Читать книгу The Comedies of Terence - Terence - Страница 24

Enter Chremes.

Simo. Chremes, good-day!

Chremes. The very man I look’d for.

Simo. And I for you.

Chremes. Well met.—Some persons came

To tell me you inform’d them, that my daughter

Was to be married to your son to-day:

And therefore came I here, and fain would know

Whether ’tis you or they have lost their wits.

Simo. A moment’s hearing; you shall be inform’d,

What I request, and what you wish to know.

Chremes. I hear: what would you? speak.

Simo. Now by the Gods;

Now by our friendship, Chremes, which begun

In infancy, has still increas’d with age;

Now by your only daughter, and my son,

Whose preservation wholly rests on you;

Let me entreat this boon: and let the match

Which should have been, still be.

Chremes. Why, why entreat?

Knowing you ought not to beseech this of me.

Think you that I am other than I was,

When first I gave my promise? If the match

Be good for both, e’en call them forth to wed.

But if their union promises more harm

Than good to both, you also, I beseech you,

Consult our common interest, as if

You were her father, Pamphilus my son.

Simo. E’en in that spirit, I desire it, Chremes,

Entreat it may be done; nor would entreat,

But that occasion urges.

Chremes. What occasion?

Simo. A diff’rence ’twixt Glycerium and my son.

Chremes. I hear. (Ironically.)

Simo. A breach so wide as gives me hopes

To sep’rate them forever.

Chremes. Idle tales!

Simo. Indeed ’tis thus.

Chremes. Aye marry, thus it is.

Quarrels of lovers but renew their love.

Simo. Prevent we then, I pray, this mischief now;

While time permits, while yet his passion’s sore

From contumelies; ere these women’s wiles,

Their wicked arts, and tears made up of fraud

Shake his weak mind, and melt it to compassion.

Give him a wife: by intercourse with her,

Knit by the bonds of wedlock, soon I hope,

He’ll rise above the guilt that sinks him now.

Chremes. So you believe: for me, I can not think

That he’ll be constant, or that I can bear it.

Simo. How can you know, unless you make the trial?

Chremes. Aye, but to make that trial on a daughter

Is hard indeed.

Simo. The mischief, should he fail,

Is only this: divorce, which Heav’n forbid!

But mark what benefits if he amend!

First, to your friend you will restore a son;

Gain to yourself a son-in-law, and match

Your daughter to an honest husband.

Chremes. Well!

Since you’re so thoroughly convinc’d ’tis right,

I can deny you naught that lies in me.

Simo. I see I ever lov’d you justly, Chremes.

Chremes. But then——

Simo. But what?

Chremes. From whence are you appriz’d

Chremes. Whence is’t you know

That there’s a difference between them?

Simo. Davus,

Davus, in all their secrets, told me so;

Advis’d me too, to hasten on the match

As fast as possible. Would he, d’ye think,

Do that, unless he were full well assur’d

My son desir’d it too?—Hear, what he says.

Ho there! call Davus forth.—But here he comes.