University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Enter the COOK, with SERVANTS.
Cook.
Quick! quick! make haste! for I must dress a supper
For an old gentleman in love.—Tho' truly
'Tis for ourselves we dress it, not for him.
For give a lover but his paramour,
He feasts on Her; to languish, and embrace,
To kiss, and chat, is meat and drink to him.
But we, I trust, shall go well loaded home.
This way!—But here's th'old gentleman that hir'd us.

Lys.
The Cook here too! Undone again!

Cook.
(to Lys.)
We're come.

Lys.
Go back again.

Cook.
Go back again!—Why so?

Lys.
Hist! get away, I tell you.

Cook.
Get away?

Lys.
Be gone.

Cook.
What! don't you want a supper, Sir?

Lys.
We've supp'd already.—Now I'm quite undone.

(Aside.
Dor.
What! have the folks, who chose you arbiter,
Order'd in these provisions too?

Cook.
Is this
Your mistress, that you told me of at market?

Lys.
Hush!

Cook.
A good pretty tidy wench enough:
And her mouth waters at a man, I warrant.

Lys.
Hence, rascal!

Cook.
Faith, she's not amiss.

Lys.
Confusion!

(Aside.
Cook.
And, I dare say, a charming bedfellow!

Lys.
Won't you be gone?—It was not I that hir'd you.

Cook.
Not you? 'Fore heaven, your own self.

Lys.
Undone!

(Aside.
Cook.
By the same token too, you let me know
Your wife was in the country, whom you loath'd
Worse than a serpent.

Lys.
Did I tell you so?

Cook.
Ay, that you did.

Lys.
So help me Jupiter,
As I ne'er utter'd such a word, sweet wife!

Dor.
Can you deny it?

Cook.
No; he did not say
He loath'd you, mistress, but his wife.

Dor.
'Tis plain
That I am your aversion.

Lys.
I deny it.

Cook.
And he said too, his wife was in the country.

Lys.
This is she, sirrah!—Why d'ye plague me thus?

Cook.
Because you said you did not know me.—What!
Are you afraid of Her?

Lys.
And well I may;
For I have none beside.

Cook.
Will you employ me?

Lys.
No.

Cook.
Pay me then.

Lys.
You shall be paid to-morrow.
Be gone at present.

Dor.
What a wretch I am!

Lys.
'Tis an old saying, and I find a true one,
That a bad neighbour brings bad fortune with him.

Cook.
Come, let's be gone! (To Serv.)
If any harm has happen'd,
'Tis not my fault. (To Lys.


Lys.
You massacre me, villain.

Cook.
I know your mind; you'd have me gone.

Lys.
I would.

Cook.
Give me a Drachma, and I'll go.

Lys.
I will.

Cook.
Order it then: it may be paid, while They
Set the provisions down.

Lys.
Will you be gone?
Will you ne'er cease tormenting me?

Cook.
Come then! (To the Servants.

Lay the provisions down before the feet
Of that old gentleman.—The pots and pans
I'll send for presently, or else to-morrow.
(To Lysimachus.
Follow me.

(To the Servants, who lay down the provisions, and go out after him.