Chapter 8

MENEDEMUS seen at work in his garden.CHREMES calling to him over the hedge.CHREMES.GOOD morning, sir! good morning!(Aside.) He does not hear me.—Sir!Good morning!(Aside.) No: he goes on digging away for his life—Ho! Menedemus! Ho!MENEDEMUS.Who is it calls?Chr.’Tis I.Men.Chremes! why, what’s the matter?Chr.I only said good morning.I wish you the compliments of the day. ’Tis the feast of Bacchus.Men.I thank you. The same to you.Chr.I had something to say besides,If you are at leisure.Men.Now?Chr.Yes, now.Men.You see I am busy:But if ’tis a matter of any importance—Chr.Indeed it is.Men.Pray step to the gate: I’ll open it for you.Chr.You are very good.(Aside.) How fagged he looks!Men.Come in. You will not think me rude,If I ask you to tell your errand while I dig.11Chr.Excuse me,My good friend; and your spade, pray you, awhile put down.You must stop working.Men.No: I cannot rest a minute.(Taking the spade.)Chr.I can’t allow it indeed.Men.Now, sir, you wrong me.Chr.Hey!My word! what a weight it is!Men.It’s not too heavy for me.Chr.Come! what’s all this? well take it again, but don’t refuse meA moment’s attention.Men.Well!Chr.’Tis a matter concerns you nearly:So leave your work, and come outside, and sit on the bench,Where we may talk.Men.Whatever you have to say, Chremes,May be said here.20Chr.No doubt; but better as I propose:I will not detain you long.Men.What is it?Chr.Sit you down.Men.You have something to say.Chr.Not while you stand.Men.(sitting).Well, as you will.And now in as few words as may be . . . I am at your service.—Explain.Chr.Menedemus, although our acquaintance has been but short,And only dates from the day you bought this piece of land.And came to live close by me: for little or nought but thatOccasioned it, as you know: yet my respect for you,Or else your being a neighbour, for that itself, I take it,Counts in some sort as friendship, makes me bold and free30To give you a piece of advice: the fact is, you seem to meTo be working here in a manner, which both to your time of lifeAnd station, is most unsuitable. What, in Heaven’s name,Can be your object? what do you drive at? To guess your ageYou are sixty years at least. There’s no one hereaboutsCan shew a better farm, nor more servants upon it:And yet you do the work yourself, as tho’ you had none.Never do I go out, however early in the morning,Never come home again, however late at night,But here I see you digging, hoeing, or at all events40Toiling at something or other. You are never a moment idle,Nor shew regard for yourself. Now all this can’t be doneFor pleasure, that I am sure of, and as for any profit,Why, if you only applied half the energyTo stirring up your servants, both you and your farmWould do much better.Men.Have you so much spare time then, Chremes,Left from your own affairs to meddle with other people’s?The which moreover do not concern you.Chr.I am a man.Nought which concerns mankind concerns not me, I think.49Ere I advise, I’d first enquire what ’tis you do;If well, to learn by example; if ill, then to dissuade.Men.My duty is this: do you as best may suit yourself.Chr.What man can say ’tis right for him to torment himself?Men.I can.Chr.If it is any sorrow or trouble that has driven you to this,I am very sorry. But . . . what is it? Tell me, I pray.Whatever can you have done, that calls for such a penance?Men.Ay me!Chr.Come! don’t give way: confide to me this affair.Trust me: keep nothing back, I entreat you: have no fear.Surely I may either help, or advise, or at least console you.Men.You really wish to know?Chr.Yes, for the reason I gave.Men.I’ll tell you.Chr.What is it?Men.I have an only son, Chremes—Alas what say I? have? had I should rather say;62For whether now I have or not, I cannot tell.Chr.How so?Men.You shall hear: attend. There came to live in the cityA poor old widow woman from Corinth. She had a daughter,With whom my son, who is just of age, fell madly in love,Was even at the point to marry: and all without my knowledge.However it came to my ears; and then I began to treat himUnkindly, and not in the way to deal with a love-sick lad;69But after the usual dictatorial manner of fathers.I never left him in peace.Don’t think, my fine fellow,I’d say,that you’ll be allowed to continue behaving thus,While I am alive to prevent it; running after a girlAnd talking of marrying too: you are very much mistaken,Clinia, if you think that. You don’t know me. I am gladTo have you called my son, while you respect your honour;But if you once forget it, I shall find a means,And one you will not like, of asserting my own. All thisI see very plainly, I said,has come from idle habits.You have not enough to do. When I was your age80I did not fritter away my time in making love;But finding my pockets empty, set out for Asia,And won myself distinction and fortune in foreign service.At last, Chremes, it came to this: the poor young fellow,Continually hearing the same thing put so strongly to him,Gave in: he thought my age and due regard for his welfareWere likely to shew him a wiser and more prudent courseThan his own feelings;—he left the country, and went to fightUnder the king of Persia.Chr.Indeed?Men.He started offOne day without a word. He has now been gone six months.90Chr.Both were to blame; however I think the step that he tookWas the act of a modest and not unmanly disposition.Men.I enquired of some of his friends, and when I learnt the truth,I returned home to my house miserable, my mindUnhinged—distracted with grief. I sat me down; my servantsCame running to know my pleasure; some drew off my shoes,Others were hastening to and fro to prepare my dinner,Each anxious by doing his best to lessen the painOf my great misfortune: in vain: the sight of them made me think,‘What! is it then for me alone that all these persons100So busily are engaged? all for my comfort?For me is it that so many women are spinning; for meThis great household expense & luxury are maintained?And my only son, who in all should equally share with me—Nay, should have the larger share, since at his age he is ableBetter to use such things & enjoy them—him, poor boy,I have driven out of the house by my unkindness. No,I had rather die than do it. While he leads a lifeOf poverty & of hardship, exiled from home & country109By my severe treatment, so long will I visitHis punishment on myself, labouring, fasting, saving,Serving and slaving for him.’ I began there and then;I stripped the house for a sale, left nothing in it, not a dishTo eat off, not a coat to put on. I collected everything:And as for the men and maids, excepting such as were ableTo work the cost of their living out on my fields, I sent themTo market and sold them, I put up a notice,THIS HOUSE TO LET;And setting the price of all, some fifty talents, together,I bought this farm, and am well convinced at heart, Chremes,That in making myself miserable I act more justly120Towards him, my absent son; and that ’twere crime to indulgeIn any comfort, till he return home safe againTo share it with me.Chr.I see that you are a kind father;And he, I think, had been a dutiful son, if treatedWith moderation and judgment: but look, you did not knowEach other well enough: a common fault to observeIn family life, and one destructive of happiness.You never let him perceive how dear he was to you,So he dared not confide in you, when it was his duty:To have done the one or other had spared you this misfortune.130Men.’Tis as you say, I admit; but I was the more to blame.Chr.True. And to lose a child is deplorable. I had myselfThe same misfortune without my fault. A daughter it was,Stolen from me I know not how: my second child, a babe.That’s fifteen years ago. I was living at Ephesus,Where such events are regarded as commonish accidents.I know not where she was taken, have never heard of her since;And tho’ I have not forgot it, my own experience is,One does entirely get over the sort of thing—I assure you.Men.’Tis kind of you thus to recall your sorrow to comfort mine.140My condolence can make a distinction: the child you lostWas a daughter, a babe, you say. Clinia was my only son,Grown up. Besides you admit you were not at all to blame:I brought this on myself. See, friend, the difference!Chr.However I see no reason yet to despair, Menedemus.You will have him safe at home again, and soon, I am sure.Men.The gods grant it.Chr.They will. And now, ’tis the feast of Bacchus;We keep a birthday too. I hope, if it is agreeable,That you will come and dine at my house.Men.I can’t.Chr.Why not?Do pray now, after all you have done, allow yourself150This little relaxation. Think your absent sonIs asking you through me.Men.It is not right that I,Who have driven him into hardships, should spend my time in pleasures.Chr.You will not change your mind?Men.No.Chr.Then I’ll say good-bye.[Exit.Men.Good-bye.Chr.A tear, I do believe; I am sorry for him.’Tis lamentable to see goodness punished thusFor lack of a little wisdom. Folly brings remorse,And again remorse folly: they tread the circle; and heWould mend one fault by another, and on himself revenge159The wrong he has done his son. And that wrong too was notA real unkindness: no: mere want of common sense;It’s what I am always saying,—that is evil. To quoteFrom the very profoundest of authors, my favourite Sophocles,Wisdom is far away the chiefest of happiness.Of course a man may be happy, although he has lost his son,If it cannot be charged to his fault. In spite of the best intentionsMenedemus is much to blame. Poor fellow, but I may assist him.And if I can, I will. I love to help a neighbour;’Tis pleasure as well as duty: because it is a pleasureTo be wiser than others, and even a friend’s predicament170Increases the satisfaction I feel, when I think how wellMy own household is managed. But stay, ’tis time I wentTo see that all’s in order for the feast we hold to-night.There are one or two old friends, who’d take it much amiss[Exit.Did I not ask them. Now at once I’ll go and find them.Enter Pamphilus and Clinia.PAMPHILUS.That queer old boy’s my father: didn’t you know him?CLINIA.No.How should I? but his name I know—Chremes.Pam.You have it.Take care he hear not your name.Clin.Why so, Pamphilus?What can he know of me? and if he knew . . .Pam.See, Clinia,That is our house, & here the hedge & paling boundsYour father’s.Clin.Here?Pam.You see what a stroke of luck it was181To meet me when you did. You must have betrayed yourselfBy making enquiries, but I at the merest hint have led youStraight to the place: besides, if you wish to be near your fatherWithout his knowing that you are returned, my governorCan put you up.Clin.Is it here?Pam.Yes, there.Clin.For heaven’s sakeBe careful; may he not see me?Pam.If he looked over the myrtlesNo doubt he might.Clin.Hush! hush! He’ll hear you.Pam.All serene.He’s not this side: stand there: I’ll go & spy around.Keep out of sight.Clin.Stay, Pamphilus; are you really sureThis is my father’s?Pam.This is the place they told me, and hereA Menedemus lives, and has for the last six months.We’re right enough.Clin.I fear he’ll see us: pray come back.Pam.I thought you wished to see him.Clin.Ay, and so I do;194But nothing less in the world, if it should be the occasionOf his seeing me.Pam.Trust me: he won’t. I’ll speer about.He’s sure to be digging somewhere near.Clin.Digging?Pam.If not,(Goes round peering.)It is not old Menedemus.Clin.Oh what can it mean,My father’s sudden change of home and manner of life?He that so loved the town: himself the very centre200Of all good company, the best invited man,And most besought in Athens. Nothing but great disgustCould thus have turned his temper. I am the cause, and oneOf two things it must be; either he is more offended with meThan I supposed; or else, and this I hope and think,My flight, breaking the bond that surely was the nearestAnd dearest to him, has wrought upon him, and now he turnsAnd will consent: if that, ’tis well I am here: if not,He must not come to know I am back in Athens: nay,’Twould only vex him more: I must hide from him still:210For though there is nothing in the extremest scope of dutyIn which I would not obey him but one thing, ’tis this thingI am pledged to. Love absolves me. Nay, ’tis not for himI am now returned. I have chosen; I am not ashamed: I madeOne dutiful effort—oh intolerable! I am come,Sweetest Antiphila, to marry thee, and I will marry thee;Without consent, if must be, against my father’s will—Yet now I have hope; and whether rightly or wrongly I hopeI must discover.(Pamphilus returns to Clinia.)Pam.It’s very funny: he’s not to be seen.Clin.What shall I do?Pam.To-day’s my birthday, Clinia:220We have asked some friends to come: if you will be my guest,Our house is very handy. No one shall hear your name.My father will not suspect you.Clin.I thank you. There’s no need.Pam.I’ll call you Clitipho.Clin.No, no, I am ill-disposedFor company. Pray excuse me. Besides I am sure your fatherMust be acquainted with mine.Pam.I doubt it. He often saysHe wonders who in the world his eccentric neighbour is.But whether he knows or not we’ll soon find out: for look,He is coming down the road. Stand back where you can hear;And if he has any knowledge that can be of use to you,I’ll worm it out.Re-enter Chremes.230Chr.What are you doing, Pamphilus,Looking over the hedge into our neighbour’s garden?Do you not know how vulgar curiosity is?Spying and prying thus into other folk’s affairs.I am quite ashamed of you, sir!Pam.I was only looking to seeIf I could catch a glimpse of old Menedemus, father.I’ve found out something about him.Chr.Eh! and what is that?Pam.Have you ever heard of Clinia?Chr.Clinia, Clinia? Yes—Of course, why he’s Menedemus’ son, who is now in Persia.I know about him.Pam.Well, he’s an old school-friend of mine.Chr.Is he?240Pam.You know when first I came to school at Athens,He was kind to me, and afterwards, when we all came here to live,I met him again. I never dreamed that ’twas his father,Who took this place next door. I used to hear he was quiteA different sort of person.Chr.Ay, no doubt he was.The trouble his son has brought upon him has broke him down.Pam.Why, Clinia had no debts.Chr.Perhaps he had no debts:But I could tell you more about him than you imagine.I have never been able to take any pleasure, Pamphilus,In any one of your friendships; and now I am grieved to find250You are intimate with this foolish, dissolute young man.Evil communications corrupt good manners.Pam.Clinia is not that sort at all.Chr.You do not know.Pam.I know he fell in love with a girl that lives in the town,And wanted to marry her, only his father would not hear of it,And sent him off to Asia, and now—Chr.He ran away.Pam.And if he did, no wonder, considering his father’s treatment.Chr.He should not have done so.Pam.I take it his father’s sorry now.Chr.Of course all parents are always sorry for their sons’ misconduct.Pam.But he has far more cause to be sorry now for his own.Chr.You think so?Pam.Yes, I do.260Chr.(aside).I must not let my sonKnow how this old man dotes. If he should think all fathersAs soft as poor Menedemus, pretty pranks he’d play me!Pam.What were you saying?Chr.Ha! I’ll tell you what I was saying;That in any case his duty was to have stayed at home.’Tis possible that his father was somewhat more severeThan he found pleasant; but still he should have put up with it.For whom shda lad submit to, if not to his own father?Ought his father, tell me, to have fallen in with him,Or he with his father? And then what he is pleased to call270A hardship, was nothing of the kind: the so-called severitiesOf fathers are much of a piece: the least strict do not likeTo see their sons continually in bad company,Continually drinking: and so they are sparing in what they allow them;For such restrictions, remember, promote good morals.But when a man’s mind has once become the slaveOf evil passions, he is driven of necessity from bad to worse.There’s wisdom, Pamphilus, in the saying,By others’ faultsWise men correct their own.Pam.I think so too.Chr.Very well.Then I need say no more.Pam.Would not the old man, sir,Be glad to see him back?Chr.He would be glad to see him281Return from his evil ways to a dutiful course of conduct.Pam.I guess he’d let him marry the girl.Chr.(aside).What shall I say?Pam.He would.Chr.Nay, Pamphilus: attend to me. No fatherWould ever give in to his son in a matter of this kind.Learn this lesson: see what shame your friend has broughtOn his poor old father. No, ’twould never do to yield.I can promise you too that he will not. I should not advise it myself.Pam.You don’t know Clinia, sir; and have never seen the girl.You go entirely by what this old Menedemus says.He never saw her himself.Chr.(aside). That’s true.—And you have seen her?Pam.I have.Chr.And what is she like?Pam.I never saw anything like her.Chr.Come, what d’ye mean?Pam.I tell you, I know now what she’s like—The statue that stands in the hall: the third on the left.Chr.The Grace?An elegant taste.Pam.If you were to see her, you’d say the same.Chr.Should I? Then just attend. I wish to help my neighbour.If all were ready to lend their neighbours a helping hand,We should not hear the complaints we do against ill fortune.I am always ready myself; am now: in point of fact299I have promised to do what I can: but since, before I act,Or even judge, I am willing to know all sides of a case,’Tis part of my duty to see this girl. Could you procureThat I should speak with her?Pam.(aside).This is the very thing we want.If now I could get him to ask Antiphila here to-day,Clinia of course would come: I’ll try and work it.Chr.Well?Answer me. Could you do this?Pam.Yes, father.Chr.When?Pam.To-day.Chr.I did not mean to-day.Pam.There’s no time like the present.Chr.For inconvenience?Pam.No; for opportunity.Chr.How so?Pam.Invite her here to spend the feast with us,And bring a friend.Chr.But would she come?Pam.Yes, she would come.Chr.Whom have you asked besides?Pam.Only Philolaches.311Chr.It happens, Pamphilus, we are short of guests; I findMy old friend Phanias has gone from home to-day.Archonides’ wife is ill; they cannot come: and nowJust the last thing Daniel has disappointed me.The two young ladies would help us out: besides I am sure’Twould please your mother to ask them.Pam.I cannot agree with you there.Chr.Allow me to judge of that; and since you said you were ableTo bring them—bring them.Pam.Oh, if you wish it, I’m ready enough;I’ll see they come: but I had forgotten; there is one moreBesides Philolaches.320Chr.Who then? I beg you’ll bringNone of your Clinias here.Pam.He that is with me now.Chr.He is it? That’s quite another thing: A gentlemanAt first sight, Pamphilus; I wish that all your friendsWere such as he. By all means bring him. Present him now.His name?Pam.Clitipho.Chr.(aside). I like his appearance much:When I came up he went respectfully aside—Excellent manners. (To Clin.) Ha, good Clitipho, how d’ye do?’Tis time that we were acquainted. I understand my son329Has invited you to our house. There’s not much I can offer,ButMy little pot is soon hot. I am very gladAnd proud to have you my guest.Clin.I thank you, sir; I am sorry—Chr.No thanks, I pray. At present excuse me; for I must goAnd prepare my wife to receive her guests. You’re sure they’ll come?Pam.Sure.Chr.And I hope they may. ’Twill make our numbers up:We’ll have a merry feast.[Exit Chremes within.Pam.Ay, sir....And so we shall,Clinia.Clin.What have you done?Pam.Why pretty well, I think.Clin.I did not look for this, nor wish it, and do not like it.Pam.Not like it! Is it not perfect? If all the gods in heavenHad put their heads together to assist in your affairs,340They could not have done it better than I. My father bidsYou and Antiphila both to spend the day; and he,Charmed with her grace and beauty, will use his influenceTo bring your father round.Clin.I would not risk so muchOn the fancy of any man: and though I have a hopeAntiphila’s charms will plead not vainly, that must beWhen she’s my wife, not now: and they must urge themselves;Another cannot paint them.Pam.I do beseech you, Clinia,Don’t leave a friend in the lurch. Hark you; to tell the truth,My scheme suits me to a T as well as you. My fatherExpects Antiphila to bring a companion with her:351Now I have a lady friend, with whom I am circumstancedMuch as you are with yours. My father, just as yours,Would never hear of my asking her home; but if she comesTo-day as Antiphila’s friend, he’ll not guess who she is;So you may have your love to yourself, & I have mine.And see, here comes Philolaches, our other guest:I’ll tell him what is arranged: he’ll be a strong ally.Clin.Indeed, I can’t consent: and who is Philolaches,That you shdwish to tell him all my private affairs?360Pam.Ah, he can smell a rat; but don’t be afraid of him;He’s my sworn friend: & sure no less to keep a secret,Than he is to find out anything in the mortal worldThat you seek to withhold.Clin.I pray, say nothing to him of me.Pam.Trust us; we won’t betray you.(Runs back to meet Phil.)Clin.Pamphilus! why he’s gone.Now save me from my friends! Indeed this PamphilusWill be my ruin: I wish to heaven I had never met him.He’ll tell his father next, this old Ionian huckster,Sponge-mongering Chremes; the gods defend me from him,And his family feast, and his prosy wisdom! I thought to spend370This day of my return with sweet Antiphila:And here I am, caught by the ears. And yet my troublesome friendMeans well: I would not hurt his feelings; but at any costI must get clear, and in one matter I cannot yield:I will not have Antiphila brought to the judgment-seatOf this suburban oracle. What has he to doWith me & mine, my father or her—to push his noseInto our affairs?Re-enter Pamphilus with Philolaches.Pam.Allow me, Clinia, here’s my friendPhilolaches, the actor. Philolaches, my friendClinia: who is, as I told you, in Persia, you understand.He looks for some assurance of your discretion.PHILOLACHES.380Sir,You have it. Take this hand. And by the dog I swearNot to divulge a tittle; in friendship’s secrecyRather to aid—Clin.No need, sir: I take the will for the deed.My business is my own, and not of such a kindAs another can help in.Pam.Oh, but he can.Ph.A family quarrel—Meddling of course resented. But while your father, sir,Treats you so ill, expels you his house, denies his earTo the pitiful plea—Clin.Excuse me again. I do not knowThat my father is ill-disposed.Ph.(to Pam.).You told me.Pam.I said hewas;But Clinia hopes he may now be changed.390Ph.If that’s the case,I see that your wish must be, that I shddiscover at onceYour father’s temper towards you.Clin.Indeed, sir, I do not wish it.Ph.I die to serve you.Clin.I thank you.Ph.I promise to find it outIn half an hour.Clin.How would you?Ph.I am an actor, sir;Never so much myself as when I seem another.Would you employ my talent—Clin.Why, what would you do?Ph.Disguise myself as a Persian, late arrived in Athens:Go to your father’s house & bring him tidings of you.How the old man took what I should tell him would teach you all.Nay, I can promise more; that, if there’s left in him401The last wandering spark of affection, I’ll blow it to flame,And you shall twist him round your thumb.Pam.Bravo!Clin.But, sir,What tidings would you feign?Ph.That is as I should find him:If soft, I’d handle him kindly: if hard, I’d say I’d seen youSick of a fever, enslaved, imprisoned, or, if required,Dead and buried.Clin.And so you would give him needless pain.Pam.That is the question, Clinia; if you were sure of that,You would not be hiding.Clin.Nay, but the doubt will not excuse meIn doing the thing, which I still must hope would pain him most.410Ph.What matter, when all the time you are just behind the hedge?No reason I see to wound him: I shall feel my way.An hour will settle all. If he be kindly bent,Or I can move him towards you, you must stand preparedTo strike while the iron is hot. The lady, I understand,Will be with you here: be ready, and when I give the word,You step across the road and kneel for the old man’s blessing.Clin.I have told you, Pamphilus, Antiphila must not come.Your father’s interference is most unfortunate:He is not my judge for good or ill. It shall not be.Pam.I have promised.Clin.I am determined.420Ph.A very delicate point.And yet ’tis a pity they should not come.Pam.O Clinia,Your obstinacy will ruin all.Ph.(to Pam.).I understand.Your friend objects to the lady coming, because he thinksYour father will know her?Pam.And so he will.Ph.Nay, not at all.Chremes need never know her.Pam.How can you manage that?Ph.The thing’s as easy as lying. Let the ladies changeTheir names; or if so be Chremes knows not their names,428Let them but change their parts. Gorgo—for that’s the lady,Whom you would bring, I guess—let Gorgo pass to-dayFor Clinia’s mistress; let Antiphila play the maid;Whhinders not that when they come, each take his own.You have your Gorgo; you, sir, your Antiphila:And none will be any the wiser.Pam.Good. What say you now?Clin.’Twould make all kinds of complications, Pamphilus:And all to no manner of purpose.Pam.Why, I should keep my promise,And spend the day with Gorgo.Clin.I’ll play no part in this.You quite forget besides that as yet I know not howAntiphila will receive me. I have been six months away;She may have thrown me over, may have another lover,And think of me no more.440Ph.Wish you to find out that?I’ll serve you too in this. Give me the word to goAnd visit her where she lives, and if I find her true,To bring her along at once.Clin.’Tis extremely kind of you, sir,To throw yourself so quickly and hotly into my affairs:But indeed I do not need it.Ph.’Tis plain to me you do.A runaway just returned, afraid to face his father,Fearful lest in his absence his mistress have proved untrue—Not need a friend? Why a friend is just what you do need,To discover for you the state of affairs, and put you in train.450Clin.Though, sir, I were quite content to reckon upon your zeal,Maybe you overrate your ability.Ph.Not at all.Unless you will say that by art I am able to counterfeitPassion in all its branches, & yet not know the thingWhen I see it;—as if a man cdwrite who cannot read.You think your love for this lady a secret between yourselves—That she would not reveal it to me, a stranger? How in the worldCould she conceal it? Why, don’t you know that a girl in loveIsA B Cto read? Trust me and let me try.Pam.Clinia, do yield, I pray.Clin.I know not what to do.460I’ll yield so far as this: that if PhilolachesCan, as he boasts, discover these two things for me, firstHow my father stands disposed to me now, and nextWhether Antiphila’s heart is firm—and this so soonAnd easily as he thinks—I would not hinder him.One stipulation only: let him name what timeWill cover the whole performance; for failing him, I’d likeTo take my affairs in hand myself. I’ll ask him then,When does he hope to do this?Ph.Give me an hour apiece.Clin.This afternoon.Ph.Enough: a bargain. ’Tis two heartsTo read—your father and mistress.470Clin.And both this afternoon.Pam.And bring the lady if she is true.Clin.I said not that.Pam.Clinia, you must.Ph.Agree to this: I first will goAnd visit Antiphila; if she is willing, I bring her here,And here you may meet. But since she comes as Gorgo’s maid,’Twill be easy for you to withdraw with her, where and when you choose:I meanwhile will angle your father.Clin.(to Pam.).Then thus I assent,That first, she is not introduced to your father; and secondly,That I may take her away when I choose.Pam.Agreed.Ph.I’m off.But first a word with you (to Pam.).Pam.(to Clin.).O Clinia, I do thank you.480But don’t stay out here longer: somebody is sure to see you.Go into the house.Clin.If you will come with me.Pam.I’ll come directly.Clin.I have never met your people. I can’t go in by myself.[Exit Clinia within.Pam.Why, man alive, there’s only my father and mother. Go in.Ph.Your friend has money?Pam.Yes, his father.Ph.If I succeed,He’ll give me something?Pam.Surely. What are you going to do?Ph.I’m going to dress myself up as a Persian—didn’t you hear?To take in old Menedemus.Pam.May I help?Ph.Why, yes,If you will do as I tell: you shall be Persian in chief,Swagger and talk the gibberish: I’ll be interpreter.Two are better than one, tho’ one be a tup’s head.Pam.Menedemus knows me by sight.491Ph.Not in a Persian dress.Come, there’s no time to lose. I’ll go to the lady first:What is her name? Antiphila?Pam.Yes.Ph.And where does she live?Pam.I’ll come with you down the road, and tell you all as we go.But let’s be off. I fear Clinia may change his mind.[Exeunt.

MENEDEMUS seen at work in his garden.CHREMES calling to him over the hedge.CHREMES.

MENEDEMUS seen at work in his garden.

CHREMES calling to him over the hedge.

CHREMES.

GOOD morning, sir! good morning!

(Aside.) He does not hear me.—Sir!Good morning!

(Aside.) He does not hear me.—Sir!

Good morning!

(Aside.) No: he goes on digging away for his life—Ho! Menedemus! Ho!

(Aside.) No: he goes on digging away for his life—

Ho! Menedemus! Ho!

MENEDEMUS.Who is it calls?

MENEDEMUS.

Who is it calls?

Chr.’Tis I.

Men.Chremes! why, what’s the matter?

Chr.I only said good morning.I wish you the compliments of the day. ’Tis the feast of Bacchus.

Chr.I only said good morning.

I wish you the compliments of the day. ’Tis the feast of Bacchus.

Men.I thank you. The same to you.

Chr.I had something to say besides,If you are at leisure.

Chr.I had something to say besides,

If you are at leisure.

Men.Now?

Chr.Yes, now.

Men.You see I am busy:But if ’tis a matter of any importance—

Men.You see I am busy:

But if ’tis a matter of any importance—

Chr.Indeed it is.

Men.Pray step to the gate: I’ll open it for you.

Chr.You are very good.(Aside.) How fagged he looks!

Chr.You are very good.

(Aside.) How fagged he looks!

Men.Come in. You will not think me rude,If I ask you to tell your errand while I dig.

Men.Come in. You will not think me rude,

If I ask you to tell your errand while I dig.

11Chr.Excuse me,My good friend; and your spade, pray you, awhile put down.You must stop working.

Chr.Excuse me,

My good friend; and your spade, pray you, awhile put down.

You must stop working.

Men.No: I cannot rest a minute.

(Taking the spade.)Chr.I can’t allow it indeed.

Chr.I can’t allow it indeed.

Men.Now, sir, you wrong me.

Chr.Hey!My word! what a weight it is!

Chr.Hey!

My word! what a weight it is!

Men.It’s not too heavy for me.

Chr.Come! what’s all this? well take it again, but don’t refuse meA moment’s attention.

Chr.Come! what’s all this? well take it again, but don’t refuse me

A moment’s attention.

Men.Well!

Chr.’Tis a matter concerns you nearly:So leave your work, and come outside, and sit on the bench,Where we may talk.

Chr.’Tis a matter concerns you nearly:

So leave your work, and come outside, and sit on the bench,

Where we may talk.

Men.Whatever you have to say, Chremes,May be said here.

Men.Whatever you have to say, Chremes,

May be said here.

20Chr.No doubt; but better as I propose:I will not detain you long.

Chr.No doubt; but better as I propose:

I will not detain you long.

Men.What is it?

Chr.Sit you down.

Men.You have something to say.

Chr.Not while you stand.

Men.(sitting).Well, as you will.And now in as few words as may be . . . I am at your service.—Explain.

Men.(sitting).Well, as you will.

And now in as few words as may be . . . I am at your service.—

Explain.

Chr.Menedemus, although our acquaintance has been but short,And only dates from the day you bought this piece of land.And came to live close by me: for little or nought but thatOccasioned it, as you know: yet my respect for you,Or else your being a neighbour, for that itself, I take it,Counts in some sort as friendship, makes me bold and free30To give you a piece of advice: the fact is, you seem to meTo be working here in a manner, which both to your time of lifeAnd station, is most unsuitable. What, in Heaven’s name,Can be your object? what do you drive at? To guess your ageYou are sixty years at least. There’s no one hereaboutsCan shew a better farm, nor more servants upon it:And yet you do the work yourself, as tho’ you had none.Never do I go out, however early in the morning,Never come home again, however late at night,But here I see you digging, hoeing, or at all events40Toiling at something or other. You are never a moment idle,Nor shew regard for yourself. Now all this can’t be doneFor pleasure, that I am sure of, and as for any profit,Why, if you only applied half the energyTo stirring up your servants, both you and your farmWould do much better.

Chr.Menedemus, although our acquaintance has been but short,

And only dates from the day you bought this piece of land.

And came to live close by me: for little or nought but that

Occasioned it, as you know: yet my respect for you,

Or else your being a neighbour, for that itself, I take it,

Counts in some sort as friendship, makes me bold and free

To give you a piece of advice: the fact is, you seem to me

To be working here in a manner, which both to your time of life

And station, is most unsuitable. What, in Heaven’s name,

Can be your object? what do you drive at? To guess your age

You are sixty years at least. There’s no one hereabouts

Can shew a better farm, nor more servants upon it:

And yet you do the work yourself, as tho’ you had none.

Never do I go out, however early in the morning,

Never come home again, however late at night,

But here I see you digging, hoeing, or at all events

Toiling at something or other. You are never a moment idle,

Nor shew regard for yourself. Now all this can’t be done

For pleasure, that I am sure of, and as for any profit,

Why, if you only applied half the energy

To stirring up your servants, both you and your farm

Would do much better.

Men.Have you so much spare time then, Chremes,Left from your own affairs to meddle with other people’s?The which moreover do not concern you.

Men.Have you so much spare time then, Chremes,

Left from your own affairs to meddle with other people’s?

The which moreover do not concern you.

Chr.I am a man.Nought which concerns mankind concerns not me, I think.49Ere I advise, I’d first enquire what ’tis you do;If well, to learn by example; if ill, then to dissuade.

Chr.I am a man.

Nought which concerns mankind concerns not me, I think.

Ere I advise, I’d first enquire what ’tis you do;

If well, to learn by example; if ill, then to dissuade.

Men.My duty is this: do you as best may suit yourself.

Chr.What man can say ’tis right for him to torment himself?

Men.I can.

Chr.If it is any sorrow or trouble that has driven you to this,I am very sorry. But . . . what is it? Tell me, I pray.Whatever can you have done, that calls for such a penance?

Chr.If it is any sorrow or trouble that has driven you to this,

I am very sorry. But . . . what is it? Tell me, I pray.

Whatever can you have done, that calls for such a penance?

Men.Ay me!

Chr.Come! don’t give way: confide to me this affair.Trust me: keep nothing back, I entreat you: have no fear.Surely I may either help, or advise, or at least console you.

Chr.Come! don’t give way: confide to me this affair.

Trust me: keep nothing back, I entreat you: have no fear.

Surely I may either help, or advise, or at least console you.

Men.You really wish to know?

Chr.Yes, for the reason I gave.

Men.I’ll tell you.

Chr.What is it?

Men.I have an only son, Chremes—Alas what say I? have? had I should rather say;62For whether now I have or not, I cannot tell.

Men.I have an only son, Chremes—

Alas what say I? have? had I should rather say;

For whether now I have or not, I cannot tell.

Chr.How so?

Men.You shall hear: attend. There came to live in the cityA poor old widow woman from Corinth. She had a daughter,With whom my son, who is just of age, fell madly in love,Was even at the point to marry: and all without my knowledge.However it came to my ears; and then I began to treat himUnkindly, and not in the way to deal with a love-sick lad;69But after the usual dictatorial manner of fathers.I never left him in peace.Don’t think, my fine fellow,I’d say,that you’ll be allowed to continue behaving thus,While I am alive to prevent it; running after a girlAnd talking of marrying too: you are very much mistaken,Clinia, if you think that. You don’t know me. I am gladTo have you called my son, while you respect your honour;But if you once forget it, I shall find a means,And one you will not like, of asserting my own. All thisI see very plainly, I said,has come from idle habits.You have not enough to do. When I was your age80I did not fritter away my time in making love;But finding my pockets empty, set out for Asia,And won myself distinction and fortune in foreign service.At last, Chremes, it came to this: the poor young fellow,Continually hearing the same thing put so strongly to him,Gave in: he thought my age and due regard for his welfareWere likely to shew him a wiser and more prudent courseThan his own feelings;—he left the country, and went to fightUnder the king of Persia.

Men.You shall hear: attend. There came to live in the city

A poor old widow woman from Corinth. She had a daughter,

With whom my son, who is just of age, fell madly in love,

Was even at the point to marry: and all without my knowledge.

However it came to my ears; and then I began to treat him

Unkindly, and not in the way to deal with a love-sick lad;

But after the usual dictatorial manner of fathers.

I never left him in peace.Don’t think, my fine fellow,

I’d say,that you’ll be allowed to continue behaving thus,

While I am alive to prevent it; running after a girl

And talking of marrying too: you are very much mistaken,

Clinia, if you think that. You don’t know me. I am glad

To have you called my son, while you respect your honour;

But if you once forget it, I shall find a means,

And one you will not like, of asserting my own. All this

I see very plainly, I said,has come from idle habits.

You have not enough to do. When I was your age

I did not fritter away my time in making love;

But finding my pockets empty, set out for Asia,

And won myself distinction and fortune in foreign service.

At last, Chremes, it came to this: the poor young fellow,

Continually hearing the same thing put so strongly to him,

Gave in: he thought my age and due regard for his welfare

Were likely to shew him a wiser and more prudent course

Than his own feelings;—he left the country, and went to fight

Under the king of Persia.

Chr.Indeed?

Men.He started offOne day without a word. He has now been gone six months.

Men.He started off

One day without a word. He has now been gone six months.

90Chr.Both were to blame; however I think the step that he tookWas the act of a modest and not unmanly disposition.

Chr.Both were to blame; however I think the step that he took

Was the act of a modest and not unmanly disposition.

Men.I enquired of some of his friends, and when I learnt the truth,I returned home to my house miserable, my mindUnhinged—distracted with grief. I sat me down; my servantsCame running to know my pleasure; some drew off my shoes,Others were hastening to and fro to prepare my dinner,Each anxious by doing his best to lessen the painOf my great misfortune: in vain: the sight of them made me think,‘What! is it then for me alone that all these persons100So busily are engaged? all for my comfort?For me is it that so many women are spinning; for meThis great household expense & luxury are maintained?And my only son, who in all should equally share with me—Nay, should have the larger share, since at his age he is ableBetter to use such things & enjoy them—him, poor boy,I have driven out of the house by my unkindness. No,I had rather die than do it. While he leads a lifeOf poverty & of hardship, exiled from home & country109By my severe treatment, so long will I visitHis punishment on myself, labouring, fasting, saving,Serving and slaving for him.’ I began there and then;I stripped the house for a sale, left nothing in it, not a dishTo eat off, not a coat to put on. I collected everything:And as for the men and maids, excepting such as were ableTo work the cost of their living out on my fields, I sent themTo market and sold them, I put up a notice,THIS HOUSE TO LET;And setting the price of all, some fifty talents, together,I bought this farm, and am well convinced at heart, Chremes,That in making myself miserable I act more justly120Towards him, my absent son; and that ’twere crime to indulgeIn any comfort, till he return home safe againTo share it with me.

Men.I enquired of some of his friends, and when I learnt the truth,

I returned home to my house miserable, my mind

Unhinged—distracted with grief. I sat me down; my servants

Came running to know my pleasure; some drew off my shoes,

Others were hastening to and fro to prepare my dinner,

Each anxious by doing his best to lessen the pain

Of my great misfortune: in vain: the sight of them made me think,

‘What! is it then for me alone that all these persons

So busily are engaged? all for my comfort?

For me is it that so many women are spinning; for me

This great household expense & luxury are maintained?

And my only son, who in all should equally share with me—

Nay, should have the larger share, since at his age he is able

Better to use such things & enjoy them—him, poor boy,

I have driven out of the house by my unkindness. No,

I had rather die than do it. While he leads a life

Of poverty & of hardship, exiled from home & country

By my severe treatment, so long will I visit

His punishment on myself, labouring, fasting, saving,

Serving and slaving for him.’ I began there and then;

I stripped the house for a sale, left nothing in it, not a dish

To eat off, not a coat to put on. I collected everything:

And as for the men and maids, excepting such as were able

To work the cost of their living out on my fields, I sent them

To market and sold them, I put up a notice,THIS HOUSE TO LET;

And setting the price of all, some fifty talents, together,

I bought this farm, and am well convinced at heart, Chremes,

That in making myself miserable I act more justly

Towards him, my absent son; and that ’twere crime to indulge

In any comfort, till he return home safe again

To share it with me.

Chr.I see that you are a kind father;And he, I think, had been a dutiful son, if treatedWith moderation and judgment: but look, you did not knowEach other well enough: a common fault to observeIn family life, and one destructive of happiness.You never let him perceive how dear he was to you,So he dared not confide in you, when it was his duty:To have done the one or other had spared you this misfortune.

Chr.I see that you are a kind father;

And he, I think, had been a dutiful son, if treated

With moderation and judgment: but look, you did not know

Each other well enough: a common fault to observe

In family life, and one destructive of happiness.

You never let him perceive how dear he was to you,

So he dared not confide in you, when it was his duty:

To have done the one or other had spared you this misfortune.

130Men.’Tis as you say, I admit; but I was the more to blame.

Men.’Tis as you say, I admit; but I was the more to blame.

Chr.True. And to lose a child is deplorable. I had myselfThe same misfortune without my fault. A daughter it was,Stolen from me I know not how: my second child, a babe.That’s fifteen years ago. I was living at Ephesus,Where such events are regarded as commonish accidents.I know not where she was taken, have never heard of her since;And tho’ I have not forgot it, my own experience is,One does entirely get over the sort of thing—I assure you.

Chr.True. And to lose a child is deplorable. I had myself

The same misfortune without my fault. A daughter it was,

Stolen from me I know not how: my second child, a babe.

That’s fifteen years ago. I was living at Ephesus,

Where such events are regarded as commonish accidents.

I know not where she was taken, have never heard of her since;

And tho’ I have not forgot it, my own experience is,

One does entirely get over the sort of thing—I assure you.

Men.’Tis kind of you thus to recall your sorrow to comfort mine.140My condolence can make a distinction: the child you lostWas a daughter, a babe, you say. Clinia was my only son,Grown up. Besides you admit you were not at all to blame:I brought this on myself. See, friend, the difference!

Men.’Tis kind of you thus to recall your sorrow to comfort mine.

My condolence can make a distinction: the child you lost

Was a daughter, a babe, you say. Clinia was my only son,

Grown up. Besides you admit you were not at all to blame:

I brought this on myself. See, friend, the difference!

Chr.However I see no reason yet to despair, Menedemus.You will have him safe at home again, and soon, I am sure.

Chr.However I see no reason yet to despair, Menedemus.

You will have him safe at home again, and soon, I am sure.

Men.The gods grant it.

Chr.They will. And now, ’tis the feast of Bacchus;We keep a birthday too. I hope, if it is agreeable,That you will come and dine at my house.

Chr.They will. And now, ’tis the feast of Bacchus;

We keep a birthday too. I hope, if it is agreeable,

That you will come and dine at my house.

Men.I can’t.

Chr.Why not?Do pray now, after all you have done, allow yourself150This little relaxation. Think your absent sonIs asking you through me.

Chr.Why not?

Do pray now, after all you have done, allow yourself

This little relaxation. Think your absent son

Is asking you through me.

Men.It is not right that I,Who have driven him into hardships, should spend my time in pleasures.

Men.It is not right that I,

Who have driven him into hardships, should spend my time in pleasures.

Chr.You will not change your mind?

Men.No.

Chr.Then I’ll say good-bye.

[Exit.Men.Good-bye.

Men.Good-bye.

Chr.A tear, I do believe; I am sorry for him.’Tis lamentable to see goodness punished thusFor lack of a little wisdom. Folly brings remorse,And again remorse folly: they tread the circle; and heWould mend one fault by another, and on himself revenge159The wrong he has done his son. And that wrong too was notA real unkindness: no: mere want of common sense;It’s what I am always saying,—that is evil. To quoteFrom the very profoundest of authors, my favourite Sophocles,Wisdom is far away the chiefest of happiness.Of course a man may be happy, although he has lost his son,If it cannot be charged to his fault. In spite of the best intentionsMenedemus is much to blame. Poor fellow, but I may assist him.And if I can, I will. I love to help a neighbour;’Tis pleasure as well as duty: because it is a pleasureTo be wiser than others, and even a friend’s predicament170Increases the satisfaction I feel, when I think how wellMy own household is managed. But stay, ’tis time I wentTo see that all’s in order for the feast we hold to-night.There are one or two old friends, who’d take it much amiss[Exit.Did I not ask them. Now at once I’ll go and find them.

Chr.A tear, I do believe; I am sorry for him.

’Tis lamentable to see goodness punished thus

For lack of a little wisdom. Folly brings remorse,

And again remorse folly: they tread the circle; and he

Would mend one fault by another, and on himself revenge

The wrong he has done his son. And that wrong too was not

A real unkindness: no: mere want of common sense;

It’s what I am always saying,—that is evil. To quote

From the very profoundest of authors, my favourite Sophocles,

Wisdom is far away the chiefest of happiness.

Of course a man may be happy, although he has lost his son,

If it cannot be charged to his fault. In spite of the best intentions

Menedemus is much to blame. Poor fellow, but I may assist him.

And if I can, I will. I love to help a neighbour;

’Tis pleasure as well as duty: because it is a pleasure

To be wiser than others, and even a friend’s predicament

Increases the satisfaction I feel, when I think how well

My own household is managed. But stay, ’tis time I went

To see that all’s in order for the feast we hold to-night.

There are one or two old friends, who’d take it much amiss

Did I not ask them. Now at once I’ll go and find them.

Enter Pamphilus and Clinia.PAMPHILUS.

Enter Pamphilus and Clinia.

PAMPHILUS.

That queer old boy’s my father: didn’t you know him?

CLINIA.

No.How should I? but his name I know—Chremes.

No.

How should I? but his name I know—Chremes.

Pam.You have it.Take care he hear not your name.

Pam.You have it.

Take care he hear not your name.

Clin.Why so, Pamphilus?What can he know of me? and if he knew . . .

Clin.Why so, Pamphilus?

What can he know of me? and if he knew . . .

Pam.See, Clinia,That is our house, & here the hedge & paling boundsYour father’s.

Pam.See, Clinia,

That is our house, & here the hedge & paling bounds

Your father’s.

Clin.Here?

Pam.You see what a stroke of luck it was181To meet me when you did. You must have betrayed yourselfBy making enquiries, but I at the merest hint have led youStraight to the place: besides, if you wish to be near your fatherWithout his knowing that you are returned, my governorCan put you up.

Pam.You see what a stroke of luck it was

To meet me when you did. You must have betrayed yourself

By making enquiries, but I at the merest hint have led you

Straight to the place: besides, if you wish to be near your father

Without his knowing that you are returned, my governor

Can put you up.

Clin.Is it here?

Pam.Yes, there.

Clin.For heaven’s sakeBe careful; may he not see me?

Clin.For heaven’s sake

Be careful; may he not see me?

Pam.If he looked over the myrtlesNo doubt he might.

Pam.If he looked over the myrtles

No doubt he might.

Clin.Hush! hush! He’ll hear you.

Pam.All serene.He’s not this side: stand there: I’ll go & spy around.Keep out of sight.

Pam.All serene.

He’s not this side: stand there: I’ll go & spy around.

Keep out of sight.

Clin.Stay, Pamphilus; are you really sureThis is my father’s?

Clin.Stay, Pamphilus; are you really sure

This is my father’s?

Pam.This is the place they told me, and hereA Menedemus lives, and has for the last six months.We’re right enough.

Pam.This is the place they told me, and here

A Menedemus lives, and has for the last six months.

We’re right enough.

Clin.I fear he’ll see us: pray come back.

Pam.I thought you wished to see him.

Clin.Ay, and so I do;194But nothing less in the world, if it should be the occasionOf his seeing me.

Clin.Ay, and so I do;

But nothing less in the world, if it should be the occasion

Of his seeing me.

Pam.Trust me: he won’t. I’ll speer about.He’s sure to be digging somewhere near.

Pam.Trust me: he won’t. I’ll speer about.

He’s sure to be digging somewhere near.

Clin.Digging?

Pam.If not,(Goes round peering.)It is not old Menedemus.

Pam.If not,

It is not old Menedemus.

Clin.Oh what can it mean,My father’s sudden change of home and manner of life?He that so loved the town: himself the very centre200Of all good company, the best invited man,And most besought in Athens. Nothing but great disgustCould thus have turned his temper. I am the cause, and oneOf two things it must be; either he is more offended with meThan I supposed; or else, and this I hope and think,My flight, breaking the bond that surely was the nearestAnd dearest to him, has wrought upon him, and now he turnsAnd will consent: if that, ’tis well I am here: if not,He must not come to know I am back in Athens: nay,’Twould only vex him more: I must hide from him still:210For though there is nothing in the extremest scope of dutyIn which I would not obey him but one thing, ’tis this thingI am pledged to. Love absolves me. Nay, ’tis not for himI am now returned. I have chosen; I am not ashamed: I madeOne dutiful effort—oh intolerable! I am come,Sweetest Antiphila, to marry thee, and I will marry thee;Without consent, if must be, against my father’s will—Yet now I have hope; and whether rightly or wrongly I hopeI must discover.(Pamphilus returns to Clinia.)

Clin.Oh what can it mean,

My father’s sudden change of home and manner of life?

He that so loved the town: himself the very centre

Of all good company, the best invited man,

And most besought in Athens. Nothing but great disgust

Could thus have turned his temper. I am the cause, and one

Of two things it must be; either he is more offended with me

Than I supposed; or else, and this I hope and think,

My flight, breaking the bond that surely was the nearest

And dearest to him, has wrought upon him, and now he turns

And will consent: if that, ’tis well I am here: if not,

He must not come to know I am back in Athens: nay,

’Twould only vex him more: I must hide from him still:

For though there is nothing in the extremest scope of duty

In which I would not obey him but one thing, ’tis this thing

I am pledged to. Love absolves me. Nay, ’tis not for him

I am now returned. I have chosen; I am not ashamed: I made

One dutiful effort—oh intolerable! I am come,

Sweetest Antiphila, to marry thee, and I will marry thee;

Without consent, if must be, against my father’s will—

Yet now I have hope; and whether rightly or wrongly I hope

I must discover.

(Pamphilus returns to Clinia.)

Pam.It’s very funny: he’s not to be seen.

Clin.What shall I do?

Pam.To-day’s my birthday, Clinia:220We have asked some friends to come: if you will be my guest,Our house is very handy. No one shall hear your name.My father will not suspect you.

Pam.To-day’s my birthday, Clinia:

We have asked some friends to come: if you will be my guest,

Our house is very handy. No one shall hear your name.

My father will not suspect you.

Clin.I thank you. There’s no need.

Pam.I’ll call you Clitipho.

Clin.No, no, I am ill-disposedFor company. Pray excuse me. Besides I am sure your fatherMust be acquainted with mine.

Clin.No, no, I am ill-disposed

For company. Pray excuse me. Besides I am sure your father

Must be acquainted with mine.

Pam.I doubt it. He often saysHe wonders who in the world his eccentric neighbour is.But whether he knows or not we’ll soon find out: for look,He is coming down the road. Stand back where you can hear;And if he has any knowledge that can be of use to you,I’ll worm it out.Re-enter Chremes.230Chr.What are you doing, Pamphilus,Looking over the hedge into our neighbour’s garden?Do you not know how vulgar curiosity is?Spying and prying thus into other folk’s affairs.I am quite ashamed of you, sir!Pam.I was only looking to seeIf I could catch a glimpse of old Menedemus, father.I’ve found out something about him.Chr.Eh! and what is that?Pam.Have you ever heard of Clinia?Chr.Clinia, Clinia? Yes—Of course, why he’s Menedemus’ son, who is now in Persia.I know about him.Pam.Well, he’s an old school-friend of mine.Chr.Is he?240Pam.You know when first I came to school at Athens,He was kind to me, and afterwards, when we all came here to live,I met him again. I never dreamed that ’twas his father,Who took this place next door. I used to hear he was quiteA different sort of person.Chr.Ay, no doubt he was.The trouble his son has brought upon him has broke him down.Pam.Why, Clinia had no debts.Chr.Perhaps he had no debts:But I could tell you more about him than you imagine.I have never been able to take any pleasure, Pamphilus,In any one of your friendships; and now I am grieved to find250You are intimate with this foolish, dissolute young man.Evil communications corrupt good manners.Pam.Clinia is not that sort at all.Chr.You do not know.Pam.I know he fell in love with a girl that lives in the town,And wanted to marry her, only his father would not hear of it,And sent him off to Asia, and now—Chr.He ran away.Pam.And if he did, no wonder, considering his father’s treatment.Chr.He should not have done so.Pam.I take it his father’s sorry now.Chr.Of course all parents are always sorry for their sons’ misconduct.Pam.But he has far more cause to be sorry now for his own.Chr.You think so?Pam.Yes, I do.260Chr.(aside).I must not let my sonKnow how this old man dotes. If he should think all fathersAs soft as poor Menedemus, pretty pranks he’d play me!Pam.What were you saying?Chr.Ha! I’ll tell you what I was saying;That in any case his duty was to have stayed at home.’Tis possible that his father was somewhat more severeThan he found pleasant; but still he should have put up with it.For whom shda lad submit to, if not to his own father?Ought his father, tell me, to have fallen in with him,Or he with his father? And then what he is pleased to call270A hardship, was nothing of the kind: the so-called severitiesOf fathers are much of a piece: the least strict do not likeTo see their sons continually in bad company,Continually drinking: and so they are sparing in what they allow them;For such restrictions, remember, promote good morals.But when a man’s mind has once become the slaveOf evil passions, he is driven of necessity from bad to worse.There’s wisdom, Pamphilus, in the saying,By others’ faultsWise men correct their own.Pam.I think so too.Chr.Very well.Then I need say no more.Pam.Would not the old man, sir,Be glad to see him back?Chr.He would be glad to see him281Return from his evil ways to a dutiful course of conduct.Pam.I guess he’d let him marry the girl.Chr.(aside).What shall I say?Pam.He would.Chr.Nay, Pamphilus: attend to me. No fatherWould ever give in to his son in a matter of this kind.Learn this lesson: see what shame your friend has broughtOn his poor old father. No, ’twould never do to yield.I can promise you too that he will not. I should not advise it myself.Pam.You don’t know Clinia, sir; and have never seen the girl.You go entirely by what this old Menedemus says.He never saw her himself.Chr.(aside). That’s true.—And you have seen her?Pam.I have.Chr.And what is she like?Pam.I never saw anything like her.Chr.Come, what d’ye mean?Pam.I tell you, I know now what she’s like—The statue that stands in the hall: the third on the left.Chr.The Grace?An elegant taste.Pam.If you were to see her, you’d say the same.Chr.Should I? Then just attend. I wish to help my neighbour.If all were ready to lend their neighbours a helping hand,We should not hear the complaints we do against ill fortune.I am always ready myself; am now: in point of fact299I have promised to do what I can: but since, before I act,Or even judge, I am willing to know all sides of a case,’Tis part of my duty to see this girl. Could you procureThat I should speak with her?Pam.(aside).This is the very thing we want.If now I could get him to ask Antiphila here to-day,Clinia of course would come: I’ll try and work it.Chr.Well?Answer me. Could you do this?Pam.Yes, father.Chr.When?Pam.To-day.Chr.I did not mean to-day.Pam.There’s no time like the present.Chr.For inconvenience?Pam.No; for opportunity.Chr.How so?Pam.Invite her here to spend the feast with us,And bring a friend.Chr.But would she come?Pam.Yes, she would come.Chr.Whom have you asked besides?Pam.Only Philolaches.311Chr.It happens, Pamphilus, we are short of guests; I findMy old friend Phanias has gone from home to-day.Archonides’ wife is ill; they cannot come: and nowJust the last thing Daniel has disappointed me.The two young ladies would help us out: besides I am sure’Twould please your mother to ask them.Pam.I cannot agree with you there.Chr.Allow me to judge of that; and since you said you were ableTo bring them—bring them.Pam.Oh, if you wish it, I’m ready enough;I’ll see they come: but I had forgotten; there is one moreBesides Philolaches.320Chr.Who then? I beg you’ll bringNone of your Clinias here.Pam.He that is with me now.Chr.He is it? That’s quite another thing: A gentlemanAt first sight, Pamphilus; I wish that all your friendsWere such as he. By all means bring him. Present him now.His name?Pam.Clitipho.Chr.(aside). I like his appearance much:When I came up he went respectfully aside—Excellent manners. (To Clin.) Ha, good Clitipho, how d’ye do?’Tis time that we were acquainted. I understand my son329Has invited you to our house. There’s not much I can offer,ButMy little pot is soon hot. I am very gladAnd proud to have you my guest.Clin.I thank you, sir; I am sorry—Chr.No thanks, I pray. At present excuse me; for I must goAnd prepare my wife to receive her guests. You’re sure they’ll come?Pam.Sure.Chr.And I hope they may. ’Twill make our numbers up:We’ll have a merry feast.[Exit Chremes within.Pam.Ay, sir....And so we shall,Clinia.Clin.What have you done?Pam.Why pretty well, I think.Clin.I did not look for this, nor wish it, and do not like it.Pam.Not like it! Is it not perfect? If all the gods in heavenHad put their heads together to assist in your affairs,340They could not have done it better than I. My father bidsYou and Antiphila both to spend the day; and he,Charmed with her grace and beauty, will use his influenceTo bring your father round.Clin.I would not risk so muchOn the fancy of any man: and though I have a hopeAntiphila’s charms will plead not vainly, that must beWhen she’s my wife, not now: and they must urge themselves;Another cannot paint them.Pam.I do beseech you, Clinia,Don’t leave a friend in the lurch. Hark you; to tell the truth,My scheme suits me to a T as well as you. My fatherExpects Antiphila to bring a companion with her:351Now I have a lady friend, with whom I am circumstancedMuch as you are with yours. My father, just as yours,Would never hear of my asking her home; but if she comesTo-day as Antiphila’s friend, he’ll not guess who she is;So you may have your love to yourself, & I have mine.And see, here comes Philolaches, our other guest:I’ll tell him what is arranged: he’ll be a strong ally.Clin.Indeed, I can’t consent: and who is Philolaches,That you shdwish to tell him all my private affairs?360Pam.Ah, he can smell a rat; but don’t be afraid of him;He’s my sworn friend: & sure no less to keep a secret,Than he is to find out anything in the mortal worldThat you seek to withhold.Clin.I pray, say nothing to him of me.Pam.Trust us; we won’t betray you.(Runs back to meet Phil.)Clin.Pamphilus! why he’s gone.Now save me from my friends! Indeed this PamphilusWill be my ruin: I wish to heaven I had never met him.He’ll tell his father next, this old Ionian huckster,Sponge-mongering Chremes; the gods defend me from him,And his family feast, and his prosy wisdom! I thought to spend370This day of my return with sweet Antiphila:And here I am, caught by the ears. And yet my troublesome friendMeans well: I would not hurt his feelings; but at any costI must get clear, and in one matter I cannot yield:I will not have Antiphila brought to the judgment-seatOf this suburban oracle. What has he to doWith me & mine, my father or her—to push his noseInto our affairs?Re-enter Pamphilus with Philolaches.Pam.Allow me, Clinia, here’s my friendPhilolaches, the actor. Philolaches, my friendClinia: who is, as I told you, in Persia, you understand.He looks for some assurance of your discretion.PHILOLACHES.380Sir,You have it. Take this hand. And by the dog I swearNot to divulge a tittle; in friendship’s secrecyRather to aid—Clin.No need, sir: I take the will for the deed.My business is my own, and not of such a kindAs another can help in.Pam.Oh, but he can.Ph.A family quarrel—Meddling of course resented. But while your father, sir,Treats you so ill, expels you his house, denies his earTo the pitiful plea—Clin.Excuse me again. I do not knowThat my father is ill-disposed.Ph.(to Pam.).You told me.Pam.I said hewas;But Clinia hopes he may now be changed.390Ph.If that’s the case,I see that your wish must be, that I shddiscover at onceYour father’s temper towards you.Clin.Indeed, sir, I do not wish it.Ph.I die to serve you.Clin.I thank you.Ph.I promise to find it outIn half an hour.Clin.How would you?Ph.I am an actor, sir;Never so much myself as when I seem another.Would you employ my talent—Clin.Why, what would you do?Ph.Disguise myself as a Persian, late arrived in Athens:Go to your father’s house & bring him tidings of you.How the old man took what I should tell him would teach you all.Nay, I can promise more; that, if there’s left in him401The last wandering spark of affection, I’ll blow it to flame,And you shall twist him round your thumb.Pam.Bravo!Clin.But, sir,What tidings would you feign?Ph.That is as I should find him:If soft, I’d handle him kindly: if hard, I’d say I’d seen youSick of a fever, enslaved, imprisoned, or, if required,Dead and buried.Clin.And so you would give him needless pain.Pam.That is the question, Clinia; if you were sure of that,You would not be hiding.Clin.Nay, but the doubt will not excuse meIn doing the thing, which I still must hope would pain him most.410Ph.What matter, when all the time you are just behind the hedge?No reason I see to wound him: I shall feel my way.An hour will settle all. If he be kindly bent,Or I can move him towards you, you must stand preparedTo strike while the iron is hot. The lady, I understand,Will be with you here: be ready, and when I give the word,You step across the road and kneel for the old man’s blessing.Clin.I have told you, Pamphilus, Antiphila must not come.Your father’s interference is most unfortunate:He is not my judge for good or ill. It shall not be.Pam.I have promised.Clin.I am determined.420Ph.A very delicate point.And yet ’tis a pity they should not come.Pam.O Clinia,Your obstinacy will ruin all.Ph.(to Pam.).I understand.Your friend objects to the lady coming, because he thinksYour father will know her?Pam.And so he will.Ph.Nay, not at all.Chremes need never know her.Pam.How can you manage that?Ph.The thing’s as easy as lying. Let the ladies changeTheir names; or if so be Chremes knows not their names,428Let them but change their parts. Gorgo—for that’s the lady,Whom you would bring, I guess—let Gorgo pass to-dayFor Clinia’s mistress; let Antiphila play the maid;Whhinders not that when they come, each take his own.You have your Gorgo; you, sir, your Antiphila:And none will be any the wiser.Pam.Good. What say you now?Clin.’Twould make all kinds of complications, Pamphilus:And all to no manner of purpose.Pam.Why, I should keep my promise,And spend the day with Gorgo.Clin.I’ll play no part in this.You quite forget besides that as yet I know not howAntiphila will receive me. I have been six months away;She may have thrown me over, may have another lover,And think of me no more.440Ph.Wish you to find out that?I’ll serve you too in this. Give me the word to goAnd visit her where she lives, and if I find her true,To bring her along at once.Clin.’Tis extremely kind of you, sir,To throw yourself so quickly and hotly into my affairs:But indeed I do not need it.Ph.’Tis plain to me you do.A runaway just returned, afraid to face his father,Fearful lest in his absence his mistress have proved untrue—Not need a friend? Why a friend is just what you do need,To discover for you the state of affairs, and put you in train.450Clin.Though, sir, I were quite content to reckon upon your zeal,Maybe you overrate your ability.Ph.Not at all.Unless you will say that by art I am able to counterfeitPassion in all its branches, & yet not know the thingWhen I see it;—as if a man cdwrite who cannot read.You think your love for this lady a secret between yourselves—That she would not reveal it to me, a stranger? How in the worldCould she conceal it? Why, don’t you know that a girl in loveIsA B Cto read? Trust me and let me try.Pam.Clinia, do yield, I pray.Clin.I know not what to do.460I’ll yield so far as this: that if PhilolachesCan, as he boasts, discover these two things for me, firstHow my father stands disposed to me now, and nextWhether Antiphila’s heart is firm—and this so soonAnd easily as he thinks—I would not hinder him.One stipulation only: let him name what timeWill cover the whole performance; for failing him, I’d likeTo take my affairs in hand myself. I’ll ask him then,When does he hope to do this?Ph.Give me an hour apiece.Clin.This afternoon.Ph.Enough: a bargain. ’Tis two heartsTo read—your father and mistress.470Clin.And both this afternoon.Pam.And bring the lady if she is true.Clin.I said not that.Pam.Clinia, you must.Ph.Agree to this: I first will goAnd visit Antiphila; if she is willing, I bring her here,And here you may meet. But since she comes as Gorgo’s maid,’Twill be easy for you to withdraw with her, where and when you choose:I meanwhile will angle your father.Clin.(to Pam.).Then thus I assent,That first, she is not introduced to your father; and secondly,That I may take her away when I choose.Pam.Agreed.Ph.I’m off.But first a word with you (to Pam.).Pam.(to Clin.).O Clinia, I do thank you.480But don’t stay out here longer: somebody is sure to see you.Go into the house.Clin.If you will come with me.Pam.I’ll come directly.Clin.I have never met your people. I can’t go in by myself.[Exit Clinia within.Pam.Why, man alive, there’s only my father and mother. Go in.Ph.Your friend has money?Pam.Yes, his father.Ph.If I succeed,He’ll give me something?Pam.Surely. What are you going to do?Ph.I’m going to dress myself up as a Persian—didn’t you hear?To take in old Menedemus.Pam.May I help?Ph.Why, yes,If you will do as I tell: you shall be Persian in chief,Swagger and talk the gibberish: I’ll be interpreter.Two are better than one, tho’ one be a tup’s head.Pam.Menedemus knows me by sight.491Ph.Not in a Persian dress.Come, there’s no time to lose. I’ll go to the lady first:What is her name? Antiphila?Pam.Yes.Ph.And where does she live?Pam.I’ll come with you down the road, and tell you all as we go.But let’s be off. I fear Clinia may change his mind.[Exeunt.

Pam.I doubt it. He often says

He wonders who in the world his eccentric neighbour is.

But whether he knows or not we’ll soon find out: for look,

He is coming down the road. Stand back where you can hear;

And if he has any knowledge that can be of use to you,

I’ll worm it out.

Re-enter Chremes.

230Chr.What are you doing, Pamphilus,Looking over the hedge into our neighbour’s garden?Do you not know how vulgar curiosity is?Spying and prying thus into other folk’s affairs.I am quite ashamed of you, sir!

Chr.What are you doing, Pamphilus,

Looking over the hedge into our neighbour’s garden?

Do you not know how vulgar curiosity is?

Spying and prying thus into other folk’s affairs.

I am quite ashamed of you, sir!

Pam.I was only looking to seeIf I could catch a glimpse of old Menedemus, father.I’ve found out something about him.

Pam.I was only looking to see

If I could catch a glimpse of old Menedemus, father.

I’ve found out something about him.

Chr.Eh! and what is that?

Pam.Have you ever heard of Clinia?

Chr.Clinia, Clinia? Yes—Of course, why he’s Menedemus’ son, who is now in Persia.I know about him.

Chr.Clinia, Clinia? Yes—

Of course, why he’s Menedemus’ son, who is now in Persia.

I know about him.

Pam.Well, he’s an old school-friend of mine.

Chr.Is he?

240Pam.You know when first I came to school at Athens,He was kind to me, and afterwards, when we all came here to live,I met him again. I never dreamed that ’twas his father,Who took this place next door. I used to hear he was quiteA different sort of person.

Pam.You know when first I came to school at Athens,

He was kind to me, and afterwards, when we all came here to live,

I met him again. I never dreamed that ’twas his father,

Who took this place next door. I used to hear he was quite

A different sort of person.

Chr.Ay, no doubt he was.The trouble his son has brought upon him has broke him down.

Chr.Ay, no doubt he was.

The trouble his son has brought upon him has broke him down.

Pam.Why, Clinia had no debts.

Chr.Perhaps he had no debts:But I could tell you more about him than you imagine.I have never been able to take any pleasure, Pamphilus,In any one of your friendships; and now I am grieved to find250You are intimate with this foolish, dissolute young man.Evil communications corrupt good manners.

Chr.Perhaps he had no debts:

But I could tell you more about him than you imagine.

I have never been able to take any pleasure, Pamphilus,

In any one of your friendships; and now I am grieved to find

You are intimate with this foolish, dissolute young man.

Evil communications corrupt good manners.

Pam.Clinia is not that sort at all.

Chr.You do not know.

Pam.I know he fell in love with a girl that lives in the town,And wanted to marry her, only his father would not hear of it,And sent him off to Asia, and now—

Pam.I know he fell in love with a girl that lives in the town,

And wanted to marry her, only his father would not hear of it,

And sent him off to Asia, and now—

Chr.He ran away.

Pam.And if he did, no wonder, considering his father’s treatment.

Chr.He should not have done so.

Pam.I take it his father’s sorry now.

Chr.Of course all parents are always sorry for their sons’ misconduct.

Pam.But he has far more cause to be sorry now for his own.

Chr.You think so?

Pam.Yes, I do.

260Chr.(aside).I must not let my sonKnow how this old man dotes. If he should think all fathersAs soft as poor Menedemus, pretty pranks he’d play me!

Chr.(aside).I must not let my son

Know how this old man dotes. If he should think all fathers

As soft as poor Menedemus, pretty pranks he’d play me!

Pam.What were you saying?

Chr.Ha! I’ll tell you what I was saying;That in any case his duty was to have stayed at home.’Tis possible that his father was somewhat more severeThan he found pleasant; but still he should have put up with it.For whom shda lad submit to, if not to his own father?Ought his father, tell me, to have fallen in with him,Or he with his father? And then what he is pleased to call270A hardship, was nothing of the kind: the so-called severitiesOf fathers are much of a piece: the least strict do not likeTo see their sons continually in bad company,Continually drinking: and so they are sparing in what they allow them;For such restrictions, remember, promote good morals.But when a man’s mind has once become the slaveOf evil passions, he is driven of necessity from bad to worse.There’s wisdom, Pamphilus, in the saying,By others’ faultsWise men correct their own.

Chr.Ha! I’ll tell you what I was saying;

That in any case his duty was to have stayed at home.

’Tis possible that his father was somewhat more severe

Than he found pleasant; but still he should have put up with it.

For whom shda lad submit to, if not to his own father?

Ought his father, tell me, to have fallen in with him,

Or he with his father? And then what he is pleased to call

A hardship, was nothing of the kind: the so-called severities

Of fathers are much of a piece: the least strict do not like

To see their sons continually in bad company,

Continually drinking: and so they are sparing in what they allow them;

For such restrictions, remember, promote good morals.

But when a man’s mind has once become the slave

Of evil passions, he is driven of necessity from bad to worse.

There’s wisdom, Pamphilus, in the saying,By others’ faults

Wise men correct their own.

Pam.I think so too.

Chr.Very well.Then I need say no more.

Chr.Very well.

Then I need say no more.

Pam.Would not the old man, sir,Be glad to see him back?

Pam.Would not the old man, sir,

Be glad to see him back?

Chr.He would be glad to see him281Return from his evil ways to a dutiful course of conduct.

Chr.He would be glad to see him

Return from his evil ways to a dutiful course of conduct.

Pam.I guess he’d let him marry the girl.

Chr.(aside).What shall I say?

Pam.He would.

Chr.Nay, Pamphilus: attend to me. No fatherWould ever give in to his son in a matter of this kind.Learn this lesson: see what shame your friend has broughtOn his poor old father. No, ’twould never do to yield.I can promise you too that he will not. I should not advise it myself.

Chr.Nay, Pamphilus: attend to me. No father

Would ever give in to his son in a matter of this kind.

Learn this lesson: see what shame your friend has brought

On his poor old father. No, ’twould never do to yield.

I can promise you too that he will not. I should not advise it myself.

Pam.You don’t know Clinia, sir; and have never seen the girl.You go entirely by what this old Menedemus says.He never saw her himself.

Pam.You don’t know Clinia, sir; and have never seen the girl.

You go entirely by what this old Menedemus says.

He never saw her himself.

Chr.(aside). That’s true.—And you have seen her?

Pam.I have.

Chr.And what is she like?

Pam.I never saw anything like her.

Chr.Come, what d’ye mean?

Pam.I tell you, I know now what she’s like—The statue that stands in the hall: the third on the left.

Pam.I tell you, I know now what she’s like—

The statue that stands in the hall: the third on the left.

Chr.The Grace?An elegant taste.

Chr.The Grace?

An elegant taste.

Pam.If you were to see her, you’d say the same.

Chr.Should I? Then just attend. I wish to help my neighbour.If all were ready to lend their neighbours a helping hand,We should not hear the complaints we do against ill fortune.I am always ready myself; am now: in point of fact299I have promised to do what I can: but since, before I act,Or even judge, I am willing to know all sides of a case,’Tis part of my duty to see this girl. Could you procureThat I should speak with her?

Chr.Should I? Then just attend. I wish to help my neighbour.

If all were ready to lend their neighbours a helping hand,

We should not hear the complaints we do against ill fortune.

I am always ready myself; am now: in point of fact

I have promised to do what I can: but since, before I act,

Or even judge, I am willing to know all sides of a case,

’Tis part of my duty to see this girl. Could you procure

That I should speak with her?

Pam.(aside).This is the very thing we want.If now I could get him to ask Antiphila here to-day,Clinia of course would come: I’ll try and work it.

Pam.(aside).This is the very thing we want.

If now I could get him to ask Antiphila here to-day,

Clinia of course would come: I’ll try and work it.

Chr.Well?Answer me. Could you do this?

Chr.Well?

Answer me. Could you do this?

Pam.Yes, father.

Chr.When?

Pam.To-day.

Chr.I did not mean to-day.

Pam.There’s no time like the present.

Chr.For inconvenience?

Pam.No; for opportunity.

Chr.How so?

Pam.Invite her here to spend the feast with us,And bring a friend.

Pam.Invite her here to spend the feast with us,

And bring a friend.

Chr.But would she come?

Pam.Yes, she would come.

Chr.Whom have you asked besides?

Pam.Only Philolaches.

311Chr.It happens, Pamphilus, we are short of guests; I findMy old friend Phanias has gone from home to-day.Archonides’ wife is ill; they cannot come: and nowJust the last thing Daniel has disappointed me.The two young ladies would help us out: besides I am sure’Twould please your mother to ask them.

Chr.It happens, Pamphilus, we are short of guests; I find

My old friend Phanias has gone from home to-day.

Archonides’ wife is ill; they cannot come: and now

Just the last thing Daniel has disappointed me.

The two young ladies would help us out: besides I am sure

’Twould please your mother to ask them.

Pam.I cannot agree with you there.

Chr.Allow me to judge of that; and since you said you were ableTo bring them—bring them.

Chr.Allow me to judge of that; and since you said you were able

To bring them—bring them.

Pam.Oh, if you wish it, I’m ready enough;I’ll see they come: but I had forgotten; there is one moreBesides Philolaches.

Pam.Oh, if you wish it, I’m ready enough;

I’ll see they come: but I had forgotten; there is one more

Besides Philolaches.

320Chr.Who then? I beg you’ll bringNone of your Clinias here.

Chr.Who then? I beg you’ll bring

None of your Clinias here.

Pam.He that is with me now.

Chr.He is it? That’s quite another thing: A gentlemanAt first sight, Pamphilus; I wish that all your friendsWere such as he. By all means bring him. Present him now.His name?

Chr.He is it? That’s quite another thing: A gentleman

At first sight, Pamphilus; I wish that all your friends

Were such as he. By all means bring him. Present him now.

His name?

Pam.Clitipho.

Chr.(aside). I like his appearance much:When I came up he went respectfully aside—Excellent manners. (To Clin.) Ha, good Clitipho, how d’ye do?’Tis time that we were acquainted. I understand my son329Has invited you to our house. There’s not much I can offer,ButMy little pot is soon hot. I am very gladAnd proud to have you my guest.

Chr.(aside). I like his appearance much:

When I came up he went respectfully aside—

Excellent manners. (To Clin.) Ha, good Clitipho, how d’ye do?

’Tis time that we were acquainted. I understand my son

Has invited you to our house. There’s not much I can offer,

ButMy little pot is soon hot. I am very glad

And proud to have you my guest.

Clin.I thank you, sir; I am sorry—

Chr.No thanks, I pray. At present excuse me; for I must goAnd prepare my wife to receive her guests. You’re sure they’ll come?

Chr.No thanks, I pray. At present excuse me; for I must go

And prepare my wife to receive her guests. You’re sure they’ll come?

Pam.Sure.

Chr.And I hope they may. ’Twill make our numbers up:We’ll have a merry feast.

Chr.And I hope they may. ’Twill make our numbers up:

We’ll have a merry feast.

[Exit Chremes within.Pam.Ay, sir....And so we shall,Clinia.

Pam.Ay, sir....

And so we shall,

Clinia.

Clin.What have you done?

Pam.Why pretty well, I think.

Clin.I did not look for this, nor wish it, and do not like it.

Pam.Not like it! Is it not perfect? If all the gods in heavenHad put their heads together to assist in your affairs,340They could not have done it better than I. My father bidsYou and Antiphila both to spend the day; and he,Charmed with her grace and beauty, will use his influenceTo bring your father round.

Pam.Not like it! Is it not perfect? If all the gods in heaven

Had put their heads together to assist in your affairs,

They could not have done it better than I. My father bids

You and Antiphila both to spend the day; and he,

Charmed with her grace and beauty, will use his influence

To bring your father round.

Clin.I would not risk so muchOn the fancy of any man: and though I have a hopeAntiphila’s charms will plead not vainly, that must beWhen she’s my wife, not now: and they must urge themselves;Another cannot paint them.

Clin.I would not risk so much

On the fancy of any man: and though I have a hope

Antiphila’s charms will plead not vainly, that must be

When she’s my wife, not now: and they must urge themselves;

Another cannot paint them.

Pam.I do beseech you, Clinia,Don’t leave a friend in the lurch. Hark you; to tell the truth,My scheme suits me to a T as well as you. My fatherExpects Antiphila to bring a companion with her:351Now I have a lady friend, with whom I am circumstancedMuch as you are with yours. My father, just as yours,Would never hear of my asking her home; but if she comesTo-day as Antiphila’s friend, he’ll not guess who she is;So you may have your love to yourself, & I have mine.And see, here comes Philolaches, our other guest:I’ll tell him what is arranged: he’ll be a strong ally.

Pam.I do beseech you, Clinia,

Don’t leave a friend in the lurch. Hark you; to tell the truth,

My scheme suits me to a T as well as you. My father

Expects Antiphila to bring a companion with her:

Now I have a lady friend, with whom I am circumstanced

Much as you are with yours. My father, just as yours,

Would never hear of my asking her home; but if she comes

To-day as Antiphila’s friend, he’ll not guess who she is;

So you may have your love to yourself, & I have mine.

And see, here comes Philolaches, our other guest:

I’ll tell him what is arranged: he’ll be a strong ally.

Clin.Indeed, I can’t consent: and who is Philolaches,That you shdwish to tell him all my private affairs?

Clin.Indeed, I can’t consent: and who is Philolaches,

That you shdwish to tell him all my private affairs?

360Pam.Ah, he can smell a rat; but don’t be afraid of him;He’s my sworn friend: & sure no less to keep a secret,Than he is to find out anything in the mortal worldThat you seek to withhold.

Pam.Ah, he can smell a rat; but don’t be afraid of him;

He’s my sworn friend: & sure no less to keep a secret,

Than he is to find out anything in the mortal world

That you seek to withhold.

Clin.I pray, say nothing to him of me.

Pam.Trust us; we won’t betray you.(Runs back to meet Phil.)

Pam.Trust us; we won’t betray you.

(Runs back to meet Phil.)

Clin.Pamphilus! why he’s gone.Now save me from my friends! Indeed this PamphilusWill be my ruin: I wish to heaven I had never met him.He’ll tell his father next, this old Ionian huckster,Sponge-mongering Chremes; the gods defend me from him,And his family feast, and his prosy wisdom! I thought to spend370This day of my return with sweet Antiphila:And here I am, caught by the ears. And yet my troublesome friendMeans well: I would not hurt his feelings; but at any costI must get clear, and in one matter I cannot yield:I will not have Antiphila brought to the judgment-seatOf this suburban oracle. What has he to doWith me & mine, my father or her—to push his noseInto our affairs?Re-enter Pamphilus with Philolaches.

Clin.Pamphilus! why he’s gone.

Now save me from my friends! Indeed this Pamphilus

Will be my ruin: I wish to heaven I had never met him.

He’ll tell his father next, this old Ionian huckster,

Sponge-mongering Chremes; the gods defend me from him,

And his family feast, and his prosy wisdom! I thought to spend

This day of my return with sweet Antiphila:

And here I am, caught by the ears. And yet my troublesome friend

Means well: I would not hurt his feelings; but at any cost

I must get clear, and in one matter I cannot yield:

I will not have Antiphila brought to the judgment-seat

Of this suburban oracle. What has he to do

With me & mine, my father or her—to push his nose

Into our affairs?

Re-enter Pamphilus with Philolaches.

Pam.Allow me, Clinia, here’s my friendPhilolaches, the actor. Philolaches, my friendClinia: who is, as I told you, in Persia, you understand.He looks for some assurance of your discretion.

Pam.Allow me, Clinia, here’s my friend

Philolaches, the actor. Philolaches, my friend

Clinia: who is, as I told you, in Persia, you understand.

He looks for some assurance of your discretion.

PHILOLACHES.

380Sir,You have it. Take this hand. And by the dog I swearNot to divulge a tittle; in friendship’s secrecyRather to aid—

Sir,

You have it. Take this hand. And by the dog I swear

Not to divulge a tittle; in friendship’s secrecy

Rather to aid—

Clin.No need, sir: I take the will for the deed.My business is my own, and not of such a kindAs another can help in.

Clin.No need, sir: I take the will for the deed.

My business is my own, and not of such a kind

As another can help in.

Pam.Oh, but he can.

Ph.A family quarrel—Meddling of course resented. But while your father, sir,Treats you so ill, expels you his house, denies his earTo the pitiful plea—

Ph.A family quarrel—

Meddling of course resented. But while your father, sir,

Treats you so ill, expels you his house, denies his ear

To the pitiful plea—

Clin.Excuse me again. I do not knowThat my father is ill-disposed.

Clin.Excuse me again. I do not know

That my father is ill-disposed.

Ph.(to Pam.).You told me.

Pam.I said hewas;But Clinia hopes he may now be changed.

Pam.I said hewas;

But Clinia hopes he may now be changed.

390Ph.If that’s the case,I see that your wish must be, that I shddiscover at onceYour father’s temper towards you.

Ph.If that’s the case,

I see that your wish must be, that I shddiscover at once

Your father’s temper towards you.

Clin.Indeed, sir, I do not wish it.

Ph.I die to serve you.

Clin.I thank you.

Ph.I promise to find it outIn half an hour.

Ph.I promise to find it out

In half an hour.

Clin.How would you?

Ph.I am an actor, sir;Never so much myself as when I seem another.Would you employ my talent—

Ph.I am an actor, sir;

Never so much myself as when I seem another.

Would you employ my talent—

Clin.Why, what would you do?

Ph.Disguise myself as a Persian, late arrived in Athens:Go to your father’s house & bring him tidings of you.How the old man took what I should tell him would teach you all.Nay, I can promise more; that, if there’s left in him401The last wandering spark of affection, I’ll blow it to flame,And you shall twist him round your thumb.

Ph.Disguise myself as a Persian, late arrived in Athens:

Go to your father’s house & bring him tidings of you.

How the old man took what I should tell him would teach you all.

Nay, I can promise more; that, if there’s left in him

The last wandering spark of affection, I’ll blow it to flame,

And you shall twist him round your thumb.

Pam.Bravo!

Clin.But, sir,What tidings would you feign?

Clin.But, sir,

What tidings would you feign?

Ph.That is as I should find him:If soft, I’d handle him kindly: if hard, I’d say I’d seen youSick of a fever, enslaved, imprisoned, or, if required,Dead and buried.

Ph.That is as I should find him:

If soft, I’d handle him kindly: if hard, I’d say I’d seen you

Sick of a fever, enslaved, imprisoned, or, if required,

Dead and buried.

Clin.And so you would give him needless pain.

Pam.That is the question, Clinia; if you were sure of that,You would not be hiding.

Pam.That is the question, Clinia; if you were sure of that,

You would not be hiding.

Clin.Nay, but the doubt will not excuse meIn doing the thing, which I still must hope would pain him most.

Clin.Nay, but the doubt will not excuse me

In doing the thing, which I still must hope would pain him most.

410Ph.What matter, when all the time you are just behind the hedge?No reason I see to wound him: I shall feel my way.An hour will settle all. If he be kindly bent,Or I can move him towards you, you must stand preparedTo strike while the iron is hot. The lady, I understand,Will be with you here: be ready, and when I give the word,You step across the road and kneel for the old man’s blessing.

Ph.What matter, when all the time you are just behind the hedge?

No reason I see to wound him: I shall feel my way.

An hour will settle all. If he be kindly bent,

Or I can move him towards you, you must stand prepared

To strike while the iron is hot. The lady, I understand,

Will be with you here: be ready, and when I give the word,

You step across the road and kneel for the old man’s blessing.

Clin.I have told you, Pamphilus, Antiphila must not come.Your father’s interference is most unfortunate:He is not my judge for good or ill. It shall not be.

Clin.I have told you, Pamphilus, Antiphila must not come.

Your father’s interference is most unfortunate:

He is not my judge for good or ill. It shall not be.

Pam.I have promised.

Clin.I am determined.

420Ph.A very delicate point.And yet ’tis a pity they should not come.

Ph.A very delicate point.

And yet ’tis a pity they should not come.

Pam.O Clinia,Your obstinacy will ruin all.

Pam.O Clinia,

Your obstinacy will ruin all.

Ph.(to Pam.).I understand.Your friend objects to the lady coming, because he thinksYour father will know her?

Ph.(to Pam.).I understand.

Your friend objects to the lady coming, because he thinks

Your father will know her?

Pam.And so he will.

Ph.Nay, not at all.Chremes need never know her.

Ph.Nay, not at all.

Chremes need never know her.

Pam.How can you manage that?

Ph.The thing’s as easy as lying. Let the ladies changeTheir names; or if so be Chremes knows not their names,428Let them but change their parts. Gorgo—for that’s the lady,Whom you would bring, I guess—let Gorgo pass to-dayFor Clinia’s mistress; let Antiphila play the maid;Whhinders not that when they come, each take his own.You have your Gorgo; you, sir, your Antiphila:And none will be any the wiser.

Ph.The thing’s as easy as lying. Let the ladies change

Their names; or if so be Chremes knows not their names,

Let them but change their parts. Gorgo—for that’s the lady,

Whom you would bring, I guess—let Gorgo pass to-day

For Clinia’s mistress; let Antiphila play the maid;

Whhinders not that when they come, each take his own.

You have your Gorgo; you, sir, your Antiphila:

And none will be any the wiser.

Pam.Good. What say you now?

Clin.’Twould make all kinds of complications, Pamphilus:And all to no manner of purpose.

Clin.’Twould make all kinds of complications, Pamphilus:

And all to no manner of purpose.

Pam.Why, I should keep my promise,And spend the day with Gorgo.

Pam.Why, I should keep my promise,

And spend the day with Gorgo.

Clin.I’ll play no part in this.You quite forget besides that as yet I know not howAntiphila will receive me. I have been six months away;She may have thrown me over, may have another lover,And think of me no more.

Clin.I’ll play no part in this.

You quite forget besides that as yet I know not how

Antiphila will receive me. I have been six months away;

She may have thrown me over, may have another lover,

And think of me no more.

440Ph.Wish you to find out that?I’ll serve you too in this. Give me the word to goAnd visit her where she lives, and if I find her true,To bring her along at once.

Ph.Wish you to find out that?

I’ll serve you too in this. Give me the word to go

And visit her where she lives, and if I find her true,

To bring her along at once.

Clin.’Tis extremely kind of you, sir,To throw yourself so quickly and hotly into my affairs:But indeed I do not need it.

Clin.’Tis extremely kind of you, sir,

To throw yourself so quickly and hotly into my affairs:

But indeed I do not need it.

Ph.’Tis plain to me you do.A runaway just returned, afraid to face his father,Fearful lest in his absence his mistress have proved untrue—Not need a friend? Why a friend is just what you do need,To discover for you the state of affairs, and put you in train.

Ph.’Tis plain to me you do.

A runaway just returned, afraid to face his father,

Fearful lest in his absence his mistress have proved untrue—

Not need a friend? Why a friend is just what you do need,

To discover for you the state of affairs, and put you in train.

450Clin.Though, sir, I were quite content to reckon upon your zeal,Maybe you overrate your ability.

Clin.Though, sir, I were quite content to reckon upon your zeal,

Maybe you overrate your ability.

Ph.Not at all.Unless you will say that by art I am able to counterfeitPassion in all its branches, & yet not know the thingWhen I see it;—as if a man cdwrite who cannot read.You think your love for this lady a secret between yourselves—That she would not reveal it to me, a stranger? How in the worldCould she conceal it? Why, don’t you know that a girl in loveIsA B Cto read? Trust me and let me try.

Ph.Not at all.

Unless you will say that by art I am able to counterfeit

Passion in all its branches, & yet not know the thing

When I see it;—as if a man cdwrite who cannot read.

You think your love for this lady a secret between yourselves—

That she would not reveal it to me, a stranger? How in the world

Could she conceal it? Why, don’t you know that a girl in love

IsA B Cto read? Trust me and let me try.

Pam.Clinia, do yield, I pray.

Clin.I know not what to do.460I’ll yield so far as this: that if PhilolachesCan, as he boasts, discover these two things for me, firstHow my father stands disposed to me now, and nextWhether Antiphila’s heart is firm—and this so soonAnd easily as he thinks—I would not hinder him.One stipulation only: let him name what timeWill cover the whole performance; for failing him, I’d likeTo take my affairs in hand myself. I’ll ask him then,When does he hope to do this?

Clin.I know not what to do.

I’ll yield so far as this: that if Philolaches

Can, as he boasts, discover these two things for me, first

How my father stands disposed to me now, and next

Whether Antiphila’s heart is firm—and this so soon

And easily as he thinks—I would not hinder him.

One stipulation only: let him name what time

Will cover the whole performance; for failing him, I’d like

To take my affairs in hand myself. I’ll ask him then,

When does he hope to do this?

Ph.Give me an hour apiece.

Clin.This afternoon.

Ph.Enough: a bargain. ’Tis two heartsTo read—your father and mistress.

Ph.Enough: a bargain. ’Tis two hearts

To read—your father and mistress.

470Clin.And both this afternoon.

Clin.And both this afternoon.

Pam.And bring the lady if she is true.

Clin.I said not that.

Pam.Clinia, you must.

Ph.Agree to this: I first will goAnd visit Antiphila; if she is willing, I bring her here,And here you may meet. But since she comes as Gorgo’s maid,’Twill be easy for you to withdraw with her, where and when you choose:I meanwhile will angle your father.

Ph.Agree to this: I first will go

And visit Antiphila; if she is willing, I bring her here,

And here you may meet. But since she comes as Gorgo’s maid,

’Twill be easy for you to withdraw with her, where and when you choose:

I meanwhile will angle your father.

Clin.(to Pam.).Then thus I assent,That first, she is not introduced to your father; and secondly,That I may take her away when I choose.

Clin.(to Pam.).Then thus I assent,

That first, she is not introduced to your father; and secondly,

That I may take her away when I choose.

Pam.Agreed.

Ph.I’m off.But first a word with you (to Pam.).

Ph.I’m off.

But first a word with you (to Pam.).

Pam.(to Clin.).O Clinia, I do thank you.480But don’t stay out here longer: somebody is sure to see you.Go into the house.

Pam.(to Clin.).O Clinia, I do thank you.

But don’t stay out here longer: somebody is sure to see you.

Go into the house.

Clin.If you will come with me.

Pam.I’ll come directly.

Clin.I have never met your people. I can’t go in by myself.

[Exit Clinia within.Pam.Why, man alive, there’s only my father and mother. Go in.

Pam.Why, man alive, there’s only my father and mother. Go in.

Ph.Your friend has money?

Pam.Yes, his father.

Ph.If I succeed,He’ll give me something?

Ph.If I succeed,

He’ll give me something?

Pam.Surely. What are you going to do?

Ph.I’m going to dress myself up as a Persian—didn’t you hear?To take in old Menedemus.

Ph.I’m going to dress myself up as a Persian—didn’t you hear?

To take in old Menedemus.

Pam.May I help?

Ph.Why, yes,If you will do as I tell: you shall be Persian in chief,Swagger and talk the gibberish: I’ll be interpreter.Two are better than one, tho’ one be a tup’s head.

Ph.Why, yes,

If you will do as I tell: you shall be Persian in chief,

Swagger and talk the gibberish: I’ll be interpreter.

Two are better than one, tho’ one be a tup’s head.

Pam.Menedemus knows me by sight.

491Ph.Not in a Persian dress.Come, there’s no time to lose. I’ll go to the lady first:What is her name? Antiphila?

Ph.Not in a Persian dress.

Come, there’s no time to lose. I’ll go to the lady first:

What is her name? Antiphila?

Pam.Yes.

Ph.And where does she live?

Pam.I’ll come with you down the road, and tell you all as we go.But let’s be off. I fear Clinia may change his mind.[Exeunt.

Pam.I’ll come with you down the road, and tell you all as we go.

But let’s be off. I fear Clinia may change his mind.

[Exeunt.

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