he story of the play:
Part the old men, who first appear, will open;
Part will in act be shown.--Be favorable;
And let your candor to the poet now
Increase his future earnestness to write!

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

_Enter MICIO._

Ho, Storax!--AEschinus did not return
Last night from supper; no, nor any one
Of all the slaves who went to see for him.
--'Tis commonly--and oh how truly!--said,
If you are absent, or delay, 'twere best
That should befall you, which your wife denounces,
Or which in anger she calls down upon you,
Than that which kindest parents fear.--Your wife,
If you delay, or thinks that you're in love,
Or lov'd, or drink, or entertain yourself,
Taking your pleasure, while she pines at home.
--And what a world of fears possess me now!
How anxious that my son is not return'd;
Lest he take cold, or fall, or break a limb!
--Gods, that a man should suffer any one
To wind himself so close about his heart,
As to grow dearer to him than himself!
And yet he is not my son, but my brother's,
Whose bent of mind is wholly different.
I, from youth upward even to this day,
Have led a quiet and serene town-life;
And, as some reckon fortunate, ne'er married.
He, in all points the opposite of this,
Has pass'd his days entirely in the country
With thrift and labor; married; had two sons;
The elder boy is by adoption mine;
I've brought him up; kept; lov'd him as my own;
Made him my joy, and all my soul holds dear,
Striving to make myself as dear to him.
I give, o'erlook, nor think it requisite
That all his deeds should be controll'd by me,
Giving him scope to act as of himself;
So that the pranks of youth, which other children
Hide from their fathers, I have us'd my son
Not to conceal from me. For whosoe'er
Hath won upon himself to play the false one,
And practice impositions on a father,
Will do the same with less remorse to others;
And 'tis, in my opinion, better far
To bind your children to you by the ties
Of gentleness and modesty, than fear.
And yet my brother don't accord in this,
Nor do these notions nor this conduct please him.
Oft he comes open-mouth'd--"Why how now, Micio?
Why do you ruin this young lad of ours?
Why does he wench? why drink? and why do you
Allow him money to afford all this?
You let him dress too fine. 'Tis idle in you."
--'Tis hard in him, unjust and out of reason.
And he, I think, deceives himself indeed,
Who fancies that authority more firm
Founded on force,