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.