PHaeD. This fellow, to be sure.
PYTH. This man! who is he?
PHaeD. He that was carried to your house to-day.
PYTH. None of our people ever laid their eyes Upon this fellow, Phaedria!
PHaeD. Never saw him?
PYTH. Why, did you think this fellow had been brought To us?
PHaeD. Yes, surely; for I had no other.
PYTH. Oh dear! this fellow's not to be compar'd To t'other.--He was elegant, and handsome.
PHaeD. Aye, so he might appear a while ago, Because he had gay clothes on: now he seems Ugly, because he's stripped.
PYTH. Nay, prithee, peace!
As if the diff'rence was so very small!---- The youth conducted to our house to-day, 'Twould do you good to cast your eyes on, Phaedria: This is a drowsy, wither'd, weasel-fac'd, Old fellow.
PHaeD. How?----you drive me to that pass, That I scarce know what I have done myself.
--Did not I buy you, rascal? (_To DORUS._)
DOR. Yes, Sir.
PYTH. Order him To answer me.
PHaeD. Well, question him.
PYTH. (_to DORUS_). Was you Brought here to-day? (_Shakes his head._) See there! Not he. It was Another, a young lad, about sixteen, Whom Parmeno brought with him.
PHaeD. (_to DORUS_). Speak to me!
First tell me, whence had you that coat? What, dumb?
I'll make you speak, you villain? (_Beating him._)
DOR. Chaerea came---- (_Crying._)
PHaeD. My brother?
DOR. Yes, Sir!
PHaeD. When?
DOR. To-day.
PHaeD. How long since?
DOR. Just now.
PHaeD. With whom?
DOR. With Parmeno.
PHaeD. Did you Know him before?
DOR. No, Sir; nor e'er heard of him.
PHaeD. How did you know then that he was my brother?
DOR. Parmeno told me so; and Chaerea Gave me these clothes----
PHaeD. Confusion! (_Aside._)
DOR. Put on mine; And then they both went out o' doors together.
PYTH. Now, Sir, do you believe that I am sober?
Now do you think, I've told no lie? And now Are you convinc'd the girl has been abus'd!
PHaeD. Away, fool! d'ye believe what this wretch says?
PYTH. What signifies belief?--It speaks itself.
PHaeD. (_apart to DORUS_). Come this way--hark ye! ----further still.
----Enough.
Tell me once more. ----Did Chaerea strip you?
DOR. Yes.
PHaeD. And put your clothes on?
DOR. Yes, Sir!
PHaeD. And was brought In your stead hither?
DOR. Yes.
PHaeD. Great Jupiter! (_Pretending to be in a passion with him._) What a most wicked scoundrel's this?
PYTH. Alas!
Don't you believe, then, we've been vilely us'd?
PHaeD. No wonder if you credit what he says.
I don't know what to do. (_Aside._)--Here, harkye, Sirrah!
Deny it all again. (_Apart to DORUS._)--What! can't I beat The truth out of you, rascal?--have you seen My brother Chaerea? (_Aloud, and beating him._)
DOR. No, Sir! (_Crying._)
PHaeD. So! I see He won't confess without a beating.--This way! (_Apart._) Now He owns it; now denies it.--Ask my pardon! (_Apart._)