 | The Self-Tormentor |  |
SCENE VI.
Enter CLITIPHO.Clit.
to himself.]
Nothing so easy in itself, but when
Perform'd against one's will, grows difficult.
This little walk, how easy! yet how faint
And weary it has made me!—and I fear
Lest I be still excluded, and forbid
To come near Bacchis. [Seeing Syrus.]
—Now all pow'rs above
Confound you, Syrus, for the trick you play'd me!
That brain of your's is evermore contriving
Some villainy to torture me withall.
292
Away, you malapert! Your frowardness
Had well nigh ruin'd me.
Clit.
I would it had,
As you deserv'd!
Syrus.
As I deserv'd!—How's that?—
I'faith I'm glad I heard you say so much
Before you touch'd the cash, that I was just
About to give you.
Clit.
Why, what can I say?
You went away; came back, beyond my hopes,
And brought my mistress with you; then again
Forbad my touching her.
Syrus.
Well, well, I can't
Be peevish with you now.—But do you know
Where Bacchis is?
Clit.
At our house.
Syrus.
No.
Clit.
Where then?
Syrus.
At Clinia's.
Clit.
Then I'm ruin'd.
Syrus.
Courage, man!
You shall go to her instantly, and carry
The money that you promis'd her.
Clit.
Fine talk!
293
Syrus.
From your father.
Clit.
Pshaw!
You play upon me.
Syrus.
The event shall shew.
Clit.
Then I am blest indeed. Thanks, thanks, dear Syrus!
Syrus.
Hist! here's your father.—Have a care! don't seem
Surpriz'd at any thing: give way in all:
Do as he bids, and say but little. Mum!
| The Self-Tormentor | |