University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter PHILTO.
Phil.
Where has he ta'en himself?

Lys.
I'm here, my father.
Command me what you will, nor shall there be
In me reluctance. Think not that I skulk,
Or hide me from your sight.

Phil.
You will do well,
And like your other actions, to observe
Due reverence to your father. O my son!
I would not have you with the profligate
Hold any conversation, in the forum,
Or in the street. The manners of this age
I know: Bad men would fain corrupt the good,
And make them like themselves: Our evil manners
Confound, disorder every thing: The greedy,
The envious, turn what's sacred to profane,
The public good to private interest.—
They gape for gain, like the parch'd earth for showers.—
This grieves me; this torments me; night and day
I ring the same peal, bidding you beware.
These plunderers only can refrain their hands
From what they cannot touch. The word else with them
Is, touch and take. O but to see these villainies,
Draws tears from me; to think my life prolong'd
To such a race!—O that I had but follow'd
Those that are gone before me!—Our vile moderns
Commend the ancient manners, but withal
Defile what they commend. O then, my son,
Be not enamour'd of their arts, not taint
Your disposition with them. Live like me,
Following our antient manners. Do what I
Advise you. For these vile and filthy manners,
Which good men must dishonour, I disdain them.

Lys.
Sir, from my youth up to my present age
I've bound me to your precepts and commands.
Though free from birth and breeding, to your bidding
I hold me still a slave, and deem it just
My will should bend to yours.

Phil.
Suppose a youth
To combat with his will, whether 'twere best
To be, as best his will should think, or rather
Such as his parents and relations wish him:
If the will masters him, all's over with him,
By it he'll be enslav'd: but if his will
He masters, while he lives he shall be stiled
A conqueror of conquerors. If your will
You've vanquish'd, you not vanquish'd by your will,
You've reason to rejoice. 'Tis better far
You should be as you should be, than be such as
Your will would have you. Fairer their repute,
The will who conquer, than those conquer'd by it.

Lys.
This prudence, as a buckler to my youth,
I ever had: I studiously forbore
To go, where vice was plotted as in council,
To roam the streets at mid-night, to defraud
Another of his right, or to beget
Vexation, Sir, to you, who are my father.
I've ever kept your precepts as a rule
To regulate my conduct.

Phil.
Wherefore this?
What's right you've acted for yourself, not me:
My days are almost past: 'Tis your concern then.
That man's an upright man, who don't repent him,
That he is upright; he, who seeks alone
Self-satisfaction, merits not that title:
The man, that thinks but meanly of himself,
Shews there's a just and honest nature in him.
Still follow up good actions with good actions,
Heap'd on each other.

Lys.
For this purpose, father,
I would entreat a certain favour of you.

Phil.
What is it? tell me, for I long to grant it.

Lys.
There is a youth here of a noble family,
My friend, and of my years, who his affairs
Too heedlessly has manag'd, too unthinkingly.
I'd fain do him a kindness, if that you
Refuse not.

Phil.
What, from your own purse?

Lys.
From mine.
For what is your's is mine, and mine is your's.

Phil.
Is he in want?

Lys.
In want.

Phil.
Had he a fortune?

Lys.
He had.

Phil.
How lost he it? at sea? by commerce?
In the slave trade? by traffick?

Lys.
None of these.

Phil.
How then?

Lys.
In sooth by gentle living, Sir:
Something too much in pleasure has he squander'd.

Phil.
In troth you speak of him as of an intimate:
A man forsooth, whose fortunes were not shatter'd
By any good demeanour;—he's a friend,
A fine one for you, with such qualities!

Lys.
I would relieve the wants of one distrest,
One that is free from fault.

Phil.
The beggar's thanks
He scarce deserves, who gives him wherewithal
To buy him meat and drink; for what is given
Is lost, and only serves to lengthen out
A life of misery.—I say not this,
For that I would not do most willingly
What you desire, but in the way of caution,
That I might shew you, not to pity others,
So as yourself to others may become
An object too of pity.

Lys.
'Twere a shame
To leave, not help him in adversity.

Phil.
'Twere better shame than blame, though both are spelt
With the same letters.

Lys.
Thanks be to the Gods,
Our ancestors wise care, and your's, my father,
We have an handsome fortune: then to shew
A kindness to a friend, is not to blame;
'Twere a shame rather not to do it.

Phil.
Tell me,—
If from a sum how large soever you
Substract a part, remains there more or less?

Lys.
Less surely. But you know, what people cry
To niggardly curmudgeons.—“May you have not
That which you have, and have what you have not,—
Misfortune; since you will not let yourself,
Or others have enjoyment.”

Phil.
Right;—but verily,
He that has nothing, son, is fit for nothing.

Lys.
Thanks to the Gods, Sir, we have wherewithal
T'enjoy ourselves, and spare for friendly uses.

Phil.
I can deny you nothing you would have.
Whose wants would you relieve?—Come, tell your father:
Speak boldly to me.

Lys.
'Tis young Lesbonicus,
Charmides' son, who lives here at this house.

Phil.
He, who has eat up all he had, and more!

Lys.
Do not reproach him, Sir: since many things
Befall a man, both wish'd for, and unwish'd.

Phil.
You are mistaken, son, nor judge aright
In what you say. A wise man is the maker
Of his own fortune, and except he prove
A bungling workman, little can befall him,
Which he would wish to change.

Lys.
Sure, in this kind
Of workmanship much labour there doth need
One's life to frame and fashion with repute.
But Lesbonicus, Sir, is young,—consider.

Phil.
'Tis not by years that wisdom is acquired,
But waits on disposition. Wisdom is
The food of age, which lends to wisdom relish.
But say, what would you give him?

Lys.
Nothing, Sir,
So you permit me from his hands to accept
A gift most rare.

Phil.
What, thus relieve his wants?

Lys.
This very way.

Phil.
I fain would learn the manner.

Lys.
I'll tell you.—Know you not, what family
He's of?

Phil.
I know: of good and reputable.

Lys.
He has a grown up sister: her, my father,
I would fain take to wife.

Phil.
Without a portion?

Lys.
Without a portion.

Phil.
Marry her?

Lys.
'Tis so;—
And you no loser. Thus you will bestow
A special favour on him, neither can you
By any other means assist him more.

Phil.
And shall I suffer you to take a wife
Without a portion?

Lys.
You must suffer me;
And by it to our family you'll add
Increase of honour.

Phil.
I could here pour forth
A budget-full of sayings, learned saws,
And antique stories, which my age would warrant;
But since I see your purpose is to add
New friendships, new connections to our house,
E'en though I were averse to the alliance,
I'd give you my permission,—ask her, marry her.

Lys.
The Gods preserve you to me!—Do but add
To this one favour more.

Phil.
That one, what is it?

Lys.
I'll tell you: go to him yourself, yourself
Procure her for me.

Phil.
Hey-day! I a pimp?

Lys.
'Twill sooner be transacted, and by you
Done firm: one word in this affair from you
Will weigh more than an hundred words from me.

Phil.
I'm willing to oblige you.—I'll about it.

Lys.
My most sweet father!—here he lives—this house—
His name is Lesbonicus—do this thing
Effectually.—I'll wait for you at home.

[Exit.