US. Well, away! (_CTESIPHO disappears._)
I'll drive the old man hence, I warrant you.

DEM. (_seeing SYRUS_). But see that rascal Syrus coming hither!

SYRUS (_advancing hastily, and pretending not to see DEMEA_).
By Hercules, there is no living here,
For any one, at this rate.--I'd fain know
How many masters I'm to have.--Oh monstrous!

DEM. What does he howl for? what's the meaning on't?
Hark ye, my good Sir! prithee tell me if
My brother be at home.

SYRUS. _My good Sir!_ Plague!
Why do you come with your _good Sirs_ to me?
I'm half-kill'd.

DEM. What's the matter?

SYRUS. What's the matter!
Ctesipho, vengeance on him, fell upon me,
And cudgel'd me and the poor Music-Girl
Almost to death.

DEM. Indeed?

SYRUS. Indeed. Nay see
How he has cut my lip. (_Pretending to show it._)

DEM. On what account?

SYRUS. The girl, he says, was bought by my advice.

DEM. Did not you say you saw him out of town
A little while ago?

SYRUS. And so I did.
But he came back soon after, like a madman.
He had no mercy.--Was not he asham'd
To beat a poor old fellow? to beat me;
Who bore him in my arms but t'other day,
An urchin thus high? (_Showing._)

DEM. Oh rare, Ctesipho!
Father's own son! a man, I warrant him.

SYRUS. Oh rare, d'ye cry? I' faith, if he is wise,
He'll hold his hands another time.

DEM. Oh brave!

SYRUS. Oh mighty brave, indeed!--Because he beat
A helpless girl, and me a wretched slave,
Who durst not strike again;--oh, to be sure,
Mighty brave, truly!

DEM. Oh, most exquisite!
My Ctesipho perceived, as well as I,
That you was the contriver of this business.
--But is my brother here?

SYRUS. Not he. (_Sulkily._)

DEM. I'm thinking
Where I shall seek him.

SYRUS. I know where he is:
But I'll not tell.

DEM. How, Sirrah?

SYRUS. Even so.

DEM. I'll break your head.

SYRUS. I can not tell the name
Of him he's gone to, but I know the place.

DEM. Well, where's the place?

SYRUS. D'ye know the Portico
Just by the market, down this way? (_Pointing._)

DEM. I do.

SYRUS. Go up that street; keep straight along: and then
You'll see a hill; go straight down that: and then
On this hand, there's a chapel; and just by
A narrow lane. (_Pointing._)

DEM. Where? (_Looking._)

SYRUS. There; by the great wild fig-tree.
D'ye know it, Sir?

DEM. I do.

SYRUS. Go through that lane.

DEM. That lane's no thoroughfare.

SYRUS. Aye, very true:
No more it is, Sir.--What a fool I am!