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  Sos. Did not you then reprove your son?

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

  Sos. How so? Tell me.

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

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

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

  Sos. For what reason?

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

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

  Sim. You go first; I’ll follow.

  Sosia goes into the house of Simo.

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

  Stands aside.

  Scene II.

  Enter Davus from the house of Simo.

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

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

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

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

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

  Sim. Davus.

  Dav. Well, what is it?

  Sim. Just step this way to me.

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

  Sim. What are you saying?

  Dav. About what?

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

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

  Sim. Will you attend to this, or not?

  Dav. Certainly, I will, to that.

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

  Dav. (aside.) What can this mean?

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

  Dav. So they say.

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

  Dav. I’faith, I do not comprehend.

  Sim. No? Ha ——

  Dav. No — I am Davus, not Œdipus.

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

  Dav. Certainly, by all means.

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

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

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

  Dav. Fair words, I entreat.

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

  Shaking his stick, goes into the house.

  Scene III.

  Davus alone.

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

  Exit.

  Scene IV.

  Enter Mysis from the house of Glycerium.

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

  Stands apart.

  Scene V.

  Enter Pamphilus, wringing his hands.

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

  Mys. (apart.) What does this mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Pam. How is she?

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Mys. So indeed I hope. (Moving.)

  Pam. But why are you leaving her?

  Mys. I’m going to fetch the midwife.

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

  Mys. I understand.

  Exeunt severally.

  ACT THE SECOND.

  Scene I.

  Enter Charinus and Byrrhia.

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

  Byr. It is so.

  Char. How do you know?

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

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

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

  Char. I wish for nothing else but Philumena.

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

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

  Byr. Well, well, just as you like.

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

  Byr. (aside) What does he mean?

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

  Byr. That something is nothing.

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

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

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

  Scene II.

  Enter Pamphilus.

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

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

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

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

  Pam. So they say.

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

  Pam. Why so?

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

  Byr. I’ll tell it.

  Pam. What is it?

  Byr. He’s in love with your betrothed.

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

  Char. Oh Pamphilus, nothing.

  Pam. How much I wish you had.

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

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

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

  Pam. Agreeable to me?

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

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

  Char. You have restored me to life.

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

  Char. I am satisfied.

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

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

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

  Exit
.

  Scene III.

  Enter Davus in haste.

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

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

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

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

  Char. (apart.) Don’t you hear him?

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

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

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

  Pam. Davus, come here! Stop!

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

  Char. Davus, I’m undone!

  Dav. Nay but, do hear this.

  Pam. I’m utterly ruined!

  Dav. I know what you are afraid of.

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

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

  Pam. My marriage —

  Dav. As if I did not know it?

  Pam. This day —

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

  Char. You understand the matter.

  Pam. That’s the very thing.

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

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

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