 | The Ass-Dealer |  |
SCENE I.
Enter CLEÆRETA and PHILENIUM.CLEÆRETA.
And is it, my Philenium, then impossible
To make you cease to do what I forbid?
And are you so dispos'd to think yourself
Free from your mother's jurisdiction?
Phil.
How, mother, could I think the goddess piety
Would hear me, when I pray to her to make me
Pleasing to you, if, when I pray, my manners
Were such, as your instructions fain would have them?
Cle.
Is it well manner'd, think you, to oppose
My precepts?
Phil.
How?
Cle.
Is piety thus worship'd,
By lessening due obedience to a mother?
Phil.
Those who act right I blame not; but I love not
Those who are wrong—
Cle.
A prating love-sick girl!
That's what you are—
Phil.
He, mother, is my gain:
His tongue demands me, and his person seeks me;
His passion pleads, and fair occasion prompts—
Cle.
I'm hither come to chide you, and you stand
As my accuser.
229
No, by Pollux' temple!
I don't accuse you; nor yet do I think
I have a right to do it. I am only
Complaining of my lot, when I'm depriv'd
Of him I love.
Cle.
I hope you'll let me have
My turn to speak, once in the day at least.
Phil.
Together with your own, I give you mine
Into the bargain; be you then directress
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But then, by Pollux! if my oar's laid by,
And my sole ship remains in dock, remember
All's at a stand at home; no pot is boiling.
Cle.
What's that you say, and with such impudence?
How many times have I forbidden you
To accost, or to come near to Argyrippus,
Son of Demænetus; to hold discourse
With him, or e'en to look him in the face!
What has he given us, or what provision
Has he e'er order'd to our house? Do you think
A smooth persuasive tongue will pass with us
For current coin? or that fine subtle speeches
Will pass for presents? Of your own accord
You love him, you endeavour to get at him,
You order him to be call'd to you—Those
Who make us presents, you deride: and those
Who cheat us, you are desperately in love with.
Should any promise, when his mother dies,
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Attention to it? Yes, by Castor's temple!
While we're in expectation of her death,
'Tis odds but we and our whole family
Perish for want of food. If he don't bring
Hither to me this day the twenty minæ,
(Let him be e'er so bounteous of his tears,)
I swear by Castor's temple, out of doors
He shall be turn'd—This day's the very last
I'll hear this plea of poverty—
Phil.
My mother,
If you should bid me eat no food, I'd eat none.
Cle.
I don't forbid you love those men who give us
Aught for the sake of which they should be lov'd—
Phil.
But, madam, when one's inclination's fix'd
Upon a man, what's to be done? advise me.
Cle.
Why, look at my grey hairs, my hoary head,
And then consult what suits your interest best.
Phil.
The shepherd, madam, that is set to keep
Another's sheep, hath for himself some few
Which he can call his own; then nurse his hopes.
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For the meer sake of my affection to him.
Cle.
Go in: in troth I've never seen a girl
So saucy.
Phil.
Madam, I am all obedience.
[Exeunt.
| The Ass-Dealer | |