Scene II
Enter Demea.
Micio. Demea, I’m glad to see you well.
Demea. Oho!
Well met: the very man I came to seek.
Micio. But you appear uneasy: What’s the matter?
Demea. Uneasy? well I may.—The matter, say you?
What can the matter be but Æschinus?
Micio. I said it wou’d be so.—What has he done?
Demea. What has he done! a wretch whom neither fear,
Nor modesty, nor any law can bind!
For not to speak of all his former pranks,
What has he been about but even now!
Demea. Is it a question, when there’s Æschinus
To trouble us, what makes me so uneasy?
Micio. I said it would be so.—What has he done?
Demea. What has he done? a wretch, whom neither ties
Of shame, nor fear, nor any law can bind!
For not to speak of all his former pranks,
What has he been about but even now!
Micio. What has he done?
Demea. Burst open doors, and made
His way by force into another’s house;
Half-kill’d the master and his family,
And carried off a wench whom he was fond of.
All Athens cries out shame upon him for it.
I have been told of it a hundred times
Since my arrival. ’Tis the town-talk, Micio.
And if we needs must draw comparisons,
Micio. What has he done?
Demea. Burst open doors, and forc’d
His way into another’s house, and beat
The master and his family half dead;
And carried off a wench whom he was fond of.
The whole town cries out shame upon him, Micio.
I have been told of it a hundred times
Since my arrival. ’Tis the common talk.——
And if we needs must draw comparisons,
Does not he see his brother thrifty, sober,
Attentive to his business in the country?
Not given to these practices; and when
I say all this to him, to you I say it.
You are his ruin, Micio.
Micio. How unjust
Is he who wants experience! who believes
Nothing is right but what he does himself!
Demea. Why d’ye say that?
Micio. Because you, Demea,
Misjudge these matters. ’Tis no heinous crime
Judge wrongly of these matters. ’Tis no crime
For a young man to wench or drink.—’Tis not,
Believe me!—nor to force doors open.—This,
If neither you nor I have done, it was That poverty allow’d us not. And now
You claim a merit to yourself, from that Which want constrain’d you to. It is not fair.
For had there been but wherewithal to do’t,
We likewise should have done thus. Wherefore you,
Were you a man, would let your younger son,
Now, while it suits his age, pursue his pleasures;
Rather than, when it less becomes his years,
When, after wishing long, he shall at last
Be rid of you, he should run riot then.
Demea. Oh Jupiter! the man will drive me mad.
Is it no crime, d’ye say, for a young man
To take these courses?
Micio. Nay, nay; do but hear me,
Nor stun me with the self-same thing forever!
Your elder son you gave me for adoption:
He’s mine, then, Demea; and if he offends,
’Tis an offense to me, and I must bear
The burden. Does he treat? or drink? or dress?
’Tis at my cost.—Or wench? I will supply him,
While ’tis convenient to me; when ’tis not,
His mistresses perhaps will shut him out.
—Has he broke open doors? we’ll make them good.
Or torn a coat? it shall be mended. I,
Thank Heaven, have enough to do all this,
And ’tis as yet not irksome.—In a word,
Have done, or chuse some arbiter between us:
Or cease, or choose some arbiter between us:
I’ll prove that you are more in fault than I.
Demea. Ah, learn to be a father; learn from those
Who know what ’tis to be indeed a parent!
Micio. By nature you’re his father, I by counsel.
Demea. You! do you counsel any thing?
Micio. Nay, nay;
If you persist, I’m gone.
Demea. Is’t thus you treat me?
Micio. Must I be plagued with the same thing so often?
Micio. Must I still hear the same thing o’er and o’er?
Demea. It touches me.
Micio. And me it touches too.
But, Demea, let us each look to our own;
Let me take care of one, and mind you t’other.
For to concern yourself with both, appears
As if you’d redemand the boy you gave.
Demea. Ah, Micio!
Micio. So it seems to me.
Demea. Well, well;
Let him, if ’tis your pleasure, waste, destroy.
And squander; it is no concern of mine.
If henceforth I e’er say one word——
Micio. Again?
Angry again, good Demea?
Demea. You may trust me.
Do I demand him back again I gave you?
—It hurts me. I am not a stranger to him.
—But if I once oppose—Well, well, I’ve done.
You wish I should take care of one. I do
Take special care of him; and he, thank Heav’n,
Is as I wish he should be: which your ward,
I warrant, shall find out one time or other.
I will not say aught worse of him at present.
Exit.