The Comedies of Terence - LightNovelsOnl.com
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PHOR. Ha!--If I don't take care I'm ruin'd still.
They're growing desperate, and making tow'rd me With a determin'd gladiatorial air.
CHREM. (_to DEMIPHO_). I fear she'll ne'er forgive me.
DEM. Courage, Chremes!
I'll reconcile her to't; especially The mother being dead and gone.
PHOR. Is this Your dealing, gentlemen? You come upon me Extremely cunningly.--But, Demipho, You have but ill consulted for your brother, To urge me to extremities.--And you, Sir (_to CHREMES_), When you have play'd the wh.o.r.emaster abroad; Having no reverence for your lady here, A woman of condition; wronging her After the grossest manner; come you now To wash away your crimes with mean submission?
No.--I will kindle such a flame in her, As, though you melt in tears, you sha'n't extinguish.
DEM. A plague upon him! was there ever man So very impudent?--A knave! he ought To be transported at the public charge Into some desert.
CHREM. I am so confounded, I know not what to do with him.
DEM. I know.
Bring him before a judge!
PHOR. Before a judge?
A lady-judge; in here, Sirs, if you please.
DEM. Run you and hold him, while I call her servants.
CHREM. I can not by myself; come up and help me.
PHOR. I have an action of a.s.sault against you. (_To DEMIPHO._)
CHREM. Bring it!
PHOR. Another against you too, Chremes!
DEM. Drag him away! (_Both lay hold of him._)
PHOR. (_struggling_). Is that your way with me!
Then I must raise my voice.--Nausistrata!
Come hither.
CHREM. Stop his mouth!
DEM. (_struggling_). A st.u.r.dy rogue!
How strong he is!
PHOR. (_struggling_). Nausistrata, I say.
Nausistrata!
CHREM. (_struggling_). Peace, Sirrah!
PHOR. Peace, indeed!
DEM. Unless he follows, strike him in the stomach!
PHOR. Aye, or put out an eye!--But here comes one Will give me full revenge upon you both.
SCENE II.
_To them NAUSISTRATA._
NAUS. Who calls for me?
CHREM. Confusion!
NAUS. (_to CHREMES_). Pray, my dear, What's this disturbance?
PHOR. Dumb, old Truepenny!
NAUS. Who is this man?--Why don't you answer me? (_To CHREMES._)
PHOR. He answer you! he's hardly in his senses.
CHREM. Never believe him!
PHOR. Do but go and touch him; He's in a s.h.i.+vering fit, I'll lay my life.
CHREM. Nay----
NAUS. But what means he then?
PHOR. I'll tell you, madam; Do but attend!
CHREM. Will you believe him then?
NAUS. What is there to believe, when he says nothing?
PHOR. Poor man! his fear deprives him of his wits.
NAUS. (_to CHREMES_). I'm sure you're not so much afraid for nothing.
CHREM. What! I afraid? (_Endeavoring to take heart._)
PHOR. Oh, not at all!--And since You're in no fright, and what I say means nothing, Tell it yourself.
DEM. At your desire, you rascal?
PHOR. Oh, you've done rarely for your brother, Sir!
NAUS. What! Won't you tell me, husband?
CHREM. But----
