University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter MEGARONIDES.
'Tis but an irksome act to task a friend,
And rate him for his failings: yet in life
It is a wholesome and a wise correction.—
Now must I chide this neighbour-friend of mine,
Howe'er unwilling: justice bids me do it.—
Our morals are so tainted with corruption,
That our souls sicken with it e'en to death:
And evil manners, like well-water'd plants,
Have shot up in abundance; we may gather
A plenteous harvest of them. Most prefer
A private interest to the public good,
Which yields to partial favour. This is hurtful
In many points, is shocking, and a bar
As well to private as to general welfare.

SCENE II.

CALLICLES,
in entering.
See that you deck our God Lar with a crown,
And, Wife, do reverence,—that our habitation
With all good fortune may be blest,—and you—
(Aside)
That I may shortly see you in your grave.

Meg.
Oh, here he is,—a boy in his own old age,—
Has done a fault, for which he should be chid.—
I'll up to him.

Cal.
Whose voice is't sounds so near me?

Meg.
A friend,—if you are such, as I would wish you,—
If otherwise,—a foe, enrag'd against you.

Cal.
Oh, Megaronides, my friend, and years-mate,
Save you,—how fare you?

Meg.
Save you, Callicles:
How do you do? how have you done?

Cal.
So, so.

Meg.
Your wife, how fares she?

Cal.
Better than I wish.

Meg.
Troth I am glad to hear she's pure and hearty.

Cal.
You're glad to hear what sorrows me.

Meg.
I wish
The same to all my friends as to myself.

Cal.
But hearkye—how is your good dame?

Meg.
Immortal;
Lives, and is like to live.

Cal.
An happy hearing!
Pray heav'n, that she may last to outlive you!

Meg.
If she were your's, faith I should wish the same.

Cal.
Say, shall we make a swop? I take your wife,
You mine? I warrant you, you would not get
The better in the bargain.

Meg.
Nor would you
Surprise me unawares.

Cal.
Nay, but in troth
You would not even know what you're about.

Meg.
Keep what you've got,—The evil that we know
Is best.—To venture on an untried ill,
Would puzzle all my knowledge how to act.—
Well,—give me a good life, and that's a long one.—
But mind me now, all joking set apart,
I came to you on purpose.—

Cal.
For what purpose?

Meg.
To rate you soundly.

Cal.
Me?

Meg.
Pray who is here
Besides us two?

Cal.
There's nobody.

Meg.
Then why
D'ye ask me, if 'tis you I mean to chide?
Except you think myself would school myself.—
But to the point.—If that the ancient sense
Of truth and honesty is dead within you,
If evil manners in your disposition
Have wrought a change, and that your disposition
Is chang'd unto those manners, if the old
You keep not, but shake off, and catch the new,
You'll such a surfeit give to all your friends,
They'll sicken at your sight, and loath to hear you.

Cal.
How came it in your mind to hold this language?

Meg.
For that it doth behove all honest men
To keep them both from blame and from suspicion.

Cal.
Both cannot be.

Meg.
For why?

Cal.
Is that a question?
Myself of my own bosom keep the key,
To shut out misdemeanour; but suspicion
Is harbour'd in another's. Thus if I
Suspect you to have stol'n the crown of Jove,
From where he stands in the high Capitol,
What though you have not done it, I am free
However to suspect you, nor can you
Prevent me.—But I long to know your business,
Whate'er it be.

Meg.
Have you a friend, or any one,
Whose judgment you can trust?

Cal.
I'll tell you fairly;
There are, I know are friends; there are, I think so;
There are, whose dispositions and whose minds
I cannot know, or whether to enroll them
Among my friends or foes. But you I hold
Of all my fast friends the most fast.—Then tell me,—
If you do know of any thing by me
Unwittingly, or wrongfully committed,
If you accuse me not, then you yourself
Will be to blame.

Meg.
I know it; and 'twere just,
If I for any other cause came hither.

Cal.
I wait for what you'll say.

Meg.
Then, first of all,
The general report speaks ill of you:
Our townsmen call you Gripe-all; and with some
You go by th'name of Vulture; friends or foes,
They say you little reck, whom you devour.

Cal.
As to this matter, Megaronides,
I have it in my power, and have it not.
Report is none of mine; but that report
May be unmerited, is in my power.

Meg.
How say you? Was not Charmides your friend,
The owner of this house here?

Cal.
Was, and is.—
To win belief let this transaction speak.—
When by his son's extravagance and waste
He saw his fortune shatter'd, and himself
Drawn nigh on poverty, his only girl
Grown up, his wife (her mother) dead besides,
Departing for Selucia, to my charge
He left his whole estate, and with it too
The maid his daughter, and that rake his son.
Had he not been my friend, he scarce, I trust,
Had trusted me.

Meg.
That youth, you knew a rake,
Committed to your trust and confidence,—
Do you reform him? force him to be frugal?
That, that indeed it had been fitter far
For you to work,—to make him, if you can,
Of fairer reputation,—not that you
Should to the self-same infamy with him
Be accessary, with his vile dishonour
Mixing your own.

Cal.
How have I acted?

Meg.
Like
A villain.

Cal.
Sir, that name is none of mine.

Meg.
Did you not buy this house—What, no reply?—
Where now you dwell?

Cal.
I bought it, gave the money,
'Twas forty Minæ, gave it to the youth.

Meg.
You gave the money?

Cal.
Yes, nor do repent me.

Meg.
O ward committed to untrusty guard!
Have you not giv'n him by this act a sword
To stab himself withal?—Can it be other?—
A fond intriguing spark, young, weak in mind,
To give him money, wherewith to build up
His folly to the height, already founded.

Cal.
Should I not then have paid him?

Meg.
No, you should not;
Nor bought of him, nor sold him any thing,
To put it in his power to be worse.—
Have you not gull'd one to your trust confided,
And outed from his house, who gave the trust?
Brave care indeed! a pretty guardianship!
Be you the young man's ward: he'd manage better.

Cal.
I am so overcome with your reproaches,
That what was trusted to my faith and silence,
Not to impart to any, or divulge,
I'm now of force compell'd t'entrust you with.

Meg.
Trust me, and you shall have it on demand.—

Cal.
Look all about you,—see if no one's by;
Look round.

Meg.
There's no one near,—I hearken to you.

Cal.
Peace then, and I will speak. When Charmides
Went hence abroad, he shew'd me in this house
A Treasure, in a certain closet lodg'd—
But look, look all around.

Meg.
Here's no one near.

Cal.
Three thousand Philippeans.—He and I
Being alone, with tears he did beseech me
By friendship and by faith, that I'd not trust
His son, or any other, who might let
The secret out. Now, if he safe return,
His own will I restore him; should he die,
Why then I've wherewithal to portion out
My charge his daughter, and to see her plac'd
In such a station as is worthy of her.

Meg.
Good heav'ns! how soon, and little said, you've made
Another man of me! I came to you
Quite other.—But, proceed, as you begun.

Cal.
What shall I tell you more? the father's caution,
My faithfulness, this secret, the sad son
Had near o'erthrown from the foundation.

Meg.
How?

Cal.
Being six days in the country, in my absence,
Without my knowledge, not consulting me,
He set the house to sale.

Meg.
The wolf! his stomach
Was sharper set: he watch'd the dog asleep,
To ravage the whole flock.

Cal.
And he had done it,
But that the dog first smelt him out.—And now
I fain would ask you in my turn, what was it
My duty then to do? give me to know.
Had it been fitter I had shewn the son
This treasure, against which the father pray'd me?
Or should I have permitted, that this house
Should own another master, and the gold
Devolve to him that bought it? I myself
Chose rather to become the purchaser;
Paid down the cash, this treasure to preserve
Untouch'd, and render back unto my friend.
I bought not for myself, or for my use;
But for my friend this house I purchas'd, paid
For him my money. Was this right, or wrong?
Say, Megaronides,—I confess the fact.
These, these are my misdoings, this my avarice!
For these are slanders on me spread abroad!

Meg.
No more,—the chider's chid.—You've tied my tongue,
And nothing can I answer.

Cal.
Aid me now,
I pray you, with your counsels;—let this be
One common care to both of us.

Meg.
Agreed.

Cal.
Where shall I find you a while hence?

Meg.
At home.

Cal.
Any commands?

Meg.
Be trusty.

Cal.
Do not doubt me.

Meg.
But heark ye.—

Cal.
What is it you want?

Meg.
The spark,
Where lives he now?—

Cal.
Oh,—when he sold the house,
The back part he reserv'd unto himself.

Meg.
That's what I wish'd to know.—Now, Sir, your servant.—
But hearkye.

Cal.
Well, what now?

Meg.
The maiden, she's
With you?

Cal.
She is, and I do tender her
Ev'n as my own.

Meg.
'Tis well done in you.

Cal.
Would you
Command me farther, ere I go?

Meg.
Your servant.

[Exit Callicles.

SCENE III.

MEGARONIDES
alone.
In troth there cannot be more errant dolts,
More barefac'd fibbers, and more prating puppies,
Than these officious fools, the Busy-Bodies.
And I too should rank with them, thus to credit
Their groundless suppositions. Ev'ry thing
They will pretend to know, yet nothing know.
They'll dive into your breast, and learn your thoughts
Present and future: nay they can discover
What the king whisper'd in her highness' ear,
And tell what past in Juno's chat with Jove.
They know what never was, nor ever will be:
Whether they praise or dispraise right or wrong,
They care not, but invent whate'er they please.—
This Callicles, for instance—Men's report
Pronounc'd him for society unfit,
For that he spoil'd a young man of his fortunes.
I, prompted by their scandal, sallied forth
To chide my friend, though blameless.—Ill reports,
Trac'd to their root, unless it well appear
What ground and what authority they have,
Should turn on those that spread them.—Public good
Requires it should be so.—These idle chatterers,
That know what they don't know, I fain would lessen,
And shut up their fools tongues within their teeth.

[Exit Megaronides.