 | The Andrian Woman |  |
Scen. 3.
Enter Pamphilus.Pam.
VVho cald me?
I am lost, it is my father.
Sim.
What saist now?
Thou of all—
Chr.
Oh, rather goe to th'point man:
And spare ill speaking.
Sim.
As if any thing
Can be spoke ill inough of such a one?
But Sirrha say, is your Glycerium now
Free borne of Athens?
Pam.
So they say of her.
Sim.
Doe they say so? Monstrous audaciousnesse!
Considers he his words? grieues at his deedes?
Or shewes his colour any note of shame?
That he should be of such deboshed manners,
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Against the forme of law, in opposition
Of me his father, he should bend to haue her
Though't reach to th'highest pitch of infamie?
Pam.
Oh me most wretched!
Sim.
Doost thou now at length
Perceiue that Pamphilus? that word of old
Of old that word then truely fitted thee,
When first thou setst thy heart to please thy selfe;
Though at what rate soeuer compassed.
But wherefore doe I thus? why vex my soule?
Why waste my selfe away? why doe I grieue
My old and fainting age with his youths follies?
Shall I indure the pennance of his faultings?
No, let him haue her; I, God speede him well;
Yes, let him keepe with her.
Pam.
Oh my father—
Sim.
Why call'st me father? as if thou hadst neede
Of me to be thy father? a house, wife,
Children are had maugre thy fathers will:
Fellowes are hir'd shall beare her vp freeborne.
Y'haue got the mast'rie.
Pam.
I beseech you father,
May I haue leaue to vtter a few words.
Sim.
What wilt say to me?
Chr.
Vet heare him Simo.
Sim.
I heare him: what ist Chremes I should heare him?
Chr.
Permit him tell you.
Sim.
Well, tell he: I permit
Pam.
I doe confesse I loue this woman here:
If it be faultie, I confesse that too.
Further I yeeld me vp to your full pleasure,
Lay any taske, any command vpon me.
Will you I marrie that, leaue this? I will
Indure it as I may. But this one thing
I begge of you, that you would not imagine
That this old man is by my meanes brought in:
Suffer me cleare my selfe, and fetch him hither
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Sim.
Fetch him.
Pam.
Let mee pray.
Chr.
He craues but reason, grant it.
Pam.
I pray sir.
Exit Pamphilus.
Sim.
Well, I doe: I wish Chremes ought be proued,
So that I finde he doos not iuggle with me.
Chr.
Sleight accusation in a sonnes offence
Sufficeth for a father.
| The Andrian Woman | |