University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter GELASIMUS the Parasite.
I do suspect that famine was my mother.
Since I was born, I never had a belly-full.
Whatever grudgingly I have return'd her,
She has never yet return'd the obligation.
She in her womb bore me but just ten months,
But my thin paunch has borne her ten long years.
Again.—She bore me but a little infant:
The less the burden to her it should seem.
'Tis no small famine bear I in my guts;
So great, by Hercules! I scarce support
Myself, beneath the mighty pressure of it.
My labour-pains increase continually;
And, yet I know not how, I cannot bring
This mother forth—I've heard it said—'tis common—
The elephant goes ten years with her young.—
My hunger's of that breed, for I have had it
These many years clinging about my inside.
Is there a droll, a pleasant fellow wanted,
Here I'm for sale with all my equipage;
For I at any rate would fill these chasms.
My father, when I was a tiny boy,
Nam'd me Gelasimus: for from my childhood
Laughter I rais'd in all—A talent this
I owe to poverty—Being born poor,
And fated so to live—For poverty
Whom e'er she comes to, teaches every art.
My father always said that I was born
In time of dearth, which makes me sharper set.
But then again, I have that easiness
Of nature in me, I have not the heart
To let a man invite me twice to supper,
An ancient form of speech, by Hercules!
And one, in my opinion, best, most elegant
That e'er was us'd, is now grown obsolete,
Come, sup with me—I prithee do—Your promise—
'Tis quite convenient—I must have it so—
I will not part with you, unless you'll come—
But now they've got a damn'd vicarial word,
The vilest of all sounds, I'd ask you home
To sup with me, but that I sup abroad—
By Hercules! I wish that every limb
Of that vile form were crippled—nay, dead, murder'd,
If the man after all did sup at home.
These forms have so reduc'd me, I must learn
Your foreign customs, and at last become
The thin compendium of a common cryer;
Proclaim an auction, and e'en sell myself.

Enter CROCOTIUM.
Cro.
This is the man, the very Parasite
I was despatch'd to fetch—E'er I accost him,
I'll list to what he's saying—

Gel.
But here are
A world of curious, mischief making folks,
Still busied much in other men's affairs,
Having no business of their own to mind.
These, when they hear an auction is proclaim'd,
Go to the cryer, sift out the why's and wherefores,
Whether to pay a debt, or give a dinner,
Or clear the dowry of a wife divorc'd.
Such fellows I regard not of a rush.
They labour for unhappiness, and sure
They're worthy of their hire, and should receive it.
Well! I'll rejoice them all, and plainly tell them
The reason of my auction; for th'inquisitive,
The busy fellow ever is ill-natur'd.
Behold me then, myself the publick cryer
Of my own auction—Loss on loss I've suffer'd,
My property has given me much affliction;
Many a drinking-bout departed, gone—
How many suppers lost have I bewail'd!
O what delicious drinking-bouts depriv'd of!
What dinners lost within these last three years!
I am grown old with wasting and vexation,
And almost dead with hunger—

Cro.
What a droll!
None equal to him when he wants a dinner.

Gel.
'Tis come to this, that I must make a sale
Of all I have—O yes!—Draw near, good people,
It will be well for those that come and bid.
First I put up my merry tales—Come on—
Now, bid away—Who bids a supper for them?
A dinner then!—Why Hercules for that
Will love you—Sir, did you there bid a supper?—
[to a spectator.
Did you there nod to me?—No Parasite
Shall furnish you with better tales than mine—
I'll be outdone by no man, neither in
My Grecian ointments for your sweating baths,
Nor other delicates 'gainst a debauch,
Nor quips, nor nice cajoleries, with store
Of perjurations parasitical.
This rusty strigil too, to rub you down,
This empty vessel now dark brown with age—
A Parasite, to make a voider of,
[pointing to himself.
To carry off your scraps—Necessity
Bids me sell all, and to the best advantage,
That I may give the tenths to Hercules.

Cro.
A miserable auction, by my troth!
The man seems plaguy hungry.—I'll accost him—

Gel.
Who can this be, that's coming up to meet me?
Crocotium sure, Epignomus's maid.

Cro.
Good day, Gelasimus.

Gel.
I've no such name.

Cro.
By Castor's temple, but it was your name.

Gel.
There you are right—But 'tis worn out with use.
Now Miccotrogus is my name—and aptly.

Cro.
I've had my belly-full of laughing at you
This day, by Castor—

Gel.
When and where?

Cro.
Why here,
When you were selling off your goods by auction.

Gel.
What! did you hear it then, you baggage?

Cro.
Yes;
And 'twas an auction worthy of the cryer—

Gel.
Where are you going?

Cro.
Why, to look for you.

Gel.
On what account?

Cro.
Panégyris, my mistress,
Has given strict orders to intreat your company
Along with me directly to our house.

Gel.
By Hercules, fast as my legs can carry me.
Are th'inwards dress'd? How many lambs are slain?

Cro.
She has not sacrific'd at all—

Gel.
How, how!
What wants she then with me?

Cro.
I think it is
To ask you for ten bushels of your wheat.

Gel.
You mean that I should borrow them of her.

Cro.
No, that you lend as much to us—

Gel.
Go, tell her
I've nothing left to give, or lend, or spend,
But this bare cloak—unless she'll buy my tongue.

Cro.
What! you've no tongue can say, I give—

Gel.
I've lost
My old one; I've one left can say, give me.

Cro.
Plague take you!

Gel.
It returns the same to you.

Cro.
Well, will you come or no?

Gel.
Go, hie you home:
Tell her, I come directly—Haste, be gone—
[Exit Crocotium.
I wonder she should bid them send for me,
That never since her husband's absence, ask'd me.
I cannot guess, unless she'd make a trial,
If I would come, or no—I'll find her meaning—
But see, her boy Dinacium—Do but see,
How like a pictur'd thing the fellow stands!
How often has he drawn the wine to th'lees,
And in a cup no bigger than my thumb—

[stands apart.

SCENE II.

Enter DINACIUM, with a fishing-rod, books, and a basket in his hand.
Din.
Not Mercury, the messenger of Jove,
E'er carried to his father such good news
As I have for my mistress.—I'm so laden
With pure delight, I shall deliver nought,
But in a stile magnificent and pompous.
I bring the loves and graces to her ears,
And my glad heart o'erflows its banks with joy.
Dinacium, mend thy pace, and let thy speed
Be worthy of thy message—Now's the time
To acquire praise, honour, immortal glory:
Surpass the virtues of thy ancestors,
Comfort thy longing mistress, who awaits
With eagerness her husband, her Epignomus;
Whom, as she ought, she loves—Haste then, Dinacium,
Fly, if you please, or run—No notice take
Of any—Elbow all—Make good your way,
And, if a lord oppose you, knock him down.

Gel.
And whither runs at such a rate my wanton,
My nice Dinacium, with his rod and hooks
And basket in his hand?

Din.
[apart.]
But after all
My mistress ought indeed to come to me
With cap in hand—or send her messengers
With golden presents, and a chariot ready
To bring me home—for I can't walk afoot.
I'll e'en turn back—'Tis properer for her
To come to me in supplicating mood—
Think you I nothing know, or trifles bring?
Such news important from the port I tell,
A treasure of such joy, my mistress dares not,
Except she knows it, ask it of the gods.
And shall I bear it of my own accord?
I like it not—nor think it is my duty.
It more becomes the dignity, methinks,
Of such a messenger, for her to come
And beg me to impart to her this news.
Great men take state upon them; and 'tis fit.
Yet when I think again, how should she know,
I am so knowing?—I have not the heart
Not to return, to speak, to tell her all,
To snatch her from her griefs, and in beneficence,
Surpass the glories of my ancestors,
And bring unhop'd for comfort to my mistress.
Well! I'll outdo Talthybius himself,
And look on other heralds with contempt.
I shall prepare me for the Olympick games.
But here's no space—A chariot cannot turn.
This is unlucky.—Ha! What's this?—The door,
I see, is shut—I'll up to it, and knock—
[knocks.
Hast to the gate—Open the door this moment—
See, if they stir—I'm shamefully neglected—
How long must I stand knocking?—All asleep!
I'll try then which is strongest, or my feet
And elbows, or the doors—I wish the gate
Had shewn its master a fair pair of heels,
So it were furnish'd for't—I'm tir'd with knocking.
This knock, and this the last—

[knocks again.
Gel.
I'll speak to him.
Good day to you.

Din.
To you the same.

Gel.
What now?
Turn'd fisherman?

Din.
How long is't since you eat?

Gel.
Whence come you? What ha'st there? Why in a hurry?

Din.
What's that to you, friend?—Trouble not yourself!

Gel.
What's in your basket there?

Din.
Snakes; don't you see them?

Gel.
Nay, why so angry?

Din.
If you'd any shame,
You would not question me.

Gel.
Is there no truth
To be got out of thee?—

Din.
Ay, marry! is there.
You'll go to bed to-night without a supper.

SCENE III.

Enter PANÉGYRIS.
Pan.
Who broke these doors down, good now!—Nay, where is he?
Was't you?—What! come upon me like a thief?—

[to Gelasimus.
Gel.
Madam, good day!—I come at your command—

Pan.
And for that reason must you break the door down?

Gel.
Chide your own people—They are the offenders.
I wait on you, to know your business with me.
I thought 'twas pity that the doors should be
So hurt.

Din.
So, you was ready to bring help—

Pan.
Who's that I hear so near me?

Din.
'Tis Dinacium.

Pan.
Where?—

Din.
See him here: nor heed that hungry Parasite.

Pan.
Dinacium!—

Din.
So it was my elders call'd me.

Pan.
Well! what's the business?

Din.
Do you ask my business?

Pan.
Why should I not?

Din.
Why, what is yours with me?

Pan.
What! scorn me, impudence! Answer quick, Dinacium.

Din.
Then bid them leave us, that detain my message.

Pan.
Why, who detains thee?

Din.
Ask you that? A lassitude
In all my limbs detains me.

Pan.
I perceive
It has not seiz'd your tongue.—

Din.
No chariot could
Out-strip me from the port; and all for you.

Pan.
And what good news?

Din.
Much better than your hopes.

Pan.
Then I'm alive—

Din.
And I am a dead man.
This nasty lassitude drinks up my marrow.

Gel.
[aside.]
What then am I?—The marrow of whose guts
Is eaten up with hunger?

Pan.
Met you one?—

Din.
Many—

Pan.
But any men?

Din.
Yes, several.
But no such scoundrel as this fellow here.

Gel.
How's that?—I've suffer'd these affronts too long:
But if you e'er provoke me thus again—

Din.
You will be plaguy hungry—to be at me.

Gel.
I'll make you know—that you have spoke the truth.

Din.
Well, I would have all clean—Bring out your brooms;
And a long reed, to eradicate the labours
Of these same spiders, and their cursed webs.—
I'll rout their looms.

Gel.
They'll catch their deaths with cold.

Din.
Think you they have but one coat to their back,
Like you?—Here, take these brushes—

Gel.
Well, I will.

Din.
I will scrub here—Go you on t'other side.

Gel.
It shall be done—

Din.
One bring a pail of water.

Gel.
This fellow plays the Ædile, and ne'er minds
The suffrage of the people. [aside.]


Din.
Come, make haste.
Sprinkle before the house, and paint the ground.

Gel.
I'll do't.

Din.
It ought to have been done before.
Then next, I'll rout these spiders from the doors,
And from the wall—

Gel.
A mighty business sure!

Pan.
Neither know I what all this fuss is for;
Unless some guests are coming.

Din.
Spread the couches.

Gel.
[aside.]
The couches first for dinner—That looks well.

Din.
Some cleave the wood, others go gut the fish
The careful fisherman brought here but now.
[meaning himself.
Toss down the gammon, and the bacon there.

Gel.
[aside.]
The fellow, troth, talks sensibly enough.

Pan.
I fear you've little minded my directions.

Din.
I've minded them, and minded nothing else.

Pan.
Then say for what I sent you to the port.

Din.
I will then—When you first dispatch'd me thither,
Just as the sun-beams rose above the waves;
No sooner had I ask'd the porters there,
If there were any ships arriv'd from Asia,
And they said, no, but I espied a bark,
I think the largest that my eyes e'er saw.
It made the port full sail; the wind, too, fair,
Then all were asking whose the vessel was,
And what on board; when, lo! I spy Epignomus
Your husband, and his servant Stichus with him.

Pan.
Ha! What! Said you Epignomus?

Gel.
Your husband—
The man by whom I live.

Din.
He's come, I say.

Pan.
And saw'st thou him himself?

Din.
I saw the man;
With pleasure too—He has brought a power of gold
And silver with him.

Pan.
That's good news indeed!

Gel.
Give me the brooms, and I'll go work in earnest.

Din.
Linen and purple—

Gel.
To keep warm my belly.

Din.
Couches of ivory gilt—

Gel.
Most royally
Shall I lye down to supper—

Din.
Pieces of tapestry,
Rich Babylonian carpets—and fine things.

Gel.
Well sped, by Herc'les!

Din.
Then, as I was saying,
Singers, and artists both of wind and string,
All miracles of beauty hath he brought.

Gel.
That's brave! Amusements, when I'm o'er my bottle;
Then am I merriest.

Din.
Sweet ointments too,
And of all sorts.

Gel.
I'll no more sell my jokes—
No auctions now—I've an estate in fee.
You puppies, that hunt auctions by the nose,
Mischievous whelps, go hang yourselves—O Hercules!
I gratulate thee on th'increase of tenths.
I vow'd to thee.

Din.
Then after all, came Parasites.

Gel.
Then I'm undone!

Din.
Such drolls were never seen!

Gel.
No! I'll return the dust I swept but now.

Pan.
Saw'st thou my sister's husband, Pamphilippus?

Din.
No.

Pan.
He's return'd?

Din.
'Twas said, they came together.
I hurried off to tell you the good news.

Gel.
I must e'en sell these jokes then after all;
I thought to have kept them—Ah! how will these rascals
Sneer at my cost?—Tho'Hercules indeed,
Being a god, will come off well enough.

Pan.
In, in, Dinacium, give my servants orders,
Prepare a sacrifice—Farewel, Gelasimus—

Gel.
Can't I be helpful?

Pan.
I have slaves enough
To spare.—

[Exeunt Pan. and Din.
Gel.
Gelasimus, thou'rt finely fob'd.
If one's not come, nor t'other, that's arriv'd,
Will stand thy friend—I'll home, and search my books,
Instruct me from the sayings of the best:
For if I cannot beat these foreign fellows
Out of the pit, I'm utterly undone.

[Exit.