University of Virginia Library

'Tis now my purpose to dispatch two things,
The argument and my amours, at once.
Not like some other lovers I have seen
In Comedy, who to the night, or day,
Or sun, or moon, relate their miseries.
For what care They for the complaints of men?
What are our wishes, or our fears, to Them?
I therefore rather tell my griefs to You.

This play, in Greek intitled Emporos,
And written by Philemon, Marcus Accius,
Translating it in Latin, stiles Mercator.

Know then, 'tis now two years I parted hence,
Sent by my father forth to trade at Rhodes.
There with a charming fair I fell in love;
And how I was entangled with that love,
Lend but your ears and minds, I will unfold.
—In this too have I swerv'd from ancient rules,
By falling roundly on my tale, ere yet
I had obtain'd or ask'd your leave.—For love
Hath all these vices in his train; care, spleen,
And elegance refin'd into a fault:
—For not the lover only, but whoe'er
Aims at an elegance beyond his means,
Brings great and heavy evils on himself.—
But these ills also, which are yet untold,
Are incident to love; the wakeful eye,
The troubled mind, confusion, terror, flight,
Trifling, nay folly, rashness, thoughtlessness,
Madness, and impudence, and petulance,
Inordinate desires, and wanton wishes:
Covetousness too, and idleness, and wrong,
And want, and contumely, and expence,
Babbling unopportune, and ill-tim'd silence:
Now talking much, and nothing to the purpose,
Things not to have been said, or not said now;
And then again too mute; for never lover,
However eloquent, e'er utter'd half
That might be said in pleading for his love.
Let not my babbling then offend you now!
Since Venus gave it, when she gave me love:
Love! the dear subject of my tale, to which
'Tis fitting now I study to return.

No sooner was I unto manhood grown,
My boyish days and boyish studies past,
But I became distractedly enamour'd
Of a young harlot in this neighbourhood:
Then all my means, without my father's knowlege,
Were squander'd upon Her; for she was held
In slavery by a hungry pimp, whose palm
Still itch'd, and tongue still crav'd, for sordid gain.
On this my father urg'd me night and day,
Painting the wrongs, the perfidy, of pimps;
Insisting, that his fortunes ran to waste,
To swell the tide of theirs. All this aloud:
Anon he growl'd and mutter'd to himself,
Refus'd to enter into converse with me,
Nay, would deny me for his son; then ran,
Bawling and raving, to warn all the town
To give no credit, and advance no money;
Crying, that the extravagance of love
Had ruin'd thousands;—that I past all bounds,
And was a spendthrift and a libertine,
Who drew, by ev'ry means I could devise,
His wealth and substance from him;—that 'twas vile,
To waste and dissipate in vicious love,
What he by care and labour had acquir'd;—
That he had nurtur'd a domestick shame,
Whom nothing but repentance could redeem,
And render fit to live;—that at my years
He did not, like myself, devote his time
To idleness, and indolence, and love,
—Nor could indeed have done it, so severe
And strict a hand his father held on him—
But toil'd and moyl'd for ever in the country;
Once in five years allow'd to visit town,
And then, as soon as he had seen the shew,
Dragg'd by his father back into the country,
Where he work'd most of all the family;
His father crying all the while, “Well done!
“'Tis not for me, but for yourself, my boy,
“You plow and harrow, sow and reap; your toil
“Will end in joy and happiness at last;”—
That when his father died he sold the farm,
And purchas'd with the money rais'd from thence
A vessel of three hundred ton; with which
He traded to all quarters of the globe,
And made the fortune which he now possest;
—That it behov'd me then to do the same,
And shew that I was worthy of his love,
By following so worthy an example.—
I therefore, seeing that I was become
The object of my father's hate—my father,
Whom I was bound to please—tho' mad with love,
Subdued, however hard the task, my mind,
And told him I was ready to go forth
To traffick, and determin'd to renounce,
So he were pleas'd withal, all thoughts of love.
He thank'd me, prais'd me for my good intention,
But fail'd not to exact my promise of me:
Builds me a vessel, purchases a cargo,
Embarks it strait, and pays me down a talent.
With me he sends a slave too, who had been
A tutor to me in my infancy,
By way of governor. We hoisted sail,
And soon arriv'd at Rhodes; where I dispos'd
Of all the merchandize that I had brought,
Much to my gain and profit, much beyond
The rate at which my father valued it.
Having thus rais'd much money, I encounter'd
An old acquaintance at the port, who knew me,
And ask'd me home to supper: home I went,
And sat me down; was handsomely receiv'd,
And merrily and nobly entertain'd.
Going to rest at night, behold, a woman,
A handsomer was never seen, came to me!
Sent by my host's command to sleep with me.
Judge too how much she pleas'd me! for next day
I begg'd my host to sell her to me, swearing
I would be grateful, and requite his kindness.
In short I bought her, and but yesterday
I brought her hither. Yet would I not chuse
My father should discover I have brought her.
Her and a slave I've left on board the ship.—
But how's this? Is't not he that I see yonder,
My slave, that's running hither from the port,
Altho' I charg'd him not to leave the ship?
I dread the reason of it.