Scene IV
Sostrata, Pamphilus.
Sostra. Dear son, I’m not to learn that you suppose,
Though you dissemble your suspicions to me,
That my ill-humor caus’d your wife’s departure.
But by my trust in Heav’n, and hopes in you,
I never knowingly did any thing
To draw her hatred and disgust upon me.
I always thought you lov’d me, and to-day
You have confirm’d my faith: for even now
Your father has been telling me within,
How much you held me dearer than your love.
Now therefore, on my part, I am resolv’d
To equal you in all good offices;
That you may know your mother ne’er withholds
The just rewards of filial piety;
Finding it then both meet, my Pamphilus,
For your repose, as well as my good name,
Finding it then both meet for your repose,
My Pamphilus, as well as my good name,
I have determin’d to retire directly
From hence into the country with your father;
So shall my presence be no obstacle,
Nor any cause remain, but that your wife
Return immediately.
Pam. What thoughts are these?
Shall her perverseness drive you out of town?
It shall not be: Nor will I draw, good mother,
That censure on me, that my obstinacy,
Not your good-nature, was the cause.—Besides,
That you should quit relations, friends, diversions,
On my account, I can’t allow.
Sostra. Alas!
Those things have no allurements for me now.
While I was young, and ’twas the season for them,
I had my share, and I am satisfied.
’Tis now my chief concern to make my age
Easy to all, that no one may regret
My lengthen’d life, nor languish for my death.
Here, although undeservedly, I see
My presence odious: I had best retire:
So shall I best cut off all discontent,
Absolve myself from this unjust suspicion,
And humor them. Permit me then to shun
The common scandal thrown upon the sex.
Pam. How fortunate in every thing but one,
Having so good a mother,—such a wife!
Sostra. Patience, my Pamphilus! Is’t possible
You can’t endure one inconvenience in her?
If in all else, as I believe, you like her,
Dear son, be rul’d by me, and take her home!
Pam. Wretch that I am!
Sostra. And I am wretched too:
For this grieves me, my son, no less than you.