 | The Self-Tormentor |  |
SCENE III.
Enter SYRUS at another part of the Stage.Syrus
to himself.]
This way, or that way, or some way or other!
For money must be had, and th'old man trick'd.
Chremes
overhearing.]
Was I deceiv'd, in thinking they were at it?
That slave of Clinia's, it should seem, is dull,
And so our Syrus has the part assign'd him.
Syrus.
Who's there? [seeing Chremes.
] Undone, if he has overheard me.
[aside.
Chremes.
Syrus!
Syrus.
Sir!
Chremes.
What now?
Syrus.
Nothing.—But I wonder
262
Who drank so freely yesterday.
Chremes.
Not much.
Syrus.
Not much? You have, Sir, as the proverb goes,
The old age of an eagle.
Chremes.
Ah!
Syrus.
A pleasant,
Good sort of girl, this wench of Clinia's.
Chremes.
Ay, so she seems.
Syrus.
And handsome.
Chremes.
Well enough.
Syrus.
Not like the maids of old, but passable,
As girls go now: nor am I much amaz'd
That Clinia doats upon her. But he has,
Alas, poor lad! a miserable, close,
Dry, covetous, curmudgeon to his father:
Our neighbour here; d'ye know him?—Yet, as if
He did not roll in riches, his poor son
Was forc'd to run away for very want.
263
Chremes.
Do I know it? Ay.
A scoundrel! should be horse-whipt.
Syrus.
Who?
Chremes.
That slave
Of Clinia's—
Syrus.
Troth, I trembled for you, Syrus!
[aside.
Chremes.
Who suffer'd this.
Syrus.
Why what should he have done?
Chremes.
What?—have devis'd expedients, contriv'd schemes,
To raise the cash for the young gentleman
To make his mistress presents; and have done
A kindness to the old hunks against his will.
Syrus.
You jest.
Chremes.
Not I: it was his duty, Syrus.
Syrus.
How's this? why prithee then, d'ye praise those slaves,
Who trick their masters?
Chremes.
Yes, upon occasion.
Syrus.
Mighty fine, truly!
Chremes.
Why, it oft prevents
A great deal of uneasiness: for instance,
This Clinia, Menedemus' only son,
Would never have elop'd.
Syrus.
I cannot tell,
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But it gives fresh encouragement to Me.
[aside.
Chremes.
And now what is't the blockhead waits for, Syrus?
Is't, till his master runs away again,
When he perceives himself no longer able
To bear with the expences of his mistress?
Has he no plot upon th'old gentleman?
Syrus.
He's a poor creature.
Chremes.
But it is your part,
For Clinia's sake, to lend a helping hand.
Syrus.
Why that indeed I easily can do,
If you command me; for I know which way.
Chremes.
I take you at your word.
Syrus.
I'll make it good.
Chremes.
Do so.
Syrus.
But hark ye, Sir! remember this,
If ever it hereafter comes to pass,
—As who can answer for th'affairs of men?
That your own son—
Chremes.
I hope 'twill never be.
Syrus.
I hope so too; nor do I mention this,
From any knowledge or suspicion of him:
But that in case—his time of life, you know;
And should there be occasion, trust me, Chremes,
265
Chremes.
Well, well, we'll think of it, when that time comes.
Now to your present task!
[Exit Chremes.
| The Self-Tormentor | |