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236

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter CLINIA.
Clin.
Had my affairs in love been prosperous,
They had, I know, been here long since: but, ah,
I fear she's fall'n from virtue in my absence:
So many things concur to prove it so,
My mind misgives me; opportunity,
The place, her age, an infamous old mother,
Under whose governance she lives, to whom
Nought but gain's precious.

To him CLITIPHO.
Clit.
Clinia!

Clin.
Woe is me!

[to himself.
Clit.
Take heed, lest some one issue from your father's,
And chance to see you here.

Clin.
I will: but yet
My mind forebodes I know not what of ill.

Clit.
What, still foreboding, ere you know the truth?

Clin.
Had there been no untoward circumstance,

237

They had return'd already.

Clit.
Patience, Clinia!
They'll be here presently.

Clin.
Presently! but when?

Clit.
Consider, 'tis a long way off: And then
You know the ways of women; to set off,
And trick their persons out, requires an age.

Clin.
Oh Clitipho, I fear—

Clit.
Take courage; see,
Dromo and Syrus!

 

Non cogitas hinc longule esse? This passage, as well as the circumstances of the next scene, are a further confirmation of the scene's lying in the country.

SCENE II.

Enter SYRUS and DROMO, conversing at a distance.
Syrus.
Say you?

Dromo.
Even so.

Syrus.
But while we chat, the girls are left behind.

Clit.
listening.]
Girls, Clinia! do you hear?

Clin.
I hear, I see,
And now, at last, I'm happy, Clitipho.

Dromo
to Syrus.]
Left behind! troth, no wonder: so encumber'd;

238

A troop of waiting-women at their heels!

Clinia,
listening.]
Confusion! whence should she have waiting-women?

Clit.
How can I tell?

Syrus
to Dromo.]
We ought not to have dropp'd them.
They bring a world of baggage!

Clinia,
listening.]
Death!

Syrus.
Gold, cloaths!
It grows late too, and they may miss their way.
We've been too blame: Dromo, run back, and meet them.
Away! quick, quick! don't loiter.

[Exit Dromo.
Clin.
What a wretch!
All my fair hopes quite blasted!

Clit.
What's the matter?
What is it troubles you?

Clin.
What troubles me?
D'ye hear? She waiting-women, gold, and cloaths!
She, whom I left with one poor servant-girl!
Whence come they, think you?

Clit.
Oh, I take you now.

Syrus
to himself.]
Gods, what a croud! our house will hardly hold them.
What eating, and what drinking will there be!
How miserable our old gentleman!
But here are those I wish'd to see!

[seeing Clit. and Clin.
Clin.
Oh Jove!

239

Where then are truth, and faith, and honour fled?
While I a fugitive, for love of you,
Quit my dear country, You, Antiphila,
For sordid gain desert me in distress:
You, for whose sake I courted infamy,
And cast off my obedience to my father.
He, I remember now with grief and shame,
Oft warn'd me of these women's ways; oft tried
In vain by sage advice to wean me from her.
But now I bid farewell to her for ever;
Though, when 'twere good and wholsome, I was froward.
No wretch more curst than I!

Syrus.
He has misconstrued
All our discourse, I find.—You fancy, Clinia,
Your mistress other than she is. Her life,
As far as we from circumstance could learn,
Her disposition tow'rd you, are the same.

Clin.
How! tell me all: for there is nought on earth
I'd rather know than that my fears are false.

Syrus.
First then, that you may be appriz'd of all,
Th'old woman, thought her mother, was not so:
That beldam also is deceas'd; for this
I overheard her, as we came along,
Telling the other.


240

Clit.
Other! who? what other?

Syrus.
Let me but finish what I have begun,
And I shall come to that.

Clit.
Dispatch then.

Syrus.
First,
Having arriv'd, Dromo knocks at the door:
Which an old woman had no sooner open'd,
But in goes Dromo, and I after him.
Th'old woman bolts the door, and spins again.
And now, or never, Clinia, might be known,
Coming thus unexpectedly upon her,
Antiphila's employments in your absence:
For such, as then we saw, we might presume
Her daily practice, which of all things else,
Betrays the mind and disposition most.
Busily plying of the web we found her,
Decently clad in mourning,—I suppose,
For the deceas'd old woman.—She had on
No gold, or trinkets, but was plain and neat,
And drest like those who dress but for themselves.
No female varnish to set off her beauty:

241

Her hair dishevel'd, long, and flowing loose
About her shoulders.—Peace!

[to Clinia.
Clin.
Nay, prithee, Syrus,
Do not transport me thus without a cause.

Syrus.
Th'old woman spun the woof; one servant-girl,
A tatter'd dirty dowdy, weaving by her.

Clit.
Clinia, if this be true, as sure it is,
Who is more fortunate than you? D'ye mark
The ragged dirty girl that he describ'd?
A sign the mistress leads a blameless life,
When she maintains no flaunting go-between:
For 'tis a rule with those gallants, who wish
To win the mistress, first to bribe the maid.

Clin.
Go on, I beg you, Syrus; and take heed
You fill me not with idle joy.—What said she
When you nam'd Me?

Syrus.
As soon as we inform'd her
You was return'd, and begg'd her to come to you,

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She left her work immediately, and burst
Into a flood of tears, which one might see
Were shed for love of you.

Clin.
By all the Gods,
I know not where I am for very joy.
Oh, how I trembled!

Clit.
Without cause, I knew.
But come; now, Syrus, tell us, who's that other?

Syrus.
Your mistress, Bacchis.

Clit.
How! what! Bacchis? Tell me,
Where d'ye bring her, rogue?

Syrus.
Where do I bring her?
To our house certainly.

Clit.
My father's?

Syrus.
Ay.

Clit.
Oh monstrous impudence!

Syrus.
Consider, Sir;

243

More danger, the more honour.

Clit.
Look ye, sirrah,
You mean to purchase praise at my expence,
Where the least slip of yours would ruin me.
What is't you drive at?

Syrus.
But—

Clit.
But what?

Syrus.
I'll tell you;
Give me but leave!

Clin.
Permit him.

Clit.
Well, I do.

Syrus.
This business—now—is just as if— [drawling.


Clit.
Confusion!
What a long round-about beginning!

Clin.
True.
To the point, Syrus!

Syrus.
I've no patience with you.
You use me ill, Sir, and I can't endure it.

Clin.
Hear him: peace, Clitipho!

[to Clitipho.
Syrus.
You'd be in love;
Possess your mistress; and have wherewithal
To make her presents: but to gain all this
You'd risque no danger. By my troth, you're wise,
If it be wise to wish for what can't be.

244

Take good and bad together; both, or none;
Chuse which you will; no mistress, or no danger.
And yet the scheme I've laid is fair and safe;
Your mistress may be with you at your father's
Without detection; by the self-same means
I shall procure the sum you've promis'd her,
Which you have rung so often in my ears,
You've almost deafen'd them.—What wou'd you more?

Clit.
If it may be so—

Syrus.
If! the proof shall shew.

Clit.
Well, well then, what's this scheme?

Syrus.
We will pretend
That Bacchis is his mistress.

Clit.
Mighty fine!
What shall become then of his own? Shall she
Pass for his too, because one's not enough
To answer for?

Syrus.
No. She shall to your mother.

Clit.
How so?

Syrus.
'Twere tedious, Clitipho, to tell:
Let it suffice, I've reason for it.

Clit.
Nonsense!
I see no ground to make me hazard this.

Syrus.
Well; if you dread this, I've another way,

245

Which you shall both own has no danger in't.

Clit.
Ay, prithee, find that out.

Syrus.
With all my heart.
I'll run and meet the women on the road,
And order them to go strait home again.

Clit.
How! what!

Syrus.
I mean to ease you of your fear,
That you may sleep in peace on either side.

[going.

246

Clit.
What shall I do?

Clin.
E'en profit of his scheme.

Clit.
But, Syrus, tell me then—

Syrus.
Away, away!
This day, too late, you'll wish for her in vain.

[going.
Clin.
This is your time: enjoy it, while you may:
Who knows, if you may have the like again?

Clit.
Syrus, I say.

Syrus.
Call as you please, I'll on.

Clit.
Clinia, you're right.—Ho, Syrus! Syrus, ho!
Syrus, I say.

Syrus.
So, he grows hot at last.
[to himself.
What would you, Sir?

[turning about.
Clit.
Come back, come back!

Syrus.
I'm here.
[returns.
Your pleasure, Sir!—What, will not this content you?

Clit.
Yes, Syrus; me, my passion, and my fame

247

I render up to you: dispose of all;
But see you're not to blame.

Syrus.
Ridiculous!
Spare your advice, good Clitipho! you know
Success is my concern still more than your's:
For if perchance we fail in our attempt,
You shall have words; but I, alas, dry blows.
Be sure then of my diligence; and beg
Your friend to join, and countenance our scheme.

Clin.
Depend on me: I see it must be so.

Clit.
Thanks, my best Clinia!

Clin.
But take heed she trip not.

Syrus.
Oh, she is well instructed.

Clit.
Still I wonder
How you prevail'd so easily upon her;
Her, who's so scornfull.

Syrus.
I came just in time,
Time, that in most affairs is all in all:
For there I found a certain wretched captain,
Begging her favours. She, an artful baggage,

248

Denied him, to enflame his mind the more,
And make her court to you.—But hark ye, Sir,
Be cautious of your conduct! no imprudence!
You know how shrewd and keen your father is;
And I know your intemperance too well.
No double-meanings, glances, leers, sighs, hems,
Coughing, or titt'ring, I beseech you, Sir!

Clit.
I'll play my part—

Syrus.
Look to't!

Clit.
To your content.

Syrus.
But see, the women! they're soon after us.

[looking out.
Clit.
Where are they?— [Syrus stops him.]
Why d'ye hold me?


Syrus.
She is not
Your mistress now.

Clit.
True: not before my father.
But now, mean while—

Syrus.
Nor now, mean while.

Clit.
Allow me!


249

Syrus.
No.

Clit.
But a moment!

Syrus.
No.

Clit.
A single kiss!

Syrus.
Away, if you are wise!

Clit.
Well, well, I'm gone.
—What's He to do?

Syrus.
Stay here.

Clit.
O happy—

Syrus.
March!

[pushes off Clitipho.
 

Texentem telam studiose ipsam offendimus. This line of our author agrees almost literally with the following Greek one preserved by Le Clerc among the fragments of Menander.

Εξ καριου εκρεμαιο φιλοπονως πανυ.

Præterea una ancillula erat: ea texebat unà, pannis obsita, neglecta, immunda illuvie. This passage is equally close to the sense of the following, taken from the same book.

------και θεραπαινις ην μια,
Αυτη συνηφαινεν ρυπαρως διακειμενη.

Le Clerc took these Greek lines from Victorius; and Victorius copied them from a book of Politian, who had written them in the margin, not (as it should seem) of his own composition, but from a fragment, which he had somewhere met with, of Menander.

Supposing the lines in question to be genuine, may we not fairly conclude that all this fine narration is a very close imitation of Menander, as well as that other beautiful one, which opens the first Act?

Terence's Comedy of the Self-Tormentor is written as if he hoped to please none but such as had as good a taste as himself. I could not but reflect upon the natural description of the innocent young woman made by the servant to his master. When I came to the house, &c.—He must be a very good actor, and draw attention rather from his own character than the words of the author, that could gain it among us for this speech, though so full of nature and good sense. Steele's Spectator, No. 502.

Here we enter upon the other part of the fable, which the poet has most artfully complicated with the main subject, by making Syrus bring Clitipho's mistress along with Antiphila. This part of the story, we know, was not in Menander.

In AUREM utramvis, otiosè ut dormias. Literally, on either EAR. A Latin proverb, used by Plautus as well as our author, and borrowed from the Greek. We have an instance of it among the fragments of the ΠΛΟΚΙΟΝ, or Necklace, of Menander. The subject of that comedy, if we may judge from the small, though precious remains of it, was much the same as that of the George Dandin of Moliere, the marriage of a poor man to a rich heiress. An extract or two, may perhaps not be disagreeable to the reader, and serve to relieve the dryness of the controversial notes to this comedy. The very first line contains the proverb.

Επ' αμφοτερα νυ χ' η 'πικληρος ουατα
Μελλει καθευδησειν, κατεργασασα μεγα
Και περιβοητον εργον· εκ της οικιας
Εξεβαλε την λυπουσαν ην εβουλετο,
Ιν' επιβλεπωσι παντες εις το Κρεωβυλης
Προσωπον, η δ' ευγνωστος η γ' εμη γυνη,
Δεσποινα δια την οψιν, ην εκτησατο.
Ονος εν πιθηκοις εστι δη το λεγομενον.
Τουτ' ου σιωπαν εστι γαρ, ει και βουλομαι.
Βδελυττομαι την νυκτα πολλων μοι κακων
Αρχηγον· οιμοι, Κρεωβυλην λαβειν εμε, και
Ταλαντα δεκα, γυναιον ουσαν πηκεως.
Ειτ' εστι το φρυαγμα πως αν υποστατον;
Μα τοντ'Ολυμπιον και Αθηναν, ουδαμως.
Παιδισκαριον θεραπευτικον, και λογου
Ταχιον, απηγαγ', ιν' αλλην αντεισαγοι.
Now may our Heiress sleep on either ear,
Having perform'd a great and mighty feat,
And satisfied the longings of her soul.
Her, whom she hated most, she has cast forth,
That all the world may henceforth look upon
The visage of Creobyla, and thence
May know my wife for mistress, by the print
Of stern authority upon her brow.
She is indeed, as the old saying goes,
An Ass among the Apes.—This can't be kept
In silence, even tho' I wish'd it so.
Curse on the night, the source of all my ills!
Ah me, that I shou'd wed Creobyla!
—Ten Talents, and a wife of half-a-yard!
And then who is there can endure her pride?
By Jove, by Pallas, 'tis intolerable.
A maid most diligent, and quick as thought,
She has cast forth, to introduce another.

There is another passage extant, containing part of a dialogue between the husband and an old neighbour, on the same subject; but, for the sake of variety, I shall subjoin an extract from the same comedy of a different colour.

Ω τρις κακοδαιμων, οστις αν πενης γαμει,
Και παιδοποιειται· ως αλογισος εστ' ανηρ,
Ος μητε φυλακην των αναγκαιων εχει,
Μητ' αν ατυχησας εις τα κοινα του βιου,
Επαμφιεσθαι τουτο δυναιτο χρημασιν.
Αλλ' εν ακαλυπτω, και ταλαιπωρω βιω
Χειμαζομενος ζη, των μεν ανιαρων εχων
Παντων μερος τι, των δ' αγαθων ου δυναμενος.
Thrice wretched he, that's poor and takes a wife,
And doth engender children!—Oh fool, fool!
Who undefended, bare of necessaries,
Soon as ill fortune comes, that comes to all,
Can't wrap his miseries in affluence;
But in a naked, wretched, poverty
Freezes, like winter; misery his portion
Too amply dealt, and every good denied.

What Menander has in the above passage considered metaphorically, our own Shakespeare has very finely realized:

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?
King Lear.

A proverb to signify those, who are proud among those, who laugh at them.

Hæc arte tractabat virum, ut illius animum cupidum inopiâ accenderet. There is the same sentiment, and much of the same turn of expression in Shakespeare's All's Well that Ends Well.

She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy.

This sentiment is also finely touched upon by Ben Jonson in his Every Man in his Humour. The occasion on which it is employed by Shakespeare, is almost parallel to that in Terence, but in Ben Jonson's play it is applied to the education of youth.

I am resolv'd I will not stop his journey,
Nor practice any violent means to stay
Th'unbridled course of youth in him; for that
Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and in kind
Like to the eager, but the generous grey-hound,
Who ne'er so little from his game with-held,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.
Every Man in his Humour, Act. I.

I do not say that the above fine lines were struck out from this passage in Terence; but it is plain that the remainder of Knowell's speech, as the late ingenious editor of Jonson has justly observed, was borrowed from another part of our author's works, which shall be pointed out in the notes on the next comedy.

SCENE III.

Enter BACCHIS, and ANTIPHILA at a distance.
Bacch.
Well, I commend you, my Antiphila:
Happy, that you have made it still your care,
That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you!
Nor, gracious Heav'n so help me, do I wonder
If ev'ry man should wish you for his own;
For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind.
And when I ponder with myself, and weigh
Your course of life, and all the rest of those
Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange,
Your morals should be different from our's.

250

Virtue's your int'rest; those, with whom we deal,
Forbid it to be our's: For our gallants,
Charm'd by our beauty, court us but for That;
Which fading, they transfer their love to others.
If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves,
We live forlorn, deserted, and distrest.
You, when you've once agreed to pass your life
Bound to one man, whose temper suits with your's,
He too attaches his whole heart to you:
Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each;
Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love.

Anti.
I know not others; for myself I know,
From his content I ever drew my own.

Clin.
(apart.) overhearing.]
Excellent maid! my best Antiphila!
Thou too, thy love alone is now the cause
That brings me to my native land again.
For when away, all evils else were light
Compar'd to wanting thee.

Syrus.
(apart.)
I do believe it.

Clin.
(apart.)
O Syrus, 'tis too much: I cannot bear it.

251

Wretch that I am!—and must I be debarr'd
To give a loose to love, a love like this?

Syrus.
(apart.)
And yet if I may judge your father's mind,
He has more troubles yet in store for you.

Bacch.
Who is that youth that eyes us?

[seeing Clinia.
Anti.
Ha! [seeing him.]
—Support me!


Bacch.
Bless me, what now?

Anti.
I faint.

Bacch.
Alas, poor soul!
What is't surprizes you, Antiphila?

Anti.
Is't Clinia that I see, or no?

Bacch.
Whom do you see?

Clin.
Welcome my soul!

[running up to her.
Anti.
My wish'd-for Clinia, welcome!

Clin.
How fares my love?

Anti.
O'erjoy'd at your return.

Clin.
And do I hold thee, my Antiphila,
Thou only wish, and comfort of my soul?

Syrus.
In, in, for you have made our good man wait.

[Exeunt.
 

The character of Antiphila is here finely drawn, and represents innocence in perfection. There is nothing of constraint or emulation in her virtue, nor is she influenced by any consideration of the miseries likely to attend looseness or debauchery, but purely by a natural biass to virtue. Dacier.

Madam Dacier, contrary to the authority of all editions and MSS. adopts a conceit of her father's in this place, and places this speech to Clitipho, whom she supposes to have retired to a hiding-place, where he might over-hear the conversation, and from whence he peeps out to make this speech to Syrus. This she calls an agreeable jeu de theatre, and doubts not but all lovers of Terence will be obliged to her father for so ingenious a remark: but it is to be feared that critical sagacity will not be so lavish of acknowledgements as filial piety. There does not appear the least foundation for this remark in the scene, nor has the Poet given us the least room to doubt of Clitipho's being actually departed. To me, instead of an agreeable jeu de theatre, it appears a most absurd and ridiculous device; particularly vicious in this place, as it most injudiciously tends to interrupt the course of Clinia's more interesting passion, so admirably delineated in this little scene.