Scene III
Enter Chærea; Parmeno behind.
Chær. Undone! undone!
The Girl is lost; I know not where she is,
Nor where I am: ah, whither shall I trace?
Where seek? of whom inquire? or which way turn?
I’m all uncertain; but have one hope still:
Where’er she is, she can not long lie hid.
Oh charming face! all others from my memory
Hence I blot out. Away with common beauties!
Par. So, here’s the other! and he mutters too
I know not what of love. Oh what a poor
Unfortunate old man their father is!
As for this stripling, if he once begin,
His brother’s is but jest and children’s play
To his mad fury.
Chær. Twice ten thousand curses
Seize the old wretch, who kept me back to-day;
And me for staying! with a fellow too
I did not care a farthing for!—But see!
Yonder stands Parmeno.—Good-day!
Par. How now?
Wherefore so sad? and why this hurry, Chærea?
Whence come you?
Chær. I? I can not tell, i’faith,
Whence I am come, or whither I am going,
I’ve so entirely lost myself.
Par. And why?
Chær. I am in love.
Par. Oh brave!
Chær. Now, Parmeno,
Now you may show what kind of man you are.
You know you’ve often told me; “Chærea,
Find something out to set your heart upon,
And mark how I will serve you!” yes, you know
You’ve often said so, when I scrap’d together
All the provisions for you at my father’s.
Par. Away, you trifler!
Chær. Nay, in faith, it’s true:
Now make your promise good! and in a cause
Worthy the utmost reachings of your soul:
A girl! my Parmeno, not like our misses;
Whose mothers try to keep their shoulders down,
And bind their bosoms, that their shapes may seem
Genteel and slim. Is a girl rather plump?
They call her nurse, and stint her in her food:
Thus art, in spits of nature, makes them all
Mere bulrushes: and therefore they’re belov’d.
Par. And what’s this girl of yours?
Chær. A miracle.
Par. Oh, to be sure!
Chær. True, natural red and white;
Her body firm, and full of precious stuff!
Par. Her age?
Chær. About sixteen.
Par. The very prime!
Chær. This girl, by force, by stealth, or by entreaty,
Procure me! how I care not, so I have her.
Par. Well, whom does she belong to?
Chær. I don’t know.
Par. Whence comes she?
Chær. I can’t tell.
Par. Where does she live?
Chær. I can’t tell neither.
Par. Where was it you saw her?
Chær. Here in the street.
Par. And how was it you lost her?
Chær. Why it was that, which I so fumed about,
As I came hither! nor was ever man
So jilted by good fortune as myself.
Par. What mischief now?
Chær. Confounded luck.
Par. How so?
Chær. How so! d’ye know one Archidemides,
My father’s kinsman, and about his age?
Par. Full well.
Chær. As I was in pursuit of her He met me.
Par. Rather inconveniently.
Chær. Oh most unhappily! for lighter ills
May pass for inconvenient, Parmeno.
Nay, I could swear, with a safe conscience too,
Chær. Oh most unhappily! for other ills
May be told, Parmeno!—I could swear too,
For six, nay seven months, I had not seen him,
Till now, when least I wish’d and most would shun it.
Is not this monstrous? Eh!
Par. Oh! very monstrous.
Chær. Soon as from far he saw me, instantly,
Bent, trembling, drop-jaw’d, gasping, out of breath,
He hobbled up to me.—“Holo! ho! Chærea!”——
I stopp’d.—“D’ye know what I want with you?”—“What?”
—“I have a cause to-morrow.”—“Well! what then?”——
—“Fail not to tell your father, he remember
To go up with me, as an advocate.”——
His prating took some time. “Aught else?” said I.
“Nothing,” said he:—Away flew I, and saw
The girl that instant turn into this street.
Par. Sure he must mean the virgin, just now brought
To Thais for a present.
Chær. When I reach’d
This place, the girl was vanish’d.
Par. Had your lady
Any attendants?
Chær. Soon as I
Came hither, she was out of sight.
Par. Had she
Any attendants?
Chær. Yes; a parasite,
With a maid-servant.
Par. ’Tis the very same;
Away! have done! all’s over.
Chær. What d’ye mean?
Par. The girl I mean.
Chær. D’ye know then who she is?
Tell me!—or have you seen her?
Par. Yes, I’ve seen her;
I know her; and can tell you where she is.
Chær. How! my dear Parmeno, d’ye know her?
Par. Yes.
Chær. And where she is, d’ye know?
Par. Yes,—there she is; (Pointing.)
Carried to Madam Thais for a present.
Chær. What monarch could bestow a gift so precious?
Par. The mighty Captain Thraso, Phædria’s rival.
Chær. Alas, poor brother!
Par. Aye, and if you knew
The gift he sends to be compar’d with this,
You’d cry alas, indeed!
Chær. What is his gift?
Par. An Eunuch.
Chær. What! that old and ugly slave
That he bought yesterday?
Par. The very same.
Chær. Why, surely, he’ll be trundled out o’ doors
He and his gift together—But till now
I never knew this Thais was our neighbour.
Par. She came but lately.
Chær. Ev’ry way unlucky:
He and his gift together—I ne’er knew
Till now that Thais was our neighbor.
Par. She
Has not been long so.
Chær. Ev’ry way unlucky:
Ne’er to have seen her neither:—Prithee, tell me,
Is she so handsome, as she’s said to be?
Par. Yes, faith.
Chær. But nothing to compare to mine.
Par. Oh, quite another thing.
Chær. But Parmeno!
Contrive that I may have her.
Par. Well, I will.
Depend on my assistance:—have you any
Further commands? (As if going.)
Chær. Where are you going?
Par. Home;
To bring according to your brother’s order,
The slaves to Thais.
Chær. Oh, that happy Eunuch!
To be convey’d into that house!
Par. Why so?
Chær. Why so? why, he shall have that charming girl
His fellow-servant, see her all day long,
Converse with her, dwell under the same roof,
And sometimes eat, and sometimes sleep by her.
His fellow-servant, see her, speak with her,
Be with her in the same house all day long,
And sometimes eat, and sometimes sleep by her.
Par. And what if you should be so happy?
Chær. How?
Tell me, dear Parmeno!
Par. Assume his dress.
Chær. His dress! what then?
Par. I’ll carry you for him.
Chær. I hear you.
Par. I will say that you are he.
Chær. I understand you.
Par. So shall you enjoy
Those blessings which but now you envied him:
Eat with her, be with her, touch, toy with her,
And sleep by her: since none of Thais’ maids
Know you, or dream of what you are. Besides,
Your figure, and your age are such, that you
May well pass for an Eunuch.
Chær. Oh, well said!
I ne’er heard better counsel. Come, let’s in?
Dress me, and carry me! Away, make haste!
Par. What are you at? I did but jest.
Chær. You trifle.
Par. I’m ruin’d: fool, what have I done? Nay, whither
D’ye push me thus? You’ll throw me down. Nay, stay!
Chær. Away.
Par. Nay, prithee!
Chær. I’m resolv’d.
Par. Consider;
You carry this too far.
Chær. No, not at all.
Give way!
Par. And Parmeno must pay for all.
Ah, we do wrong!
Chær. Is it then wrong for me
To be convey’d into a house of harlots,
And turn those very arts on them, with which They hamper us, and turn our youth to scorn?
Can it be wrong for me too, in my turn,
To deceive them, by whom we’re all deceiv’d?
No, rather let it be! ’tis just to play
This trick upon them: which, if gray-beards know,
They’ll blame indeed, but all will think well done.
Par. Well, if you must, you must; but do not then,
After all’s over, throw the blame on me.
Chær. No, no!
Par. But do you order me?
Chær. I do:
Order, command, compel you; nor will e’er
Deny, or disavow my putting-on.
Par. Come on then: follow me!
Chær. Heav’n grant success!
Chær. I do:
Order, command, force.
Par. Oh, I’ll not dispute
Your pow’r. So, follow me.
Chær. Heav’n speed the plow.