Scene IV

Manent Clitipho, Syrus.

Syrus. He’s gone. Ah, would I’d ask’d him——

Clit. Ask’d what, Syrus?

Syrus. Where I should eat, since he has cast us off.

You, I perceive, are quarter’d on your sister.

Clit. Is’t come to this, that I should be in fear

Of starving, Syrus?

Syrus. So we do but live,

There’s hope——

Clit. Of what?

Syrus. That we shall have rare stomachs.

Clit. D’ye jest at such a time as this;

And lend me no assistance by your counsel?

Syrus. Nay, I was studying for you even now.

And was so all the while your father spoke.

And far as I can understand this——

Clit. What?

Syrus. Stay, you shall have it presently. (Thinking.)

Clit. Well, what?

Syrus. Thus then: I don’t believe that you’re their son.

Clit. How Syrus! are you mad?

Syrus. I’ll speak my thoughts.

Be you the judge. While they had you alone,

While yet there was no other nearer joy,

You they indulg’d, and gave with open hand:

But now a daughter’s found, their real child,

A cause is found to drive you forth.

Clit. ’Tis like.

Syrus. Think you this fault so angers him?

Clit. I think not.

Syrus. Consider too; ’tis ever found that mothers

Plead for their sons, and in the father’s wrath

Defend them. ’Tis not so at present.

Clit. True.

What shall I do then, Syrus?

Syrus. Ask of them

The truth of this suspicion. Speak your thoughts.

If ’tis not so, you’ll speedily incline them

Both to compassion; or, if so, be told

Whose son you are.

Clit. Your counsel’s good. I’ll do’t.