SOSTRA. Nay indeed, husband, if you don't take care, You'll bring some kind of mischief on your son: I can't imagine how a thought so idle Could come into your head.
CHREM. Still, woman, still D'ye contradict me? Did I ever wish For any thing in all my life, but you In that same thing oppos'd me, Sostrata?
Yet now if I should ask wherein I'm wrong, Or wherefore I act thus, you do not know.
Why then d'ye contradict me, simpleton?
SOSTRA. Not know?
CHREM. Well, well, you know: I grant it, rather Than hear your idle story o'er again.
SOSTRA. Ah, 'tis unjust in you to ask my silence In such a thing as this.
CHREM. I do not ask it.
Speak if you will: I'll do it ne'ertheless.
SOSTRA. Will you?
CHREM. I will.
SOSTRA. You don't perceive what harm May come of this. He thinks himself a foundling.
CHREM. A foundling, say you?
SOSTRA. Yes indeed, he does.
CHREM. Confess it to be true.
SOSTRA. Ah, Heav'n forbid!
Let our most bitter enemies do that!
Shall I disown my son, my own dear child!
CHREM. What! do you fear you can not at your pleasure Produce convincing proofs that he's your own?
SOSTRA. Is it because my daughter's found you say this?
CHREM. No: but because, a stronger reason far, His manners so resemble yours, you may Easily prove him thence to be your son.
He is quite like you: not a vice, whereof He is inheritor, but dwells in you: And such a son no mother but yourself Could have engender'd.--But he comes.--How grave!
Look in his face, and you may guess his plight.
[Changes:
_Harper_ His manners so resemble yours, you may Easily prove him thence to be your son.
_Colman 1768_ His manners are so very like your own, They are convincing proofs that he's your son]
SCENE VII.
_Enter CLITIPHO._
CLIT. Oh mother, if there ever was a time When you took pleasure in me, or delight To call me son, beseech you, think of that; Pity my present misery, and tell me Who are my real parents!
SOSTRA. My dear son, Take not, I beg, that notion to your mind, That you're an alien to our blood.
CLIT. I am.
SOSTRA. Ah me! and can you then demand me that?
So may you prosper after both, as you're Of both the child! and if you love your mother, Take heed henceforward that I never hear Such words from you.
CHREM. And if you fear your father, See that I never find such vices in you.
CLIT. What vices?
CHREM. What? I'll tell you. Trifler, idler, Cheat, drunkard, whoremaster, and prodigal.
--Think this, and think that you are ours.
SOSTRA. These words Suit not a father.
CHREM. No, no, Clitipho, Though from my brain you had been born, as Pallas Sprang, it is said, from Jupiter, I would not Bear the disgrace of your enormities.
SOSTRA. The Gods forbid----
CHREM. I know not for the Gods: I will do all that lies in me. You seek For parents, which you have: but what is wanting, Obedience to your father, and the means To keep what he by labor hath acquir'd, For that you seek not.--Did you not by tricks Ev'n to my presence introduce----I blush To speak immodestly before your mother: But you by no means blush'd to do't.
CLIT. Alas!
How hateful am I to myself! how much Am I asham'd! so lost, I can not tell How to attempt to pacify my father.
SCENE VIII.
_Enter MENEDEMUS._
MENE. Now in good faith our Chremes plagues his son Too long and too severely. I come forth To reconcile him, and make peace between them.
And there they are!
CHREM. Ha, Menedemus! wherefore Is not my daughter summon'd? and the portion, I settled on her; ratified by you?
SOSTRA. Dear husband, I beseech you not to do it!
CLIT. My father, I entreat you pardon me!
MENE. Forgive him, Chremes! let his pray'rs prevail!
CHREM. What! shall I then with open eyes bestow My whole estate on Bacchis? I'll not do't.
MENE. We will prevent that. It shall not be so.
CLIT. If you regard my life, forgive me, father!
SOSTRA. Do, my dear Chremes!