University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter CALLICLES and STASIMUS.
CALLICLES.
How said you, Stasimus? that your master's son,
Young Lesbonicus, had betroth'd his sister?

Stas.
The same.

Cal.
To whom?

Stas.
To Philto's son, Lysiteles,
Without a portion.

Cal.
How? without a portion
Married in so rich a family? What you say
Is not to be believ'd.

Stas.
I cannot help
Your incredulity: if this you don't
Believe, I shall believe that—

Cal.
What?

Stas.
You hold me
Of no account.

Cal.
Tell me, how long ago,
And where was this transacted?

Stas.
Here,—before
This very door,—now, at this very instant.

Cal.
Has Lesbonicus prov'd a better manager,
Now that his fortune's shatter'd, than when whole?

Stas.
Nay, what is more, Sir, Philto came himself
A suiter for his son.

Cal.
It were a shame
To send the maiden dowerless: this concerns me:
I'll strait to my corrector, and will ask
His counsel.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

STASIMUS
alone.
Aye, I smell it out, I guess,
Why he does speed him thither: his intent is
To get the farm too, as he got the house,
From Lesbonicus. O my master Charmides!
How has your absence your affairs distracted!
Would I could see you safe return'd, to reck
Due vengeance on your foes, and so reward me,
As I have been, and am, your faithful slave.
'Tis very difficult to find a friend
More than in name, to whom your near concerns
Having entrusted, you may sleep at ease.
But see—our son-in-law, Lysiteles,
Comes this way with his neighbour Lesbonicus.
Some difference, what I know not, is between them.
They walk with hasty steps: one holds the other
Fast by the cloak: and now they stop abruptly.
I'll step aside here; for I long to listen
The conversation of these neighbour-youths.

[Retires to a distance.

SCENE III.

Enter LYSITELES and LESBONICUS.
Lys.
Stay prithee, don't oppose me, do not seek
To hide thee from me.

Les.
Can't you let me go,
Where I intend?

Lys.
I would, if it appear'd
It were for your advantage, fame, or honour.

Les.
Indeed, you do it with such ease.

Lys.
Do what?

Les.
You give your friend offence.

Lys.
That's far from me;
And such behaviour I am yet to learn.

Les.
How learn'd without a master! What would you
Have done, had you been school'd, to plague me more?
While kindness you pretend, you do me wrong.

Lys.
I?

Les.
You.

Lys.
How do you wrong?

Les.
In doing that
Displeases me.

Lys.
I mean it for your good.

Lesb.
Are

Les.
Are you then friendlier to me, than myself
Am to myself? I understand sufficiently,
And for myself can spy out my advantage.

Lys.
Is this a proof of understanding in you,
To slight a proffer'd benefit from one,
Who's your well-wisher?

Les.
Nothing can I deem
A benefit, if it displeases him
On whom it is bestow'd. I know my duty:
Yet all that you can utter will not shield me
From men's report.

Lys.
How say you? (for I can
No longer be with-held from talking to you,
As you deserve,) the reputation, which
Your fore-fathers to you deliver'd down,
Was it for this, that what their virtue got,
You by excess should lose? Your father, grandfather,
Had oped for you a plain and easy road,
To lead you to renown: you've made it hard
Through vice, and indolence, and shameless manners.
Love you have chose, your love you have prefer'd
Before your honour: and can this, believe you,
Cover your faults? ah! no, it is not so.
Take virtue to your mind, be indolence
Expell'd thence: in the Forum dedicate
Your service to your friends, and not in bed
To a she-friend, a mistress, as you're wont.
Moreover, I most earnestly entreat you
Not to relinquish this same farm, but keep it
For your support, that those who are your enemies
May not reproach you with extremest want.

Les.
All you have said I know, could sign and seal to,—
That I have wasted my inheritance,
Tarnish'd the glory of my ancestors;—
Knew how I should have acted, but alas!
I could not do it; by the pow'r of love
Subdued, by idleness held captive, readily
I fell into the snare. And now to you,
As you deserve, I owe my utmost thanks.

Lys.
I cannot bear to lose my labour thus;—
That you should slight my counsels! and it grieves me,
You have so little shame.—In fine, except
You list to me, and act as I advise,
Screen'd as it were by folly you'll lie hid,
That honour cannot find you: base obscurity
Will shrowd your brightness, which should blaze abroad,
The fashion of your mind full well I know,
How uninform'd:—I know, that you have err'd
Not of yourself, nor of your own accord,
But Love has blinded you;—and all his ways
To me are manifest.—It is with Love,
As with a stone whirl'd from a sling;—it flies,
Nothing so quick.—Love makes a man a fool,
Hard to be pleas'd.—What you'd persuade him to,
He likes not, and embraces that, from which
You would dissuade him.—What there is a lack of,
That will he covet;—when 'tis in his power,
He'll none on't.—Whoso bids him to avoid
A thing, invites him to it; interdicts,
Who recommends it.—'Tis the height of madness,
Ever to take up your abode with Love.—
But I advise you,—think and think again,
How you should act: for if you still go on
So as you seem to promise, you'll at once
Destroy the reputation of your house:
You'll set it, as it were, on fire; and then
Will you want water, to extinguish it;
Which when you've got, (as is the way of lovers,
They are so wondrous cunning,) you'll not leave
A single spark to light it up again.

Les.
That's easy to be found; and if you ask it,
Your very enemy will give you fire.—
But, while you rate me for my misdemeanours,
Yourself would urge me to a viler course.—
My sister you would have, and would persuade me
Without a portion to bestow her: but
It is not fit, that I, who have run out
So large a patrimony, should be rich,
And own a farm, while want is all her portion;
So should I justly be her scorn and hatred.
Who bears him gently to his own relations,
Will ne'er shew hard to others.—As I've said,
I'll do,—no longer then oppose me in it.

Lys.
And is it better you should suffer want
By reason of your sister, and that I
Should have the farm rather than you, wherewith
You might repair your shatter'd fortune?

Les.
No,
My poverty ne'er think on; let me be
Distrest, not infamous; nor let them say,
That in bestowing her without a portion
I gave her into keeping, not in marriage.
I should be held a rascal, no one greater;
And such report would give a grace to you,
But sully me, if portionless you took her:—
You would gain honour, I should meet reproach.

Lys.
By giving me the farm, you'd fain be stil'd
A Man of Honour!

Les.
'Tis not in my thoughts:
This, this is honour to an honest man,
For ever to be mindful of his duty.

Les.
In sooth I know the purpose of your heart;
I see it all, I scent it, I perceive it.
Soon as the bond of near affinity
Is knit betwixt us,—when you've given the farm,
And nothing left you here for your support,—
The marriage ended,—strait you'll fly the city
A needy wanderer, desert your country,
Relations, friends; and they will say, my avarice
Had frighted you away: then think not, I
Shall suffer it.

Stas.
(advancing)
I can't help crying out,
Bravo! bravo! Lysiteles, encore!
You've won the prize with ease; your play's the best;
The subject better manag'd, and the lines
Are better.—How then? (to Lesb.)
Are you such an oaf
Still to dispute it?—Think you of the fine.

Les.
Who bid you meddle, and what brought you hither,
To join our councils?

Stas.
That which brought me hither
Shall carry me away. (retires.)


Les.
Come with me home,
Lysiteles, where we will talk together
More of these matters.

Lys.
Nothing am I wont
To do in private, I'll now speak my mind.—
If, as I think you ought, you'll give your sister
In marriage to me, and without a portion,
Nor you yourself will after go abroad,
What's mine is yours.—But if you're other minded,
All good betide you!—On no other terms
I'll hold you for a friend.—So I'm resolv'd.

[Exit Lysiteles; and Lesbonicus goes off directly after.

SCENE IV.

STASIMUS
alone.
He's gone.—D'ye hear, Lysiteles?—I want you.—
My master, he is gone too.—Stasimus, thou
Art left alone then.—What now shall I do?—
Why, strap my knapsack tight together, fit
My buckler to my back, order my shoes
To be new soal'd:—we cannot stay.—I see,
That I must shortly be a soldier's skip:
My master for support will throw himself
Into the service of some prince or other.
Faith he will prove himself the best of warriors.—
In a retreat;—he'll fall an easy prey,
To any one who chances to oppose him.
For me,—when with a bow I'm strongly arm'd,
A quiver stuck with arrows, on my head
An helmet,—in the tent I'll sleep at ease.
Now will I to the Forum, and demand
The talent, which I lent six days ago;
That with me I may have something withal
To bear my travelling charges on the way.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Enter MEGARONIDES and CALLICLES.
MEGARONIDES.
As you relate th'affair, it cannot be
By any means, but that a portion must
Be given with the maid.

Cal.
It cannot be
Right honest in me sure to let her wed
Without a portion, when I've wherewithal
At home in my possession for that purpose.

Meg.
You have a portion, true;—unless you chuse
To wait, 'till she's dispos'd of by her brother
In marriage without dower: then yourself
May go to Philto, tell him that you'll give
A portion, that you do't by reason of
Your friendship with her father. Yet I fear
This very proffer might perhaps involve you
In foul report and scandal with the people:
That you were friendly to the girl, they'd say,
Was not without a reason, and the dower,
They will pretend, was giv'n you by her father,
To give to her; with that you were so generous.
Nor even that, would they believe, that you
Had giv'n her whole, and nothing had substracted.
Now, if the coming you would wait of Charmides;
The time is very long, and all the while
No portion to the man that marries her.

Cal.
In troth all this has come into my mind.

Meg.
Think you 'twould be more useful to our purpose,
For me to go to Lesbonicus, and
Inform him of the matter?

Cal.
How? discover
The treasure to a wild young spark, brimful
Of love and wantonness? No, by no means:
For I do know for certain, he could eat up
That, and the very place too, where 'tis hid;
Where I'm afraid to dig, lest he should hear
The sound, and at a word spoke of the portion
Smell out the very thing.

Meg.
What's to be done then?

Cal.
The treasure may be dug up privately,
When opportunity is found: mean while
I'll borrow somewhere of some friend or other
What money's needful.

Meg.
Can you any where
Prevail upon a friend to lend it?

Cal.
Surely.

Meg.
No, no,—you'll find they have an answer ready:
“Indeed I have it not, I cannot lend it.”

Cal.
Were they sincere in this, I'd rather hear it,
Than have their money.

Meg.
Hold—I have a thought;—
See, if it likes you.

Cal.
What's your thought?

Meg.
A brave one,
At least in my opinion.

Cal.
Say, what is it?

Meg.
Let there be forthwith hired, as soon as can be,
Some man to personate a stranger.

Cal.
What
Is he to do then?

Meg.
Let his dress be shap'd
Exactly to the foreign mode; his face
Unknown, an impudent and lying knave.

Cal.
What after?

Meg.
To our spark then let him come
As from his father, from Seleucia;
Salute him in the old man's name, acquaint him,
That he is well, and purpos'd to return
Forthwith: two letters he must likewise bring,
Which we will forge, as coming from the father;
One for the son, the other, he must say,
To you he would deliver.

Cal.
Well,—go on.

Meg.
Moreover, from the father let him say
He has brought money for the maiden's portion,
Which he has orders to deliver you.—
Do you conceive me now?

Cal.
Most thoroughly,
And hear with pleasure.

Meg.
You will give the youth
This money, when the maid shall be dispos'd
In marriage.

Cal.
A most admirable thought!

Meg.
By this, when you have dug the treasure up,
You will remove suspicion from the youth,
Who'll think the money brought you from his father:
You'll take it from the treasure.

Cal.
Very good:—
Though at these years I am asham'd to play
A double part.—But hold—When he shall bring
The letters seal'd, for seal'd they must be brought,
Do you not think, the spark's acquainted with
Th'impression of his father's ring?

Meg.
No more:
You'll find an hundred reasons:—he has lost
That which he us'd to have, and got a new one:—
What if indeed they were not seal'd at all,
This might be said, that they were open'd, and
Inspected at the Customs.—But in troth
To wear the day in prating of this business,
Is merely idleness, and waste of time:—
Though we could spin our talk out ere so long.
Go to the treasure privily,—remove
Your servants, men and maids,—and hearkye—

Cal.
What?

Meg.
See, you conceal it even from your wife:—
For there is nothing she can keep a secret.
Why do you stand? why do you loiter now?
Why don't you hence? Dig, open, and draw forth
What sum's sufficient for the purpose, then
Close up again;—but do it privily,
As I directed:—turn out all your people.

Cal.
I'll do so.

Meg.
But we talk too long: the day
Is wasting, while there's need of haste. Believe me,
You've nought to fear about the seal: th'excuse
I mention'd is a rare one,—that they were
Inspected at the customs. And besides
Do you not see the time of day? What think you
One of his nature, of his disposition,
Can be about? he has been drunk long since.
He will agree to what you please: and then,
What makes most for us, he that we shall hire
Will bring, not ask for money.

Cal.
I am satisfied.

Meg.
I'll to the Forum, hire a Counterfeit,
And send him with two letters to the youth
Fully instructed.

Cal.
I then will go in,
And strait about the business. You'll take care
Of your's.

Meg.
It shall be done, or I'm a fool else.