GETA. What, Phormio!
DEM. The girl's Patron.
GETA. He shall be with you straight.
DEM. Where's Antipho?
PHaeD. Abroad.
DEM. Go, Phaedria; find him, bring him here.
PHaeD. I'll go directly. (_Exit_
GETA (_aside_). Aye, to Pamphila. (_Exit_
[Changes:
_Harper_ DEM. If 'twere not so, you'd not defend him, Phaedria.
_Colman 1768_ DEM. For, were't not so, you'd not defend him, Phaedria.]
SCENE VII.
_DEMIPHO alone._
I'll home, and thank the Gods for my return: Thence to the Forum, and convene some friends, Who may be present at this interview, That Phormio may not take me unprepar'd. (_Exit._
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
_PHORMIO, GETA._
PHOR. And Antipho, you say, has slunk away, Fearing his father's presence?
GETA. Very true.
PHOR. Poor Phanium left alone?
GETA. 'Tis even so.
PHOR. And the old gentleman enrag'd!
GETA. Indeed.
PHOR. The sum of all then, Phormio, rests on you: On you, and you alone. You've bak'd this cake; E'en eat it for your pains. About it then!
GETA. I do beseech you.
PHOR. (_to himself._) What if he inquire?----
GETA. Our only hope's in you.
PHOR. (_to himself_). I have it!--Then, Suppose he offer to return the girl?----
GETA. You urg'd us to it.
PHOR. (_to himself_). Aye! it shall be so.
GETA. Assist us!
PHOR. Let him come, old gentleman!
'Tis here: it is engender'd: I am arm'd With all my counsels.
GETA. What d'ye mean to do?
PHOR. What would you have me do, unless contrive That Phanium may remain, that Antipho Be freed from blame, and all the old man's rage Turn'd upon me?
GETA. Brave fellow! friend indeed!
And yet I often tremble for you, Phormio, Lest all this noble confidence of yours End in the stocks at last.
PHOR. Ah, 'tis not so.
I'm an old stager too, and know my road.
How many men d'ye think I've bastinadoed Almost to death? Aliens and citizens?
The oft'ner, still the safer.--Tell me then, Didst ever hear of actions for assault And batt'ry brought against me?
GETA. How comes that?
PHOR. Because the net's not stretch'd to catch the hawk, Or kite, who do us wrong; but laid for those Who do us none at all: In them there's profit, In those mere labor lost. Thus other men May be in danger who have aught to lose; I, the world knows, have nothing.--You will say, They'll seize my person.--No, they won't maintain A fellow of my stomach.--And they're wise, In my opinion, if for injuries They'll not return the highest benefit.
GETA. It is impossible for Antipho To give you thanks sufficient.
PHOR. Rather say, No man sufficiently can thank his patron.
You at free cost to come! anointed, bath'd, Easy and gay! while he's eat up with care And charge, to cater for your entertainment!
He gnaws his heart, you laugh; eat first, sit first, And see a doubtful banquet plac'd before you!
GETA. Doubtful! what phrase is that?
PHOR. Where you're in doubt, What you shall rather choose. Delights like these When you but think how sweet, how dear, they are; Him that affords them must you not suppose A very deity?
GETA. The old man's here.
Mind what you do! the first attack's the fiercest: Sustain but that, the rest will be mere play. (_They retire._)
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