 | The Ass-Dealer |  |
SCENE III.
Enter ARTEMONA and the PARASITE.Art.
Indeed! And do you say then, that my husband
Is with his son at a debauch, and that
He has given his mistress twenty silver minæ?
My son too privy to it; and knows his father
Is perpetrating now this wicked action.
Par.
Look on me as the greatest villain living,
262
I've told you ought but truth.
Art.
Unhappy woman!
I who had always thought I had a husband
Excell'd in temperance, chastity, sobriety,
And fond too of his wife—
Par.
But from this time
Esteem him as a worthless wretch, a drunkard,
Incontinent, a hater of his wife.
Art.
In troth, if what you say was not the truth,
He would not do as now he does.
Par.
By Hercules!
'Till now, I ever look'd upon him, as
A sober man: but here, this present action
Demonstrates what he is: at a debauch
With his own son! and keeping of a wench,
An old decrepid fellow!
Art.
'Twas for this,
By Castor's temple! that he sup'd abroad
Each day, to me pretending that he went
To Archidemus, Chærea, or Cherestratus,
Chratinus, Chremes, Dinias, or Demosthenes—
He studies nothing but debauchery,
And spends his time in brothels with his wenches.
Par.
Why don't you bid your maidens drag him in
Headlong, and truss him up immediately?
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Let me alone, I'll treat him as he merits.
Par.
I doubt not that, as long as he's oblig'd
To treat you as his wife.
Art.
I thought, for my part
He was on business at the senate, or
Among his clients; with these things so tir'd—
He snor'd all night—and from his work all day
Came home as weary as a dog—He ploughs
Another's land, and leaves his own untill'd;
And not content to be debauch'd himself,
Debauches his own son into the bargain.
Par.
Follow me this way only, I'll take care
That you shall catch him in the fact.
Art.
By Castor!
I wish for nothing more.
Par.
Stay then a little.
Art.
Well, what is't I'm to do?
Par.
Suppose, you see
Your husband on a couch, upon his head
A wreath, and in the embraces of his mistress:
Say, should you know him?
Art.
Yes, most certainly.
Par.
See, there's your man.
[pointing to the farther end of the stage.
Art.
Undone!
Par.
Hold, stay a little.
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Attend to what they are about.
Arg.
My father!
No end of your caresses?
Dem.
Son, I own it.
Arg.
What do you own?
Dem.
Why, that I die with love.
Par.
[apart.]
Hear you what 'tis he says?
Art.
Yes, yes, I hear it.
Dem.
Shall I not, tell me, when I once get home
Filch from my wife the robe she's fondest of,
And bring it to you? Yes, in troth, I'd do it.
Tho', if I did it not, I could be sure
My wife would die before the year was out.
Par.
Do you imagine this is the first time
He has been in a brothel?
Art.
Yes, I find,
By Castor's temple, he's been filching from me,
When I have had suspicions of my maidens;
And punish'd them when they were innocent.
Arg.
Order some wine, sir; for it seems an age
Since last I drank.
Dem.
Boy, fill a cup of wine
On this side here; and on the other, love,
Give me a kiss.
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Wretch that I am! undone!
See how the hang-dog kisses! an old goat
With one foot in the grave!
Dem.
How sweet's thy breath,
When I compare it with my wife's.
Phil.
Say, love,
Does your wife's breath smell strong?
Dem.
I'd rather drink
Stinking ditch water, was it necessary,
Than kiss her—
Art.
O the wretch!
Par.
By Castor! yes,
He well deserves to be one.
Arg.
What do you say,
My father?
Art.
Ay, let's hear what 'tis you say?
You will pay dear for what you've said of me.
Come but once home, I'll teach you what it is
To speak thus of a wife, who brought with her
A portion.
Arg.
[to Dem.]
What, don't you then love my mother?
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Who I? Why yes, I love her well enough
Now she's not here.
Arg.
And what and if she was?
Dem.
I'd rather she was dead.
Par.
Yes, this man loves you,
And has a curious way to tell you so.
Art.
By Castor's temple, he shall profit by it.
For if he once come home to-day, I'll take
My full revenge in kissing him.
Arg.
Come, father,
Throw the dice first, and then I'll take my turn.
Dem.
Well then—'Tis you that I invoke, Philenium,
And my wife's death— [throwing the dice.]
Ha! this is Venus' cast.
Boys clap your hands, and fill me out a bumper
In honour of my cast.
Art.
I can hold out
No longer.
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'Tis not to be wonder'd at,
Since you've not learn'd the business of a fuller.
'Tis time to shew yourself.
Art.
Yes, I will live,
By Pollux! and this very day you'll find
You've made that invocation to your loss.
[Here Artemona and the Parasite discover themselves.
Par.
Haste, some one run, and call the sexton hither.
Arg.
Health to you, madam.
Art.
I am well in health.
Par.
Demænetus is now no more. 'Tis time
That I withdraw. The fight grows hot apace.
I'll to Diabolus, and strait inform him
I have obey'd his orders—And persuade him
While these are squabbling, that we get our supper.
To-morrow I'll conduct him to the bawd,
That he may give to her the twenty minæ;
And that he may be happy with his mistress.
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To agree to pass alternate nights with her.
Which, if I don't obtain, I lose my patron,
He loves this girl so desperately.
[Exit.
Art.
Why
Do you here thus entertain my husband?
Phil.
Troth,
He teiz'd me to it with his importunity.
Art.
Come, sir gallant, arise! go, get you home.
Dem.
'Tis over with me.
Art.
Yes, that's sure enough,
Deny it not: thou worst of men, by Pollux!
The cuckow's still upon his nest. Sir gallant!
Rise up; go get you home!
Dem.
Wretch that I am!
Art.
You say but what is true—Arise, sir gallant,
Go, get you home.
Dem.
A little this way, prithee!
Art.
Come, sir gallant, rise up! Go, get you home.
Dem.
Wife, I conjure you.
Art.
Now, I am your wife.
But lately, when you heap'd abuses on me,
I was your hatred, your aversion, not
Your wife.
Dem.
I'm utterly undone—
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Well then,
Does your wife's breath smell strong?
Dem.
It smells of myrrh.
Art.
And have you filch'd my robe, to give it here
To this your wench?
Arg.
Yes, it is true, by Castor!
He promis'd he would filch it.
Dem.
Hold your tongue.
Arg.
But, madam, I dissuaded him from doing it.
Art.
A pretty son indeed! Are these the morals
'Tis fit a father teach unto his children—
Are you asham'd of nothing?
Dem.
Yes, of you.
Art.
Yes, 'tis your wife, you old grey-headed cuckow,
Has drove you from a brothel.
Dem.
Wife, you see
The supper's ready, won't you let me stay
And pick a bit?
Art.
Yes, you shall pick a bit;
But it shall be of your deserts.
Dem.
In troth!
I shan't be very easy on my couch.
My wife's condemn'd me, and now bears me home.
Arg.
I told you, sir, you should not disoblige
My mother.
Phil.
Don't forget the robe, I prithee!
Dem.
And don't you order her to go from hence.
Phil.
Rather, go in—Come, follow me, my soul.
Dem.
With pleasure.
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Go, go home.
Phil.
One kiss, at least,
Before you go—
Dem.
A kiss! go hang yourself—
| The Ass-Dealer | |