DEM. I'm now return'd to see if Micio Be yet come home again.
{_CTESIPHO and SYRUS apart._}
CTES. (_peeping out_). Take care, good Syrus, He don't rush in upon us unawares!
SYRUS. Peace! I'll take care.
CTES. 'Faith, I'll not trust to you, But shut myself and her in some by-place Together: that's the safest.
SYRUS. Well, away! (_CTESIPHO disappears._) I'll drive the old man hence, I warrant you.
DEM. (_seeing SYRUS_). But see that rascal Syrus coming hither!
SYRUS (_advancing hastily, and pretending not to see DEMEA_).
By Hercules, there is no living here, For any one, at this rate.--I'd fain know How many masters I'm to have.--Oh monstrous!
DEM. What does he howl for? what's the meaning on't?
Hark ye, my good Sir! prithee tell me if My brother be at home.
SYRUS. _My good Sir!_ Plague!
Why do you come with your _good Sirs_ to me?
I'm half-kill'd.
DEM. What's the matter?
SYRUS. What's the matter!
Ctesipho, vengeance on him, fell upon me, And cudgel'd me and the poor Music-Girl Almost to death.
DEM. Indeed?
SYRUS. Indeed. Nay see How he has cut my lip. (_Pretending to show it._)
DEM. On what account?
SYRUS. The girl, he says, was bought by my advice.
DEM. Did not you say you saw him out of town A little while ago?
SYRUS. And so I did.
But he came back soon after, like a madman.
He had no mercy.--Was not he asham'd To beat a poor old fellow? to beat me; Who bore him in my arms but t'other day, An urchin thus high? (_Showing._)
DEM. Oh rare, Ctesipho!
Father's own son! a man, I warrant him.
SYRUS. Oh rare, d'ye cry? I' faith, if he is wise, He'll hold his hands another time.
DEM. Oh brave!
SYRUS. Oh mighty brave, indeed!--Because he beat A helpless girl, and me a wretched slave, Who durst not strike again;--oh, to be sure, Mighty brave, truly!
DEM. Oh, most exquisite!
My Ctesipho perceived, as well as I, That you was the contriver of this business.
--But is my brother here?
SYRUS. Not he. (_Sulkily._)
DEM. I'm thinking Where I shall seek him.
SYRUS. I know where he is: But I'll not tell.
DEM. How, Sirrah?
SYRUS. Even so.
DEM. I'll break your head.
SYRUS. I can not tell the name Of him he's gone to, but I know the place.
DEM. Well, where's the place?
SYRUS. D'ye know the Portico Just by the market, down this way? (_Pointing._)
DEM. I do.
SYRUS. Go up that street; keep straight along: and then You'll see a hill; go straight down that: and then On this hand, there's a chapel; and just by A narrow lane. (_Pointing._)
DEM. Where? (_Looking._)
SYRUS. There; by the great wild fig-tree.
D'ye know it, Sir?
DEM. I do.
SYRUS. Go through that lane.
DEM. That lane's no thoroughfare.
SYRUS. Aye, very true: No more it is, Sir.--What a fool I am!
I was mistaken--You must go quite back Into the portico; and after all, This is the nearest and the safest way.
--D'ye know Cratinus' house? the rich man?
DEM. Aye.
SYRUS. When you've pass'd that, turn short upon the left.
Keep straight along that street, and when you reach Diana's Temple, turn upon the right.
And then, on this side of the city gate, Just by the pond, there is a baker's shop, And opposite a joiner's.--There he is.