University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

STROBILUS
and LYCONIDES.
The wretch! I wish I could devise some means
To plague him more and more.

Lyc.
Impossible.—
Not Tantalus, amidst the refluent flood,
Suffers such keen and cruel punishment:
No tortures of the damn'd can equal what
The Miser feels: Himself is his own Hell.

Strob.
Now, Sir, my freedom, as you promis'd me.

Lyconides.
(Striking him.)
There,—take it.—Go, and call Eunomia hither,
And Megadorus, to the sacrifice.—
I'll in.—Spectators, do not imitate
The old man's nature: grudge not your applause:
Be liberal, and freely clap your hands.