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PHORM I O.

ACT I. SCENE I.

DAVUS, alone."

GETA, my worthy friend and countryman,

10

Came to me yesterday: For some time past
I've ow'd him some small balance of account:o
This, he desir'd, I would make up: I have;
And brought it with me: For his master's son,
I am inform'd, has lately got a wife:
So I suppose this sum is scrap'd together
For a bride-gift. Alack, how hard it is,
That he, who is already poor, should still
Throw in his mite, to swell the rich man's heap!

What he scarce, ounce by ounce", from short allow

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Sorely defrauding his own appetite,

Has spar'd, poor wretch! shall she sweep all at once, Unheeding with what labour it was got.

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Geta, moreover, shall be struck for more 13;
Another gift, when madam's brought to bed ;-
Another too, when master's birth-day's kept,
And they initiate him 1.---All this mamma
Shall carry off, the bantling her excuse.
But is that Geta ?

SCENE

SCENE II.

Enter GETA.

Geta, at entering.] If a red-hair'd man

Enquire for me

Dav. No more! he's here.

Geta. Oh, Davus!

The very man that I was going after.

Dav. Here, take this! [gives a purse.] 'tis all told: you'll find it right;

The sum I ow'd you.

Geta. Honest, worthy Davus!

I thank you for your punctuality.

Dav. And well you may, as men and times go now Things, by my troth, are come to such a pass, If a man pays you what he owes, you're much Beholden to him.---But, pray, why so sad?

Geta. I---You can scarce imagine in what dread, What danger I am in.

Dav. How so?

Geta. I'll tell you,

So you will keep it secret.

Dav. Away, fool!

The man, whose faith in money you have tried,

D'ye fear to trust with words ?---And to what end

Should I deceive you?

Geta. List then!

Dav. I'm all ear.

Geta. D'ye know our old man's elder brother,

Chremes?

Dav. Know him? ay sure.

Geta.

Geta. You do ?---And his son Phædria?
Dav. As well as I know you.

Geta. It so fell out,

Both the old men were forc'd to journey forth
At the same season. He to Lemnos, our's
Into Cilicia, to an old acquaintance

Who had decoy'd the old curmudgeon thither
By wheedling letters, almost promising
Mountains of gold.

Dav. To one that had so much,

More than enough already?

Geta. Prithee, peace!

Money's his passion.

Dav. Oh, would I had been

A man of fortune, 1!

Geta. At their departure,

The two old gentlemen appointed me
A kind of governor to both their sons.
Dav. A hard task, Geta!

Geta. Troth, I found it so.

My angry genius for my sins ordain'd it ".
At first I took upon me to oppose :

In short, while I was trusty to th' old man,
The

young one made my shoulders answer for it.
Dav. So I suppose: for what a foolish task
To kick against the pricks! 16

Geta. 1 then resolv'd

To give them their own way in ev'ry thing.
Dav. Ay, then you made your market 17.
Geta. Our young spark

Play'd no mad pranks at first: But Phædria
Got him immediately a musick-girl:

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Fond

Fond of her to distraction! She belong'd
To a most avaricious sordid pimp;

Nor had we aught to give ;---th' old gentleman
Had taken care of that. Nought else remain'd,
Except to feed his eyes, to follow her,

To lead her out to school, and hand her home.
We too, for lack of other business, gave
Our time to Phædria. Opposite the school,
Whither she went to take her lessons, stood
A barber's shop, wherein most commonly
We waited her return. Hither, one day,
Came a young man in tears 20: we were amaz'd,
And ask'd the cause. Never (said he, and wept)
Did I suppose the weight of poverty

A load so sad, so insupportable,

As it appear'd but now.---I saw but now,
Not far from hence, a miserable virgin

Lamenting her dead mother 2. Near the corpse

She sat; nor friend, nor kindred, nor acquaintance,
Except one poor old woman, was there near
To aid the funeral. I pitied her :

Her beauty too was exquisite.---In short,
He mov'd us all: and Antipho at once

Cried, "Shall we go and visit her ?"--" Why, ay,
"I think so," said the other, "let us go!"
"Conduct us, if you please."--- We went, arriv'd,
And saw her.---Beautiful she was indeed!

More justly to be reckon'd so, for she
Had no additions to set off her beauty.
Her hair dishevell'd, barefoot, woe-be-gone,
In tears, and miserably clad: that if
The life and soul of beauty had not dwelt

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