, have you calculated what’s your due?
San. Monstrous oppression! Is this honorable,
Or just in Æschinus, to take away
My property by force?
Syrus. So, so! he comes. (Aside.)
—I have but one word more to say to you.
See how you like it.—Rather, Sannio,
Than run the risk to get or lose the whole,
E’en halve the matter: and he shall contrive
To scrape together by some means ten minæ.
San. Alas, alas! am I in danger then
Of losing ev’n my very principal?
Shame on him! he has loosen’d all my teeth:
My head is swell’d all over like a mushroom:
And will he cheat me too?—I’m going nowhere.
Syrus. Just as you please.—Have you aught else to say
Before I go?
San. Yes, one word, prithee Syrus!
However things have happen’d, rather than
I should be driven to commence a suit,
Let him return me my bare due at least;
The sum she cost me, Syrus.—I’m convinc’d
You’ve had no tokens of my friendship yet;
But you shall find I will not be ungrateful.
Syrus. I’ll do my best. But I see Ctesipho.
He is rejoic’d about his mistress.
San. Say,
Will you remember me?
Syrus. Hold, hold a little! (Syrus and Sannio retire.)
SCENE IV.
Enter Ctesipho at another part of the stage.
Ctes. Favors are welcome in the hour of need
From any hand; but doubly welcome when
Conferr’d by those from whom we most expect them.
O brother, brother, how shall I applaud thee?
Ne’er can I rise to such a height of praise
But your deservings will outtop me still:
For in this point I am supremely bless’d,
That none can boast so excellent a brother,
So rich in all good qualities, as I.
Syrus (coming forward). O Ctesipho!
Ctes. (turning round). O Syrus! where’s my brother?
Syrus. At home, where he expects you.
Ctes. Ha! (Joyfully.)
Syrus. What now!
Ctes. What now?—By his assistance I live, Syrus.
Ah, he’s a friend indeed! who disregarding
All his own interests for my advantage,
The scandal, infamy, intrigue, and blame,
All due to me, has drawn upon himself!
What could exceed it?—But who’s there?—The door
Creaks on the hinges. (Offering to go off.)
Syrus. Hold! ’tis Æschinus.
SCENE V.
Enter Æschinus.
Æsch. Where is that rascal?
San. (behind.) He inquires for me.
Has he brought out the cash with him?—Confusion!
I see none.
Æsch. (to Ctesipho). Ha! well met: I long’d to see you
How is it, Ctesipho? All’s safe. Away
With melancholy!
Ctes. Melancholy! I
Be melancholy, who have such a brother?
Oh my dear Æschinus! thou best of brothers,
—Ah, I’m asham’d to praise you to your face,
Lest it appear to come from flattery,
Rather than gratitude.
Æsch. Away, you fool!
As if we did not know each other, Ctesipho.
It only grieves me, we so lately knew this,
When things were almost come to such a pass,
That all the world, had they desir’d to do it,
Could not assist you.
Ctes. ’Twas my modesty.
Æsch. Pshaw! it was folly, and not modesty.
For such a trifle, almost fly your country?
Heaven forbid it!—fie, fie, Ctesipho!
Ctes. I’ve been to blame.
Æsch. Well, what says Sannio?
Syrus. He’s pacified at last.
Æsch. I’ll to the Forum,
And pay him off.—You, Ctesipho, go in
To the poor girl.
San. Now urge the matter, Syrus! (Apart to Syrus.)
Syrus. Let’s go; for Sannio wants to be at Cyprus.
San. Not in such haste: though truly I’ve no cause
San. Not in such haste: though truly I have no cause
To loiter here.
Syrus. You shall be paid: ne’er fear!
San. But all?
Syrus. Yes, all: so hold your tongue, and follow!
San. I will.
Exit after Æschinus—Syrus going.
Ctes. Hist! hark ye, Syrus!
Syrus (turning back.) Well, what now?
Ctes. For Heaven’s sake discharge that scurvy fellow
Immediately; for fear, if further urg’d,
This tale should reach my father’s ears: and then
I am undone forever.
Syrus. It sha’n’t be.
Be of good courage! meanwhile, get you in,
And entertain yourself with her; and order
The couches to be spread, and all prepar’d.
For, these preliminaries once dispatch’d,
I shall march homeward with provisions.
Ctes. Do!
And since this business has turn’d out so well,
Let’s spend the day in mirth and jollity!
Exeunt severally.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
Sostrata, Canthara.
Sos. Prithee, good nurse, how will it go with her?
Can. How go with her? Why well, I warrant you.
Sos. Her pains begin to come upon her, nurse.
Can. You’re as much frighten’d at your time of day,
As if you ne’er was present at a labor,
Or never had been brought to bed yourself.
Sos. Alas, I’ve no soul here: we’re all alone.
Geta is absent; nor is there a creature
To fetch a midwife, or call Æschinus.
Can. He’ll be here presently, I promise you:
For he, good man, ne’er lets a single day
Go by, but he is sure to visit us.
Sos. He is my only comfort in my sorrows.
Can. Troth, as the case stands, madam, circumstances
Could not have happen’d better than they have:
And since your daughter suffer’d violence,
’Twas well she met with such a man as this;
A man of honor, rank, and family.
Sos. He is, indeed, a worthy gentleman:
The gods preserve him to us!
SCENE II.
Enter Geta hastily at another part of the stage.
Geta. We are now
So absolutely lost, that all the world
Joining in consultation to apply
Relief to the misfortune that has fallen
On me, my mistress, and her daughter, all
Would not avail.—Ah me! so many troubles
Environ us at once, we sink beneath them.
Rape, poverty, oppression, solitude,
And infamy! oh, what an age is this!
O wicked, oh vile race!—oh impious man!
Sos. (to Canthara). Ah, why should Geta seem thus terrified
And agitated?
Geta (to himself.) Wretch! whom neither honor,
Nor oaths, nor pity could control or move!
Nor her approaching labor; her, on whom
He shamefully committed violation!
Sos. I don’t well understand him.
Can. Prithee then
Let us draw nearer, Sostrata!
Geta (to himself.) Alas,
I’m scarcely in my perfect mind, I burn
With such fierce anger.—Oh, that I had all
That villain-family before me now,
That I might vent my indignation on them,
While yet it boils within me.—There is nothing
I’d not endure to be reveng’d on them.
First I’d tread out the stinking snuff his father,
Who gave the monster being.—And then, Syrus,
Who urg’d him to it,—how I’d tear him!—First
I’d seize him round the waist, and lift him high,
Then dash his head against the ground, and strew
The pavement with his brains.—For Æschinus,
I’d tear his eyes out, and then tumble him,
Head foremost down some precipice.—The rest
I’d rush on, drag, crush, trample under foot.
But why do I delay to tell my mistress
This heavy news as soon as possible! (Going.)
Sos. Let’s call him back.—Ho, Geta!
Geta. Whosoe’er
You are, excuse me.
Sos. I am Sostrata.
Geta. Where, where is Sostrata? (Turns about.) I sought you, Madam;
Impatiently I sought you: and am glad
To have encounter’d you thus readily.
Sos. What is the matter? why d’ye tremble thus?
Geta. Alas!
Sos. Take breath!—But why thus mov’d, good Geta?
Geta. We’re quite——
Sos. Quite what?
Geta. Undone: We’re ruin’d, Madam.
Sos. Explain, for Heaven’s sake!
Geta. Ev’n now——
Sos. What now?
Geta. Æschinus——
Sos. What of Æschinus?
Geta. Has quite
Estrang’d himself from all our family.
Sos. How’s that? confusion! why?
Geta. He loves another.
Sos. Wretch that I am!
Geta. Nor that clandestinely;
But snatch’d her in the face of all the world
From a procurer.
Sos. Are you sure of this?
Geta. Sure? With these very eyes I saw it, Madam.
Sos. Alas, alas! What then can we believe?
To whom give credit?—What? our Æschinus!
Our very life, our sole support and hope!
Who swore he could not live one day without her,
And promis’d he would place the new-born babe
Upon his father’s lap, and in that way
Wring from him his consent to marry her!
Geta. Nay, weep not, mistress; but consider rather
What course were best to follow: to conceal
This wrong, or to disclose it to some friend?
Can. Disclose it! Are you mad? Is this a thing
To be disclos’d, d’ye think?
Geta. I’d not advise it.
For first, that he has quite abandon’d us,
The thing itself declares. If we then make
The story known, no doubt but he’ll deny it.
Your reputation, and your daughter’s life
Will be endanger’d: or if he confess,
Since he affects another, ’twere not good
That he should wed your daughter.—For which reasons,
Silence is requisite.
Sos. Ah, no: not I.
Geta. What mean you?
Sos. To disclose the whole.
Geta. How, Madam!
Think what you are about.
Sos. Whatever happens,
The thing can’t be in a worse state than now.
In the first place my daughter has no portion,
And that which should have been her second dowry
Is also lost; and she can ne’er be giv’n
In marriage as a virgin. For the rest,
If he denies his former commerce with her,
I have the ring he lost to vouch the fact.
In short, since I am conscious to myself.
That I am not to blame in this proceeding,
And that no sordid love of gain, nor aught
Unworthy of my daughter or myself,
Has mix’d in this affair, I’ll try it, Geta.
Geta. Well, I agree, ’twere better to disclose it.
Sos. You then away, as fast as possible,
And run to Hegio our good friend and kinsman,
To let him know the whole affair: for he
Was the chief friend of my dear Simulus,
And ever show’d a great regard for us.
Geta. And well he does, for no one else cares for us.
Sos. And you, good Canthara, away with haste,
And call a midwife; that we may be sure
Of her assistance in the time of need.
Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.
Enter Demea.
Dem. Confusion! I have heard that Ctesipho
Was present with his brother at this riot.
This is the sum of all my miseries,
If he, even he, a sober, hopeful lad,
May be seduc’d into debaucheries.
—But where shall I inquire for him? I warrant
They have decoy’d him into some vile brothel.
That profligate persuaded him, I’m sure.
—But here comes Syrus.—I shall know from him
What is become of Ctesipho.—And yet
This rascal’s of the gang; and if he once
Perceives that I’m enquiring after him,
He’ll never tell, a villain!—I’ll take care
To cover my design.
—But here comes Syrus; he can tell me all.
And yet this slave is of the gang; and if
He once perceives that I’m inquiring for him,
He’ll never tell me any thing; a rogue!
I’ll not discover my design.
SCENE IV.
Enter Syrus at another part of the stage.