Act the First
Scene I
Chremes, Menedemus.
Chrem. Though our acquaintance is as yet but young,
Since you have bought this farm that neighbors mine,
And little other commerce is betwixt us;
Yet or your virtue, or good neighborhood,
(Which is in my opinion kin to friendship,)
Urge me to tell you, fairly, openly,
That you appear to me to labor more
Than your age warrants, or affairs require.
For in the name of heav’n and earth, what would you?
What do you drive at? Threescore years of age,
Now, in the name of heav’n and earth, what is’t
You want? what seek you? Threescore years of age,
Or older, as I guess; with an estate,
Better than which, more profitable, none
In these parts hold; master of many slaves;
As if you had not one at your command,
You labor in their offices yourself.
I ne’er go out so soon, return so late,
Morning or evening, but I see you still
At labour on your acres, digging, plowing,
Or carrying some burden: in a word,
I ne’er go out so soon at morn, return
So late at eve, but in your grounds I see you
Dig, plow, or fetch and carry: in a word,
You ne’er remit your toil, nor spare yourself.
This, I am certain, is not done for pleasure.
—You’ll say, perhaps, it vexes you to see
Your work go on so slowly;—do but give
The time you spend in laboring yourself
To set your slaves to work, ’twill profit more.
Mene. Have you such leisure from your own affairs
To think of those, that don’t concern you, Chremes?
Chrem. I am a man, and feel for all mankind.
Think, I advise, or ask for information:
If right, that I may do the same; if wrong,
To turn you from it.
Mene. I have need to do thus.
Do you as you think fit.
Chrem. Need any man
Torment himself?
Mene. I need.
Chrem. If you’re unhappy,
I’m sorry for it. But what evil’s this?
Chrem. If there’s a cause,
I’d not oppose it. But what evil’s this?
What is th’ offense so grievous to your nature,
That asks such cruel vengeance on yourself?
Mene. Alas! alas! (In tears.)
Chrem. Nay, weep not; but inform me.
Be not reserv’d; fear nothing: prithee, trust me:
By consolation, counsel, or assistance,
I possibly may serve you.
Mene. Would you know it?
Chrem. Aye, for the very reason I have mention’d.
Mene. I will inform you.
Chrem. But meanwhile lay down
Those rakes: don’t tire yourself.
Mene. It must not be.
Chrem. What mean you?
Mene. Give me leave: that I may take
No respite from my toil.
Chrem. I’ll not allow it. (Taking away the rakes.)
Mene. Ah, you do wrong.
Chrem. What, and so heavy too! (Weighing them in his hand.)
Mene. Such my desert.
Chrem. Now speak. (Laying down the rakes.)
Mene. One only son
I have.—Have, did I say?—Had I mean, Chremes.
Have I or no, is now uncertain.
Chrem. Wherefore?
Mene. That you shall know. An old Corinthian woman
Now sojourns here, a stranger in these parts,
And very poor. It happen’d, of her daughter
My son became distractedly enamor’d;——
E’en to the brink of marriage; and all this
Unknown to me: which I no sooner learn’d
Than I began to deal severely with him,
Not as a young and love-sick mind requir’d,
But in the rough and usual way of fathers.
Daily I chid him; crying, “How now, Sir!
Think you that you shall hold these courses long,
And I your father living?—Keep a mistress,
As if she were your wife!—You are deceiv’d,
If you think that, and do not know me, Clinia.
While you act worthily, you’re mine; if not,
I shall act toward you worthy of myself.
All this arises from mere idleness.
I, at your age, ne’er thought of love; but went
To seek my fortune in the wars in Asia,
And there acquir’d in arms both wealth and glory.”
—In short, things came to such a pass, the youth,
O’ercome with hearing still the self-same thing,
And wearied out with my reproaches; thinking,
Age and experience had enabled me
To judge his interest better than himself,
Went off to serve the king in Asia, Chremes.
Chrem. How say you?
Mene. Stole away three months ago,
Without my knowledge.
Chrem. Both have been to blame:
And yet this enterprise bespeaks a mind,
Modest and manly.
Mene. Having heard of this
From some of his familiars, home I came
Mournful, half-mad, and almost wild with grief.
I sit me down; my servants run to me;
Some draw my sandals off; while others haste
To spread the couches, and prepare the supper:
Each in his way, I mark, does all he can
To mitigate my sorrow. Noting this,
“How,” said I to myself, “so many then
Anxious for me alone? to pleasure me?
So many slaves to dress me? All this cost
For me alone?—Meanwhile, my only son,
For whom all these were fit, as well as me,
Nay rather more, since he is of an age
More proper for their use; him, him, poor boy,
Has my unkindness driven forth to sorrow.
Oh I were worthy of the heaviest curse,
Could I brook that!—No; long as he shall lead
A life of penury abroad, an exile
Through my unjust severity, so long
Will I revenge his wrongs upon myself,
Laboring, scraping, sparing, slaving for him.”
—In short, I did so; in the house I left
Nor clothes, nor movables: I scrap’d up all.
My slaves, both male and female, except those
Who more than earn’d their bread in country-work,
I sold: Then set my house to sale: In all
I got together about fifteen talents;
Purchas’d this farm; and here fatigue myself;
Thinking I do my son less injury,
While I’m in misery too; nor is it just
For me, I think, to taste of pleasure here,
Till he return in safety to partake on’t.
Chrem. You I believe a tender parent, him
A duteous son, if govern’d prudently.
But you was unacquainted with his nature,
And he with yours: sad life, where things are so!
You ne’er betray’d your tenderness to him;
Nor durst he place that confidence in you,
Which well becomes the bosom of a father.
Had that been done, this had not happen’d to you.
Mene. True, I confess; but I was most in fault.
Chrem. All, Menedemus, will, I hope, be well,
And trust, your son will soon return in safety.
Mene. Grant it, good Gods!
Chrem. They will. Now, therefore, since
The Dionysia are held here to-day,
If ’tis convenient, come, and feast with me.
Mene. Impossible.
Chrem. Why so?—Nay, prithee now,
Indulge yourself a while: your absent son,
I’m sure, would have it so.
Mene. It is not meet,
That I, who drove him forth to misery,
Should fly it now myself.
Chrem. You are resolv’d?
Mene. Most constantly.
Chrem. Farewell then!
Mene. Fare you well!
Exit.