Scene V
Pamphilus alone.
Which way shall I begin the wretched tale
Of my misfortunes, which have fall’n upon me
Thus unexpectedly? which even now
These very eyes have seen, these ears have heard?
And which, discover’d, drove me out o’doors.
Cover’d with deep confusion?—For but now
As I rush’d in, all anxious for my wife,
And thinking to have found her visited,
Alas! with a far different complaint;
Soon as her women saw me, at first sight
Struck and o’erjoy’d, they all exclaim’d, “He’s come!”
And then as soon each countenance was chang’d,
That chance had brought me so unseasonably.
Meanwhile one of them ran before, to speak
Of my arrival. I, who long’d to see her,
Directly follow’d; and no sooner enter’d,
Than her disorder was, alas! too plain:
For neither had they leisure to disguise it,
Nor could she silence the loud cries of travail.
Soon as I saw it, “Oh shame, shame!” I cried,
And rush’d away in tears and agony,
O’erwhelm’d with horror at a stroke so grievous.
The mother follows me, and at the threshold
Falls on her knees before me all in tears.
This touch’d me to the soul. And certainly
’Tis in the very nature of our minds,
To rise and fall according to our fortunes.
Thus she address’d me.— “Oh, my Pamphilus,
The cause of her removal from your house
You’ve now discover’d. To my virgin-daughter
Some unknown villain offer’d violence;
And she fled hither to conceal her labor
From you and from your family.”—Alas!
When I but call her earnest prayers to mind,
I can not choose but weep.—“Whatever chance,”
Continued she, “whatever accident,
Brought you to-day thus suddenly upon us,
By that we both conjure you—if in justice
And equity we may—to keep in silence,
And cover her distress.—Oh, Pamphilus,
If e’er you witness’d her affection for you,
By that affection she implores you now
Not to refuse us!—for recalling her,
Do as your own discretion shall direct.
That she’s in labor now, or has conceiv’d
By any other person, is a secret
Known but to you alone. For I’ve been told,
The two first months you had no commerce with her,
And it is now the seventh since your union.
Your sentiments on this are evident.
But now, my Pamphilus, if possible,
I’ll call it a miscarriage: no one else
But will believe, as probable, ’tis yours.
The child shall be immediately expos’d.
No inconvenience will arise to you;
While thus you shall conceal the injury
That my poor girl unworthily sustain’d.”
—I promis’d her; and I will keep my word.
But to recall her would be poor indeed:
Nor will I do it, though I love her still.
And former commerce binds me strongly to her.
—I can’t but weep, to think how sad and lonely
My future life will be.—Oh fickle fortune!
How transient are thy smiles!—But I’ve been school’d
To patience by my former hapless passion,
Which I subdued by reason: and I’ll try
By reason to subdue this too.—But yonder
Comes Parmeno, I see, with th’ other slaves!
He must by no means now be present, since
To him alone I formerly reveal’d
That I abstain’d from her when first we married:
And if he hears her frequent cries, I fear
That he’ll discover her to be in labor.
I must dispatch him on some idle errand,
Until Philumena’s deliver’d.