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ACT IV.
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373

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

CTESIPHO, SYRUS.
Ctes.
My father gone into the country, say you?

Syrus.
Long since.

Ctes.
Nay; speak the truth!

Syrus.
He's at his farm,
And hard at work, I warrant you.

Ctes.
I wish,
So that his health were not the worse for it,
He might so heartily fatigue himself,
As to be forc'd to keep his bed these three days!

Syrus.
I wish so too; and more, if possible.

Ctes.
With all my heart: for I wou'd fain consume,
As I've begun, the live-long day in pleasure.
Nor do I hate that farm of our's so much
For any thing, as that it is so near.
For if 'twas at a greater distance, night
Would come upon him, ere he could return.
But now, not finding me, I'm very sure
He'll hobble back again immediately;

374

Question me where I've been, that I've not seen him
All the day long; and what shall I reply?

Syrus.
What? can you think of nothing?

Ctes.
No, not I.

Syrus.
So much the worse.—Have you no client, friend,
Or guest?

Ctes.
I have. What then?

Syrus.
You've been engag'd
With them.

Ctes.
When not engag'd? It cannot be.

Syrus.
It may.

Ctes.
Ay marry, for the day I grant you.
But if I pass the night here, what excuse
Then, Syrus?

Syrus.
Ah! I would it were the custom
To be engag'd at night too with one's friends!
—But be at ease! I know his mind so well,
That when he raves the loudest, I can make him
As gentle as a lamb.

Ctes.
How so?

Syrus.
He loves
To hear you prais'd. I sing your praises to him,
And make you out a little God.

Ctes.
Me!

Syrus.
You.

375

And then the old man blubbers like a child,
For very joy.—But have a care!

[looking out.
Ctes.
What now?

Syrus.
The wolf i'th'fable!

Ctes.
What, my father?

Syrus.
He.

Ctes.
What's the best, Syrus?

Syrus.
In! fly! I'll take care.

Ctes.
You have not seen me, if he asks: d'ye hear?

Syrus.
Can't you be quiet?

[pushes out Ctesipho.
 

Lupus in fabulâ. A proverb, signifying that the person, of whom we are speaking, is at hand.

SCENE II.

Enter DEMEA at another part of the Stage.
Dem.
Verily, I am
A most unhappy man! for first of all,
I cannot find my brother any where:
And then besides, in looking after him,
I chanc'd on one of my day-labourers,
Who had but newly left my farm, and told me
Ctesipho was not there. What shall I do?


376

Ctesipho,
(apart.) peeping out.]
Syrus?

Syrus.
(apart.)
What?

Ctes.
(apart.)
Does he seek me?

Syrus.
(apart.)
Yes.

Ctes.
(apart.)
Undone!

Syrus.
(apart.)
Courage!

Demea,
to himself.]
Plague on it, what ill luck is this!
I can't account for it: but I believe
That I was born for nothing but misfortunes.
I am the first who feels our woes; the first
Who knows of them; the first who tells the news;
And come what may, I bear the weight alone.

Syrus,
behind.]
Ridiculous! he says he knows all first;
And he alone is ignorant of all.

Dem.
I'm now return'd to see if Micio
Be yet come home again.

Ctes.
(apart.) peeping out.]
Take care, good Syrus,
He don't rush in upon us unawares!

Syrus.
(apart.)
Peace! I'll take care.

Ctes.
(apart.)
'Faith, I'll not trust to you,
But shut myself and her in some bye place
Together: that's the safest.

Syrus.
(apart.)
Well, away!
[Ctesipho disappears.
I'll drive the old man hence, I warrant you.


377

Dem.
seeing Syrus.]
But see that rascal Syrus coming hither!

Syrus,
advancing hastily, and pretending not to see Demea.]
By Hercules, there is no living here,
For any one, at this rate.—I'd fain know
How many masters I'm to have.—Oh monstrous!

Dem.
What does he howl for? what's the meaning on't?
Hark ye, my good Sir! prithee tell me, if
My brother is at home.

Syrus.
My good Sir! Plague!
Why do you come with your Good Sirs to me?
I'm half kill'd.

Dem.
What's the matter?

Syrus.
What's the matter!
Ctesipho, vengeance on him, fell upon me,
And cudgel'd me and the poor Musick-Girl
Almost to death.

Dem.
Indeed?

Syrus.
Indeed. Nay see
How he has cut my lip!

[pretending to shew it.
Dem.
On what account?

Syrus.
The girl, he says, was bought by my advice.

Dem.
Did not you say you saw him out of town
A little while ago?

Syrus.
And so I did.

378

But he came back soon after, like a madman.
He had no mercy.—Was not he asham'd
To beat a poor old fellow? to beat Me;
Who bore him in my arms but t'other day,
An urchin thus high?

[shewing.
Dem.
Oh rare, Ctesipho!
Father's own son! A man, I warrant him.

Syrus.
Oh rare, d'ye cry? I'faith if he is wise,
He'll hold his hands another time.

Dem.
Oh brave!

Syrus.
Oh mighty brave, indeed!—Because he beat
A helpless girl, and me a wretched slave,
Who durst not strike again;—oh, to be sure,
Mighty brave truly!

Dem.
Oh, most exquisite!
My Ctesipho perceiv'd, as well as I,
That you was the contriver of this business.
—But is my brother here?

Syrus.
Not he.

[sulkily.
Dem.
I'm thinking
Where I shall seek him.

Syrus.
I know where he is:
But I'll not tell.

Dem.
How, sirrah?


379

Syrus.
Even so.

Dem.
I'll break your head.

Syrus.
I cannot tell the name
Of him he's gone to, but I know the place.

Dem.
Well, where's the place?

Syrus.
D'ye know the Portico
Just by the market, down this way?

[pointing.
Dem.
I do.

Syrus.
Go up that street; keep strait along: and then
You'll see a hill; go strait down that: and then
On this hand, there's a chapel; and just by
A narrow lane.

[pointing.
Dem.
Where?

[looking.
Syrus.
There; by the great wild fig-tree.
D'ye know it, Sir?

Dem.
I do.

Syrus.
Go through that lane.

Dem.
That lane's no thoroughfare.

Syrus.
Ay, very true:
No more it is, Sir.—What a fool I am!
I was mistaken.—You must go quite back
Into the Portico; and after all,
This is the nearest and the safest way.
—D'ye know Cratinus' house? the rich man?


380

Dem.
Ay.

Syrus.
When you've pass'd that, turn short upon the left.
Keep strait along that street, and when you reach
Diana's Temple, turn upon the right.
And then, on this side of the city-gate,
Just by the pond, there is a baker's shop,
And opposite a joiner's.—There he is.

Dem.
What business has he there?

Syrus.
He has bespoke
Some tables to be made with oaken legs
To stand the sun.

Dem.
For you to drink upon.
Oh brave!—But I lose time. I'll after him.

[Exit hastily.
 

The poet artfully contrives to detain Demea in town, his presence being necessary in the subsequent part of the fable. Donatus.

It is observed by Theobald in his edition of Shakespeare, that the perplext direction given by Lancelot seems to be copied from this of Syrus.

“Turn up, on your right hand at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.”

Merchant of Venice.

This gives us to understand that Demea would be sent quite to the further part of the town.—The pond also is naturally mentioned, for Varro tells us that near the gate was always a large pond, to water the horses, and supply the inhabitants in case of fire. Donatus.

It was usual with the Græcians to sit and drink in the sun. Syrus therefore being asked a sudden question, is supposed to have sufficient presence of mind to give this circumstantial answer, that he might the better impose on Demea. Donatus.

SCENE III.

SYRUS
alone.
Ay, go your ways! I'll work your old shrunk shanks
As you deserve, old Drybones!—Æschinus

381

Loiters intolerably. Dinner's spoil'd.
Ctesipho thinks of nothing but his girl.
'Tis time for me to look to myself too.
Faith, then I'll in immediately; pick out
All the tid-bits, and tossing off my cups,
In lazy leisure lengthen out the day.

[Exit.
 

The Greeks and the Romans generally had but one repast a day, which was their supper. The dinner here mentioned was therefore an instance of luxury and debauch. Dacier.

SCENE IV.

Enter MICIO, and HEGIO.
Micio.
I can see nothing in this matter, Hegio,
Wherein I merit so much commendation.
'Tis but my duty, to redress the wrongs,
That we have caus'd: unless perhaps you took me
For one of those, who, having injur'd you,
Term fair expostulation an affront;
And having first offended, are the first
To turn accusers.—I've not acted thus:

382

And is't for this that I am thank'd?

Hegio.
Ah, no;
I never thought you other than you are.
But let me beg you, Micio, go with me
To the young woman's mother, and repeat
Yourself to Her what you have just told Me:
—That the suspicion, fall'n on Æschinus,
Sprung from his brother and the Musick-Girl.

Micio.
If you believe I ought, or think it needful,
Let's go!

Hegio.
'Tis very kind in you: for thus
You'll raise her spirit drooping with the load
Of grief and misery, and have perform'd
Ev'ry good office of benevolence.
But if you like it not, I'll go myself,
And tell her the whole story.

Micio.
No, I'll go.

Hegio.
'Tis good and tender in your nature, Micio.
For they, whose fortunes are less prosperous,
Are all, I know not how, the more suspicious;

383

And think themselves neglected and contemn'd,
Because of their distress and poverty.
Wherefore I think 'twould satisfy them more,
If you would clear up this affair yourself.

Micio.
What you have said is just, and very true.

Hegio.
Let me conduct you in!

Micio.
With all my heart.

[Exeunt.
 

This fine sentiment is supposed to be built on the following lines of Menander. If so, I think our poet has improved on his original.

Προς απαντα δειλος ο πενης εστι πραγματα,
Και παντας αυτου καταφρονειν υπολαμβανει.
Ο δε μετριως πραττων περισκελεσερον
Απαντα τ'ανιαρα, Λαμπρια, φερει.
The poor man in all things acts fearfully,
Suspecting all despise him. But the man
Who's more at ease, with greater constancy
Bears up against misfortunes, Lamprias!

SCENE V.

ÆSCHINUS
alone.
Oh torture to my mind! that this misfortune
Should come thus unexpectedly upon me!
I know not what to do, which way to turn.
Fear shakes my limbs, amazement fills my soul,
And in my breast despair shuts out all counsel.
Ah, by what means can I acquit myself?
Such a suspicion is now fallen on me;
And that so grounded on appearances.
Sostrata thinks that on my own account
I bought the Musick-Girl. That's plain enough
From the old nurse. For meeting her by chance,
As she was sent from hence to call a midwife,

384

I ran, and ask'd her of my Pamphila.
—“Is she in labour? are you going now
“To call a midwife?”—“Go, go, Æschinus!
“Away, you have deceiv'd us long enough,
“Fool'd us enough with your fine promises,”
Cried she.—“What now?” says I.—“Farewel, enjoy
“The girl that you're so taken with!”—I saw
Immediately their cause of jealousy:
Yet I contain'd myself, nor would disclose
My brother's business to a tattling gossip,
By whom the knowledge on't might be betray'd.
—But what shall I do now? shall I confess
The girl to be my brother's; an affair
Which should by no means be reveal'd?—But not
To dwell on that.—Perhaps they'd not disclose it:
Nay I much doubt if they would credit it:
So many proofs concur against Myself.—
I bore her off; I paid the money down;
She was brought home to Me.—All this, I own,
Is my own fault. For should I not have told
My father, be it as it might, the whole?
I shou'd, I doubt not, have obtain'd his leave
To marry Pamphila.—What indolence,
Ev'n till this hour! now, Æschinus, awake!

385

—But first I'll go, and clear myself to Them.
I'll to the door. [goes up.]
—Confusion! how I tremble!

How guilty like I seem, when I approach
This house! [knocks.]
Hola! within! 'Tis L;

'Tis Æschinus. Come, open somebody
The door immediately!—Who's here? A stranger!
I'll step aside.

[retires.

SCENE VI.

Enter MICIO.
Micio,
to Sostrata within.]
Do as I've told you, Sostrata.
I'll find out Æschinus, and tell him all.
—But who knock'd at the door?

[coming forward.
Æsch.
behind.]
By heav'n, my father!
Confusion!

Micio,
seeing him.]
Æschinus!

Æsch.
What does he here?

[aside.
Micio.
Was't you that knock'd?—What, not a word!
I banter him a little. He deserves it,
[Suppose
For never trusting this affair to me.
[aside.
—Why don't you speak?

Æsch.
Not I, as I remember.

[disorder'd.

386

Micio.
No, I dare say, not you: for I was wond'ring
What business could have brought you here.—He blushes.
All's safe, I find.

[aside.
Æsch.
recovering.]
But prithee, tell me, Sir,
What brought you here?

Micio.
No business of my own.
But a friend drew me hither from the Forum,
To be his advocate.

Æsch.
In what?

Micio.
I'll tell you.
This house is tenanted by some poor women,
Whom, I believe, you know not;—Nay, I'm sure on't,
For 'twas but lately they came over hither.

Æsch.
Well?

Micio.
A young woman and her mother.

Æsch.
Well?

Micio.
The father's dead.—This friend of mine, it seems,
Being her next relation, by the law
Is forc'd to marry her.

Æsch.
Confusion!

[aside.

387

Micio.
How?

Æsch.
Nothing.—Well?—pray go on, Sir!—

Micio.
He's now come
To take her home, for he is of Miletus.

Æsch.
How! take her home with him?

Micio.
Yes, take her home.

Æsch.
What! to Miletus?

Micio.
Ay.

Æsch.
Oh torture! [aside]
—Well?

What say the women?

Micio.
Why, what shou'd they? Nothing.
Indeed the mother has devis'd a tale
About her daughter's having had a child
By some one else, but never mentions whom:
His claim, she says, is prior; and my friend
Ought not to have her.

Æsch.
Well? and did not this
Seem a sufficient reason?

Micio.
No.

Æsch.
No, Sir?
And shall this next relation take her off?

Micio.
Ay, to be sure: why not?

Æsch.
Oh barbarous, cruel!

388

And—to speak plainly, Sir,—ungenerous!

Micio.
Why so?

Æsch.
Why so, Sir?—What d'ye think
Will come of Him, the poor unhappy youth
Who was connected with her first;—who still
Loves her, perhaps, as dearly as his life;—
When he shall see her torn out of his arms,
And born away for ever?—Oh shame, shame!

Micio.
Where is the shame on't?— Who betroth'd, who gave her?
When was she married? and to whom? Where is he,
And wherefore did he wed another's right?

Æsch.
Was it for Her, a girl of such an age,
To sit at home, expecting till a kinsman
Came, nobody knows whence, to marry her?
—This, Sir, it was your business to have said,
And to have dwelt on it.

Micio.
Ridiculous!
Should I have pleaded against Him, to whom
I came an advocate?—But after all,
What's this affair to Us? or, what have we
To do with them? let's go!—Ha! why those tears?


389

Æsch.
Father, beseech you, hear me!

Micio.
Æschinus,
I have heard all, and I know all, already:
For I do love you; wherefore all your actions
Touch me the more.

Æsch.
So may you ever love me,
And so may I deserve your love, my father,
As I am sorry to have done this fault,
And am asham'd to see you!

Micio.
I believe it;
For well I know you have a liberal mind:
But I'm afraid you are too negligent.
For in what city do you think you live?
You have abus'd a virgin, whom the law
Forbad your touching.—'Twas a fault, a great one;
But yet a natural failing. Many others,
Some not bad men, have often done the same.
—But after this event, can you pretend
You took the least precaution? or consider'd
What shou'd be done, or how?—If shame forbad
Your telling me Yourself, you shou'd have found
Some other means to let me know of it.
Lost in these doubts, ten months have slipt away.
You have betray'd, as far as in you lay,

390

Yourself, the poor young woman, and your child.
What! did you think the Gods wou'd bring about
This business in your sleep; and that your wife,
Without your stir, would be convey'd to you
Into your bed-chamber?—I wou'd not have you
Thus negligent in other matters.—Come,
Cheer up, son! you shall wed her.

Æsch.
How!

Micio.
Cheer up,
I say!

Æsch.
Nay, prithee, do not mock me, father!

Micio.
Mock you? I? wherefore?

Æsch.
I don't know; unless
That I so much desire it may be true,
I therefore fear it more.

Micio.
—Away; go home;
And pray the Gods, that you may call your wife.
Away!

Æsch.
How's that? my wife? what! now?

Micio.
Now.


391

Æsch.
Now?

Micio.
Ev'n now, as soon as possible.

Æsch.
May all
The Gods desert me, Sir, but I do love you,
More than my eyes!

Micio.
Than her?

Æsch.
As well.

Micio.
That's much.

Æsch.
But where is that Milesian?

Micio.
Gone:
Vanish'd: on board the ship.—But why d'ye loiter?

Æsch.
Ah, Sir, you rather go, and pray the Gods;
For, being a much better man than I,
They will the sooner hear your pray'rs.


392

Micio.
I'll in,
To see the needful preparations made.
You, if you're wise, do as I said.

[Exit.
 

This appears in many instances to have been a law in force with the Athenians, and was probably handed down to them by the Phœnicians, who originally received it from the Jews. And every daughter that possesses an inheritance in any tribe of the children of Israel, shall be wife unto one of the family of the tribe of her father, that the children of Israel may enjoy every man the inheritance of his fathers. Numbers, Chap. xxxvi. v. 8. Dacier.

A colony of the Athenians in Pontus. Donatus.

These questions, which enumerate all the proofs requisite to a marriage, are an indirect, and very delicate reproof of Æschinus for the irregular and clandestine manner in which he had conducted this affair. Donatus.

We may very innocently banter a friend, and frighten him with false alarms, when it is in our power to undeceive him immediately, and to surprise him with good news. But none but an enemy would buoy one up with false hopes, in order to dash them with bitterness and trouble. Micio therefore discovers a benevolent emotion at even being supposed to trifle with him in this respect. Donatus.

Donatus observes that there is great delicacy in this compliment of Æschinus to Micio, which, though made to his face, does not carry in it the least appearance of flattery. Madam Dacier imagines Terence refers here to a line in Hesiod, which says that it is the business of old men to pray. I should rather imagine our author had an eye to the following fine lines of Menander, which have already been recommended to the publick notice by the learned critick in the Adventurer, No. 105.

Ειτις δε θυσιαν προσφερων, ω Παμφιλε,
Ταυρων τε πληθος η εριφων, η, νη Δια,
Ετερων τοιουτων, η κατασκευασματα
Χρυσας ποιησας χλαμυδος ητοι πορφυρας,
Η δι' ελεφαντος, η σμαραγδου ζωδια,
Ευνουν νομιζει τον Θεον καθισαναι,
Πλανατ' εκεινος, και φρενας κουφας εχει.
Δει γαρ τον ανδρα χρησιμον πεφυκεναι,
Μη παρθενους φθειροντα, μν μοιχωμενον,
Κλεπτοντα και σφαττοντα χρηυατων χαπιν.
Μηδε βελονης εναμμ' επιθυμης, Παμφιλε,
Ο γας Θεος βλεπει σε πλησιον παρων.
The man who sacrifices, Pamphilus,
A multitude of bulls, or goats, or sheep;
Or prepares golden vestments, purple raiment,
Figures of ivory, or precious gems;
Thinking to render God propitious to him,
Most grosly errs, and bears an empty mind.
Let him be good and charitable rather,
No doer of uncleanness, no corrupter
Of virgin innocence, no murd'rer, robber,
In quest of gain. Covet not, Pamphilus,
Even a needleful of thread, for God,
Who's always near thee, always sees thy deeds.

This seems to have been a proverbial expression, as we find it occur in another fragment of Menander.

SCENE VII.

ÆSCHINUS
alone.
How's this?
Is this to be a father? Or is this
To be a son?—Were he my friend or brother,
Could he be more complacent to my wish?
Should I not love him? bear him in my bosom?
Ah! his great kindness has so wrought upon me,
That it shall be the study of my life
To shun all follies, lest they give him pain.
—But I'll in strait, that I may not retard
My marriage by my own delay.

[Exit.
 

Donatus justly observes, that it is plain from this soliloquy, that Terence takes the part of mild fathers, meaning to shew that gentle reproofs, mingled with tenderness, will have more effect on an ingenuous mind than railing and severity. That critick also is more minute than usual in pointing out the great beauties of the foregoing scene; commenting on almost every speech, and observing how finely the two characters of Micio and Æschinus are sustained throughout their whole conversation. It was impossible to lay before the English reader all the little particularities dwelt upon by Donatus: and indeed the reader must have very little sensibility, who cannot of himself discern, even through the medium of this translation, the many amiable touches of good-humour, mildness, and affection that distinguish Micio's character, as well as the natural strokes of passion, and ingenuous shame in Æschinus. The whole scene is remarkably beautiful, and perhaps more characteristick of the genius of Terence than any other in his works.


393

SCENE VIII.

DEMEA
alone.
I'm tir'd
With walking.—Now great Jove confound you, Syrus;
You and your blind directions! I have crawl'd
All the town over: to the gate; the pond;
Where not? No sign of any shop was there,
Nor any person who had seen my brother.
—Now I'll in therefore and set up my rest
In his own house, till he comes home again.

[going.

SCENE IX.

Enter MICIO.
Micio.
I'll go and let the women know we're ready.

Dem.
But here he is.—I have long sought you, Micio.

Micio.
What now?

Dem.
I bring you more offences; great ones;
Of that sweet youth—


394

Micio.
See there!

Dem.
New; capital!

Micio.
Nay, nay, no more!

Dem.
Ah, you don't know—

Micio.
I do.

Dem.
O fool, you think I mean the Musick-Girl.
This is a rape upon a citizen.

Micio.
I know it.

Dem.
How? d'ye know it, and endure it?

Micio.
Why not endure it?

Dem.
Tell me, don't you rave?
Don't you go mad?

Micio.
No; to be sure I'd rather—

Dem.
There's a child born.

Micio.
Heav'n bless it!

Dem.
And the girl
Has nothing.

Micio.
I have heard so.

Dem.
And is He
To marry her without a fortune?

Micio.
Ay.

Dem.
What's to be done then?

Micio.
What the case requires.
The girl shall be brought over here.


395

Dem.
Oh Jove!
Can that be proper?

Micio.
What can I do else?

Dem.
What can you do?—If you're not really griev'd,
It were at least your duty to appear so.

Micio.
I have contracted the young woman to him:
The thing is settled: 'tis their wedding-day:
And all their apprehensions I've remov'd.
This is still more my duty.

Dem.
Are you pleas'd then
With this adventure, Micio?

Micio.
Not at all,
If I could help it: now 'tis past all cure,
I bear it patiently. The life of man
Is like a game at tables. If the cast
Which is most necessary, be not thrown,
That, which chance sends, you must correct by art.

Dem.
Oh rare Corrector!—By your art no less
Than Twenty Minæ have been thrown away
On yonder Musick-Wench; who, out of hand,

396

Must be sent packing; if no buyer, gratis.

Micio.
Not in the least; nor do I mean to sell her.

Dem.
What will you do then!

Micio.
Keep her in my house.

Dem.
Oh heav'n and earth! a harlot and a wife
In the same house!

Micio.
Why not?

Dem.
Have you your wits?

Micio.
Truly I think so.

Dem.
Now, so help me heav'n,
Seeing your folly, I believe you keep her
To sing with you.

Micio.
Why not?

Dem.
And the young bride
Shall be her pupil?

Micio.
To be sure.

Dem.
And you
Dance hand in hand with them?

Micio.
Ay.


397

Dem.
Ay?

Micio.
And you
Make one amongst us too upon occasion.

Dem.
Ah! are you not asham'd on't?

Micio.
Patience, Demea!
Lay by your wrath, and seem, as it becomes you,
Chearful and free of heart at your son's wedding.
—I'll but speak with the bride and Sostrata,
And then return to you immediately.

[Exit.
 

Menander might possibly borrow this moral maxim from a passage in the tenth book of Plato's Republick, where it is said, “That we should take counsel from accidents, and, as in a game at dice, act according to what has fallen, in that manner which reason directs us to be the best.” Dacier.

Micio is here involved in a ridiculous dilemma, in which he had rather appear absurd, than betray Ctesipho. Donatus.

Restim ductans saltabis. Restim ducere; literally, to lead the cord: which would induce one to imagine that when many persons were dancing together in those days, they held a cord—but why a cord? might they not as well take hold of each other's hands? I am persuaded that they did, and agree with Donatus that the expression is merely metaphorical. Dacier.

SCENE X.

DEMEA
alone.
Jove, what a life! what manners! what distraction!
A Bride just coming home without a portion;
A Musick-Girl already there in keeping;
A house of waste; the youth, a libertine;
Th'old man, a dotard!—'Tis not in the pow'r
Of Providence herself, howe'er desirous,
To save from ruin such a family.


398

SCENE XI.

Enter at a distance SYRUS drunk.
Syrus,
to himself.]
Faith, little Syrus, you've ta'en special care
Of your sweet self, and play'd your part most rarely.
—Well, go your ways:—but having had my fill
Of ev'ry thing within, I've now march'd forth
To take a turn or two abroad.

Dem.
behind.]
Look there!
A pattern of instruction!

Syrus,
seeing him.]
But see there:
Yonder's old Demea. [going up to him.]
What's the matter now?

And why so melancholy?

Dem.
Oh thou villain!

Syrus.
What! are you spouting sentences, old Wisdom?

Dem.
Were you my servant—

Syrus.
You'd be plaguy rich,
And settle your affairs most wonderfully.

Dem.
I'd make you an example.

Syrus.
Why? for what?

Dem.
Why, sirrah?— In the midst of this disturbance,

399

And in the heat of a most heavy crime,
While all is yet confusion, you've got drunk,
As if for joy, you rascal!

Syrus.
Why the plague
Did not I keep within?

[aside.
 

The gravity of Demea and drunkenness of Syrus create a very humourous contrast, and are admirably calculated to excite mirth in the spectators. Donatus.

SCENE XII.

Enter DROMO hastily.
Dromo.
Here! hark ye, Syrus!
Ctesipho begs that you'd come back.

Syrus.
Away!

[pushing him off.
Dem.
What's this he says of Ctesipho?

Syrus.
Pshaw! nothing.

Dem.
How, dog, is Ctesipho within?

Syrus.
Not he.

Dem.
Why does he name him then?

Syrus.
It is another
Of the same name—a little parasite—
D'ye know him?

Dem.
But I will immediately.

[going.
Syrus,
stopping him.]
What now? where now?

Dem.
Let me alone. (struggling.)


Syrus.
Don't go! (struggling.)



400

Dem.
Hands off! what won't you? must I brain you, rascal?

[disengages himself from Syrus, and Exit.

SCENE XIII.

SYRUS
alone.
He's gone—gone in—and faith no welcome roarer—
—Especially to Ctesipho.—But what
Can I do now; unless till this blows over,
I sneak into some corner, and sleep off
This wine that lies upon my head?—I'll do't.

[Exit reeling.
 

Comissatorem haud sane commodum. The chief beauty lies in the word Comissator, which signified one who came to join a jovial party, bursting in upon them unexpectedly with much noise and clamour. Donatus. Dacier.

SCENE XIV.

Enter MICIO from Sostrata.
Micio,
to Sostrata within.]
All is prepar'd: and we are ready, Sostrata,
As I've already told you, when you please.
[comes forward.
But who's this forces open our street-door
With so much violence?


401

Enter DEMEA on t'other side.
Dem.
Confusion! death!
What shall I do? or how resolve? where vent
My cries and exclamations?—Heav'n! Earth! Sea!

Micio,
behind.]
So! all's discover'd: that's the thing he raves at.
—Now for a quarrel!— I must help the boy.

Dem.
seeing him.]
Oh, there's the grand corrupter of our children!

Micio.
Appease your wrath, and be yourself again!

Dem.
Well, I've appeas'd it; I'm myself again;
I spare reproaches; let us to the point!
It was agreed between us, and it was
Your own proposal too, that you shou'd never
Concern yourself with Ctesipho, nor I
With Æschinus. Say, was't not so?

Micio.
It was:

402

I don't deny it.

Dem.
Why does Ctesipho
Revel with you then? Why do you receive him?
Buy him a mistress, Micio?—Is not justice
My due from you, as well as your's from me?
Since I do not concern myself with your's,
Meddle not you with mine!

Micio.
This is not fair;
Indeed it is not. Think on the old saying,
“All things are common among friends.”

Dem.
How smart!
Put off with quips and sentences at last?

Micio.
Nay, hear me, if you can have patience, Demea.
—First, if you're griev'd at their extravagance,
Let this reflexion calm you! Formerly,
You bred them both according to your fortune,
Supposing it sufficient for them both:
Then too you thought that I shou'd take a wife.
Still follow the old rule you then laid down:
Hoard, scrape, and save; do ev'ry thing you can
To leave them nobly! Be that glory your's.
My fortune, fall'n beyond their hopes upon them,
Let them use freely! As your capital
Will not be wasted, what addition comes

403

From mine, consider as clear gain: and thus,
Weighing all this impartially, you'll spare
Yourself, and me, and them, a world of trouble.

Dem.
Money is not the thing: their morals—

Micio.
Hold!
I understand; and meant to speak of that.
There are in nature sundry marks, good Demea,
By which you may conjecture easily,
That when two persons do the self-same thing,
It oftentimes falls out, that in the one
'Tis criminal, in t'other 'tis not so:
Not that the thing itself is different,
But he who does it.—In these youths I see
The marks of virtue; and, I trust, they'll prove
Such as we wish them. They have sense, I know;
Attention; in its season, liberal shame;
And fondness for each other; all sure signs
Of an ingenuous mind and noble nature:
And tho' they stray, you may at any time
Reclaim them.—But perhaps you fear, they'll prove

404

Too inattentive to their interest.
Oh my dear Demea, in all matters else
Increase of years increases wisdom in us:
This only vice age brings along with it;
“We're all more worldly-minded, than there's need:”
Which passion age, that kills all passions else,
Will ripen in your sons too.

Dem.
Have a care
That these fine arguments, and this great mildness
Don't prove the ruin of us, Micio!

Micio.
Peace!
It shall not be: away with all your fears!
This day be rul'd by me: come, smooth your brow.

Dem.
Well, since at present things are so, I must.
But then I'll to the country with my son
To-morrow, at first peep of day.

Micio.
At midnight,
So you'll but smile to-day.

Dem.
And that wench too
I'll drag away with me.

Micio.
Ay; there you've hit it.
For by that means you'll keep your son at home;
Do but secure her.

Dem.
I'll see that: for there

405

I'll put her in the kitchen and the mill,
And make her full of ashes, smoak, and meal:
Nay at high noon too she shall gather stubble.
I'll burn her up, and make her black as coal.

Micio.
Right! now you're wise.—And then I'd make my son
Go to bed to her, tho' against his will.

Dem.
D'ye laugh at me? how happy in your temper!
I feel—

Micio.
Ah! that again?

Dem.
I've done.

Micio.
In then!
And let us suit our humour to the time.

[Exeunt.
 

I forgot to observe before, that in Athens the street-doors were made to open outwards; so that when any one was coming out, the noise of the door (which is often mentioned in these comedies) served to give notice to those in the street, that they might escape being hurt, and make way for the opening of the door. Dacier.

The character of Micio appears extremely amiable through the four first acts of this comedy, and his behaviour is in many respects worthy imitation. But his conduct in conniving at the irregularities of Ctesipho, and even assisting him to support them, is certainly reprehensible. Perhaps the Poet threw this shade over his virtues, on purpose to shew that mildness and good-humour might be carried to an excess.

Madam Dacier makes an observation on this speech something like that of Donatus on one of Micio's above; and says that Micio, being hard put to it by the real circumstances of the case, thinks to confound Demea by a nonsensical galimatia. I cannot be of the ingenious lady's opinion in this matter: for I think a more sensible speech could not be made, nor a better plea offered in favour of the young men, than that of Micio in the present instance.