The Comedies of Terence | Page 5

SIMO.
DAV. (aloud to himself.) I was wondering if this matter was to go off thus; and was continually dreading where my master's good humor would end; for, after he had heard that a wife would not be given to his son, he never uttered a word to any one of us, or took it amiss.
SIM. (apart, overhearing him.) But now he'll do {so}: and that, I fancy, not without heavy cost to you.
DAV. (to himself.) He meant this, that we, thus unsuspecting, should be led away by delusive joy; that now in hope, {all} fear being removed, we might during our supineness be surprised, so that there might be no time for planning a rupture of the marriage. How clever!
SIM. (apart.) The villain! what does he say?
DAV. (overhearing him, to himself.) It's my master, and I didn't see him.
SIM. Davus.
DAV. Well, what is it?
SIM. Just step this way to me.
DAV. (to himself.) What does he want?
SIM. What are you saying?
DAV. About what?
SIM. Do you ask the question? There's a report that my son's in love.
DAV. The public troubles itself about that,[38] of course.
SIM. Will you attend to this, or not?
DAV. Certainly, I {will}, to that.
SIM. But for me to inquire now into these matters, were the part of a severe father. For what he has done hitherto, doesn't concern me at all. So long as his time {of life} prompted to that course, I allowed him to indulge his inclination: now this day brings on another mode of life, demands other habits. From this time forward, I do request, or if it is reasonable, I do entreat you, Davus, that he may now return to the {right} path.
DAV. (aside.) What can this mean?
SIM. All who are intriguing take it ill to have a wife given them.
DAV. So they say.
SIM. And if any one has adopted a bad instructor in that course, he generally urges the enfeebled mind to pursuits still more unbecoming.
DAV. I'faith, I do not comprehend.
SIM. No? Ha----
DAV. No-- I am Davus, not Oedipus.[39]
SIM. Of course then, you wish me to speak plainly in what further I have to say.
DAV. Certainly, by all means.
SIM. If I this day find out that you are attempting any trickery about this marriage, to the end that it may not take place; or are desirous that in this matter it should be proved how knowing you are; I'll hand you over, Davus, beaten with stripes, to the mill,[40] even to your dying day, upon this condition and pledge, that if {ever} I release you, I shall grind in your place. Now, do you understand this? Or not yet even this?
DAV. Yes, perfectly: you have now spoken so plainly upon the subject, you have not used the least circumlocution.
SIM. In any thing would I more willingly allow myself to be imposed upon than in this matter.
DAV. Fair words, I entreat.
SIM. You are ridiculing {me}: you don't at all deceive me. I give you warning, don't act rashly, and don't say you were not warned. Take care. (Shaking his stick, goes into the house.)
SCENE III.
DAVUS alone.
DAV. (to himself.) Assuredly, Davus, there's no room for slothfulness or inactivity, so far as I've just now ascertained the old man's mind about the marriage; which if it is not provided against by cunning, will be bringing either myself or my master to ruin. What to do, I am not determined; whether I should assist Pamphilus or obey the old man. If I desert the former, I fear for his life; if I assist him, I {dread} the other's threats, on whom it will be a difficult matter to impose. In the first place, he has now found out about this amour; with hostile feelings he watches me, lest I should be devising some trickery against the marriage. If he discovers it, I'm undone; or even {if} he chooses to allege any pretext, whether rightfully or wrongfully, he will consign me headlong to the mill. To these evils this one is besides added for me. This Andrian, whether she is {his} wife, or whether {his} mistress, is pregnant by Pamphilus. It is worth while to hear their effrontery; for it is an undertaking {worthy} of those in their dotage, not of those who dote in love;[41] whatever she shall bring forth, they have resolved to rear;[42] and they are now contriving among themselves a certain scheme, that she is a citizen of Attica. There was formerly a certain old man of this place, a merchant; he was shipwrecked off the Isle of Andros; he died. {They say} that there, the father of Chrysis, on that occasion, sheltered this girl, thrown on shore, an orphan, a little child. What nonsense! To myself at least it isn't very probable; the fiction pleases them, however. But Mysis is coming out of the