Читать книгу The Comedies of Terence - Terence - Страница 21

Manent Simo, Davus.

Davus. Unfortunate! What remedy! (Aside.)

Simo. How’s this? (To himself.)

And can he be so mad? What! educate

A harlot’s child!—Ah, now I know their drift:

Fool that I was, scarce smelt it out at last.

Davus (listening). What’s this he says he has smelt out?

Simo. Imprimis, (To himself.)

’Tis this rogue’s trick upon me. All a sham:

A counterfeit deliv’ry, and mock labor,

Devis’d to frighten Chremes from the match.

Gly. (within). Juno Lucina, save me! Help, I pray thee.

Simo. Heyday! Already! Oh ridiculous!

Soon as she heard that I was at the door

She hastens to cry out: your incidents

Are ill-tim’d, Davus.

Davus. Mine, Sir?

Simo. Are your players

Unmindful of their cues, and want a prompter?

Davus. I do not comprehend you.

Simo (apart.) If this knave

Had, in the real nuptial of my son,

Come thus upon me unprepar’d, what sport,

What scorn he’d have exposed me to? But now

At his own peril be it. I’m secure.