University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Enter MENÆCHMUS SOSICLES, and MESSENIO, his Servant.
MENÆCHMUS SOCICLES.
No greater joy have voyagers, Messenio,
Than, from the deep far off, to spy out land.

Mess.
To speak the truth, 'tis still a greater joy
To find that land, when you arrive, your country.
But wherefore come we now to Epidamnum?
Must we go round each island like the sea?

Men. Sos.
I am in quest of my twin brother.

Mess.
Good now,
When will there be an end of searching for him?
This is the sixth year since we set about it;
The Istrians, the Illyrians, the Massilians,
The Spaniards, the whole Adriatic gulf,
With farthest Greece, and each Italian coast,
That the sea washes, have we travers'd round.
Had we been looking for a needle, sure
We should have found it long ago, if visible.
So search we for a dead man 'mong the quick;
For we had found him long ago, if living.

Men. Sos.
Would I could find out one, that might assure me
Of his own knowledge, that my brother's dead!
Then I'd forego my quest, not otherwise:
But, while I live, I'll never spare my pains,
Nor ever will desist from searching for him.
How dear he's to my heart, too well I feel—

Mess.
You in a bull-rush seek a knot—'tis vain:
Come, let's return; unless you mean to write
A book of voyages.

Men. Sos.
No fine, subtle speeches,
Or you shall pay for't. Don't be impertinent.
None of your freedoms.

Mess.
By that single word
I know, I am a slave: 'tis briefly said,
Plainly, and fully:—yet I can't refrain
From speaking.—Mind me, Sir!—Our purse, look here,—
'Tis light enough, 'twon't make us sweat: now verily,—
If you return not home; when nothing's left,
You'll chafe for this wild chase of your twin brother.
As for the people here, these Epidamnians,
They're errant debauchees, most potent drinkers;
Cheats, parasites abound here; and they say
Such wheedling harlotries are no where met with;
And therefore is this place call'd Epidamnum,
Because there's no one comes here, but says damn 'em.

Men. Sos.
I'll look to that: give me the purse.

Mess.
The purse?
What would you do with it?

Men. Sos.
I've apprehensions
'Bout you, from what you said.

Mess.
What apprehensions?

Men. Sos.
Lest you should cry in Epidamnum, damn 'em.
You are a mighty lover of the wenches:
I'm cholerick, quite a madman when provok'd:
Now when I have the cash in my own hands,
'Twill guard against two harms; you'll not offend:
Nor I be angry with you.

Mess.
Take and keep it.—
With all my soul.—