Part 68 (2/2)

DEMEA. Oho!

Well met: the very man I came to seek.

MICIO. But you appear uneasy: What's the matter?

DEMEA. Is it a question, when there's aeschinus To trouble us, what makes me so uneasy?

MICIO. I said it would be so.--What has he done?

DEMEA. What has he done? a wretch, whom neither ties Of shame, nor fear, nor any law can bind!

For not to speak of all his former pranks, What has he been about but even now!

MICIO. What has he done?

DEMEA. Burst open doors, and forc'd His way into another's house, and beat The master and his family half dead; And carried off a wench whom he was fond of.

The whole town cries out shame upon him, Micio.

I have been told of it a hundred times Since my arrival. 'Tis the common talk.---- And if we needs must draw comparisons, Does not he see his brother thrifty, sober, Attentive to his business in the country?

Not given to these practices; and when I say all this to him, to you I say it.

You are his ruin, Micio.

MICIO. How unjust Is he who wants experience! who believes Nothing is right but what he does himself!

DEMEA. Why d'ye say that?

MICIO. Because you, Demea, Judge wrongly of these matters. 'Tis no crime For a young man to wench or drink.--'Tis not, Believe me!--nor to force doors open.--This, If neither you nor I have done, it was That poverty allow'd us not. And now You claim a merit to yourself, from that Which want constrain'd you to. It is not fair.

For had there been but wherewithal to do't, We likewise should have done thus. Wherefore you, Were you a man, would let your younger son, Now, while it suits his age, pursue his pleasures; Rather than, when it less becomes his years, When, after wis.h.i.+ng long, he shall at last Be rid of you, he should run riot then.

DEMEA. Oh Jupiter! the man will drive me mad.

Is it no crime, d'ye say, for a young man To take these courses?

MICIO. Nay, nay; do but hear me, Nor stun me with the self-same thing forever!

Your elder son you gave me for adoption: He's mine, then, Demea; and if he offends, 'Tis an offense to me, and I must bear The burden. Does he treat? or drink? or dress?

'Tis at my cost.--Or wench? I will supply him, While 'tis convenient to me; when 'tis not, His mistresses perhaps will shut him out.

--Has he broke open doors? we'll make them good.

Or torn a coat? it shall be mended. I, Thank Heaven, have enough to do all this, And 'tis as yet not irksome.--In a word, Or cease, or choose some arbiter between us: I'll prove that you are more in fault than I.

DEMEA. Ah, learn to be a father; learn from those Who know what 'tis to be indeed a parent!

MICIO. By nature you're his father, I by counsel.

DEMEA. You! do you counsel any thing?

MICIO. Nay, nay; If you persist, I'm gone.

DEMEA. Is't thus you treat me?

MICIO. Must I still hear the same thing o'er and o'er?

DEMEA. It touches me.

MICIO. And me it touches too.

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