 | The Miser |  |
SCENE V.
Enter STROBILUS.Strob.
O ye immortal Gods!
What joys, what transports have you heap'd upon me!
To have a pot of gold in my possession,
Of four pounds weight!—Who is so rich as I?
Was ever man so favour'd of the Gods?
Lyc.
Surely I hear a voice.
Strob.
(discovering Lyconides)
Ha! don't I see
Lyc.
Don't I see
My servant Strobilus?
Strob.
'Tis he.
Lyc.
No other.
Strob.
I will accost him.
Lyc.
Best to mend my pace.
I fancy, he has been with the old woman,
My Phædria's nurse, as I commanded him.
Strob.
What if I tell him I have found this booty,
And ask my liberty—I'll up, and speak to him.
(Advancing)
Sir!—I have found—
Lyc.
What have you found?
Strob.
Not that
Which boys in play hunt after in a bean,
And if they chance to find, cry out for joy.
Lyc.
What, at your trick of joking, sirrah?
Strob.
Hold,
I'll tell you, do but hear me.
Lyc.
Well then, speak.
Strob.
I have found riches in abundance.
Lyc.
Where?
Strob.
A pot brimful of gold, of four pound weight.
Lyc.
(with emotion)
What's that you say?
Strob.
I stole it from old Euclio.
Where is the gold?
Strob.
At home, sir, in a chest.—
I should be glad you'd give me now my freedom.
Lyc.
Give you your freedom? worst of rogues!
Strob.
Go, go,
I know your meaning;—I was only trying you.—
How you snapt at it! what would you have done,
If I indeed had found it?
Lyc.
This evasion
Shall not avail you.—Give me up the gold.
Strob.
Give up the gold?
Lyc.
Come, give it me, I say,
That I may render it to the right owner.
Strob.
Where should I have it?
Lyc.
You confess'd just now,
You had it in a chest.
Strob.
Oh, I am us'd
To talk thus jokingly.
Lyc.
(threatening)
But know you what?
Strob.
Nay, kill me, if you please, you'll never get it.
How, rascal!—I shall find a way.
Strob.
You cannot.—
Tie me up neck and heels; break ev'ry limb;
Load me with chains, and ram me in a dungeon;
Let thongs and elm-rods be my only food;
You will not get the gold.—There is a way,—
Lyc.
Speak, what way?
Strob.
Set me free: one stroke will do it.
Lyc.
Tho' you deserve a thousand, I consent
For my dear Phædria's sake. Go, bring the pot here,
And I'll reward you with your liberty.
[Exit Strobilus.
The rest of this Play is lost.] The critics universally agree, that the Supplement, which is generally printed in the editions of our author, is very inferior to Plautus both in matter and stile. It was written, we are told, by Antonius Codrus Urceus, professor at Boulogne, who lived in the reigns of the emperors Sigismund and Frederic III. Besides the poverty of invention as well as expression, it has also a most capital fault with respect to the catastrophe. The Miser is made all of a sudden to change his nature intirely; which is to the last degree improbable. Demea, it is true, in the Brothers of Terence, throws off his sordidness and rustic asperity at the conclusion, and takes up the contrary extreme; but then it is palpably done with aukwardness, and his generosity and good-humour are apparently affected. I have, however, thought fit to subjoin a translation of this supplement, such as it is, though I have presumed to add another of my own; of which I shall only say, that I have endeavoured as much as possible to imitate the manner of my author, for which reason I have professedly made use of many of his expressions.
| The Miser | |