Act the Fourth
Scene I
Syrus, alone.
My mind misgives me, my defeat is nigh,
This unexpected incident has driven
My forces into such a narrow pass,
I can not even handsomely retreat
Without some feint, to hinder our old man
From seeing that this wench is Clitipho’s.
As for the money, and the trick I dream’d of,
Those hopes are flown, and I shall hold it triumph,
So I but ’scape a scouring—Cursed fortune,
To have so delicate a morsel snatch’d
Out of my very jaws!—What shall I do?
What new device? for I must change my plan.
—Nothing so difficult, but may be won
By industry.—Suppose, I try it thus. (Thinking.)
—’Twill never do.—Or thus?—No better still.
But thus I think.—No, no.—Yes, excellent!
Courage! I have it.—Good!—Good!—best of all!——
—’Faith, I begin to hope to lay fast hold
Of that same slipp’ry money after all.