University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter PHILODAMUS and VERRES.
Philodamus.
We are not so deficient in your history,
But that some very venerable names,
Curius, Cincinnatus, and Fabricius;
Brutus, and Regulus, and Scipio;
With others of like fame; transmit their rays,
Thro' distance and the difference of language,
To influence and light our Grecian world.

Verres.
Ay, those were characters fit for those times;
Were they to live again, they would be wiser,
Or else incur the penalty, and starve.
Their ignorance we've complimented honesty.
What was their merit in despising riches
They had no use for, as they knew no luxury?

Philodamus.
Strange! that the probity, which wrought your greatness,
Should not maintain its estimation with you.

Rubrius.
My noble guest, and very lib'ral host,
Suppose, the while they reinstate the chamber,
We call'd for wine. Philodamus grows serious.

Philodamus.
Not in the least; far from it.

Rubrius.
[Table with Wine.
Bring some wine;
Pour to my landlord here. Why, my good friend,
There's nought defective in your hospitality,
But that you baulk too much the social bowl,
And are not chearful. We embarrass you.

Philodamus.
Oh! not at all.

Verres.
Trust me, I fear we do.

Sestius.
What! flinch a sober cup! we'll no excess;
I hate a drunkard worse than you can do.

Philodamus.
I am but in the place of a first butler,
Who must keep sober, to observe his master.

Apronius.
But you disgrace the office. Why, a butler
Drinks twice, in quantity and quality,
His master's draught.

Philodamus.
Have me excus'd, I pray you,
Take your own freedom, and allow me mine.

Sestius.
Freemen are friends to drink. Look ye, your slave
Fears to unbar his breast. Now wine commits,
As 'twere, a kind of rape upon his secrets.

Philodamus.
Let me put no restraint upon your pleasures;
But for myself—We eat not the same weight,
Why then oblig'd to drink by the same measure?

Verres.
Press we our host no more. There is a time
When a dull clog hangs on our flagging spirits;
A listlessness, and an indisposition
To mirth, and all the chearful ways of men,
Which wayward struggles 'gainst its remedy,
As patients nauseate the draught that cures them.
I have known music have a great effect
In dissipating this cold, gloomy humour.
Apronius, is your voice in tune?

Apronius.
I'll try.
SONG.

Verres.
How so? I thought she had been crown'd with stars.

Apronius.
Her loves with Bacchus, and her stellar wreath,
Are allegorical, and mean no more.
Than the song tells us.

Sestius.
And all songs tell truth.
A gallant fellow at a rape, that Theseus;
I know his hist'ry: he'd the first of Helen.

Rubrius.
Right, Sestius, to make sure of that priority,
Like a wise man, he stole her in her childhood.

Verres.
Would she were here! not quite indeed so young,
Nor yet so far advanc'd, as when she quitted
Lank Menelaus for her curl'd adulterer;
Or any other Helen. For that company,
Tho' chosen e'er so well, if only men,
Sours into argument, or quickly mopes.
What is the feast where women are excluded!

Apronius.
A trough for swine to gorge at, where they swill,
To surfeiting in noise and nastiness.

Rubrius.
Man would immediately relapse to beast,
If woman did not humanize the brute,
And make him shave his beard and pare his nails.
Where-e'er she treads, good humour leads the way,
Pleasure, light-hearted mirth, and elegance,
Compose her train, and joy is all her own.
Wine was invented to supply her place,
And but enhances more the want of her.

Sestius.
I don't find that.

Apronius.
Within these walls is one,
Who had sham'd Helen, given her the pip,
And, to excuse her looks, had made her swear
She had not slept the whole precedent night,
Tho' she had had her husband by her side.
I mean the daughter of our gen'rous host.
Nay, her companion is almost her rival.
And, on my conscience, I could well believe
That Leda laid more eggs than we are told of,
Which have been somehow kept, and newly hatch'd,
To shew true beauty to the present age.

Verres.
It is inhuman to confine the women,
Who best adorn, and ought to share the feast.
Let me beseech you, we may have their company.

Philodamus.
My daughter in the company of men,
Where the mad bowl inspires unmaster'd licence!
What! a chaste virgin be a blushing witness
To the gross meaning of your lewd allusions!
Bear the familiar pressure of the hand,
And all the ribald manners, now call'd fashion!
The thought is infamous.

Sestius.
Hark you me, landlord,
If she's so chaste, she would not understand them.
If not, 'tis not the pressure of the hand
Will do her harm.

Verres.
In truth, Philodamus,
Your Grecian ceremonial is too strict.—
We'll argue this within;—and shall convince you,
That the security of female virtue
Rests safest on its early introduction
To the familiarity of men.
Come, friends, to the next room. I know you're thirsty
To pledge me to the health of this new Helen.

[Exeunt all but Sestius and Philodamus.