ment, a half-mina:
Which I've laid out according to my liking.

DEM. So! if you'd have your business well ta'en care of,
Commit it to this fellow!

SYRUS (_overhearing_). Who's there? Demea!
I did not see you, Sir. How goes it?

DEM. How?
I can't sufficiently admire your conduct.

SYRUS (_negligently_). Silly enough, to say the truth, and idle.
(_To servants within_). Cleanse you the rest of those fish, Dromo: let
That large eel play a little in the water.
When I return it shall be bon'd; till then
It must not be.

DEM. Are crimes like these----

SYRUS (_to DEMEA_). Indeed
I like them not, and oft cry shame upon them.
--(_To servants within._) See that those salt fish are well soak'd,
Stephanio.

DEM. Gods! is this done on purpose? Does he think
'Tis laudable to spoil his son? Alas!
I think I see the day when AEschinus
Shall fly for want, and list himself a soldier.

SYRUS. O Demea! that is to be wise: to see,
Not that alone which lies before your feet,
But ev'n to pry into futurity.

DEM. What! is the Music-Girl at your house?

SYRUS. Aye,
Madam's within.

DEM. What! and is AEschinus
To keep her at home with him?

SYRUS. I believe so;
Such is their madness.

DEM. Is it possible?

SYRUS. A fond and foolish father!

DEM. I'm asham'd
To own my brother; I'm griev'd for him.

SYRUS. Ah!
There is a deal of diff'rence, Demea,
--Nor is't because you're present that I say this----
There is a mighty difference between you!
You are, from top to toe, all over wisdom:
He a mere dotard.--Would you e'er permit
Your boy to do such things?

DEM. Permit him? I?
Or should I not much rather smell him out
Six months before he did but dream of it?

SYRUS. Pshaw! do you boast your vigilance to me?

DEM. Heav'n keep him ever as he is at present!

SYRUS. As fathers form their children, so they prove.

DEM. But now we're speaking of him, have you seen
The lad to-day? (_With an affected carelessness._)

SYRUS. Your son d'ye mean?--I'll drive him
Into the country. (_Aside._)--He is hard at work
Upon your grounds by this time. (_To DEMEA._)

DEM. Are you sure on't?

SYRUS. Sure? I set out with him myself.

DEM. Good! good!
I was afraid he loiter'd here. (_Aside._)

SYRUS. And much
Enrag'd, I promise you.

DEM. On what account?

SYRUS. A quarrel with his brother at the Forum,
About the Music-Girl.

DEM. Indeed?

SYRUS. Aye, faith:
He did not mince the matter: he spoke out;
For as the ca