game at tables. If the cast
Which is most necessary be not thrown,
That which chance sends you must correct by art.

DEM. Oh rare _Corrector!_--By your _art_ no less
Than twenty minae have been thrown away
On yonder Music-wench; who out of hand,
Must be sent packing; if no buyer, gratis.

MICIO. Not in the least; nor do I mean to sell her.

DEM. What will you do, then?

MICIO. Keep her in my house.

DEM. Oh Heav'n and earth! a harlot and a wife
In the same house!

MICIO. Why not?

DEM. Have you your wits?

MICIO. Truly I think so.

DEM. Now, so help me Heav'n,
Seeing your folly, I believe you keep her
To sing with you.

MICIO. Why not?

DEM. And the young bride
Shall be her pupil?

MICIO. To be sure.

DEM. And you
Dance hand in hand with them?

MICIO. Aye.

DEM. Aye?

MICIO. And you
Make one among us too upon occasion.

DEM. Ah! are you not asham'd on't?

MICIO. Patience, Demea!
Lay by your wrath, and seem, as it becomes you,
Cheerful and free of heart at your son's wedding.
--I'll but speak with the bride and Sostrata,
And then return to you immediately. (_Exit._

[Changes:

_Harper_
--I'll but speak with the bride and Sostrata
_Colman 1768_
--I'll go and warn the bride and Sostrata]

SCENE X.

_DEMEA alone._

Jove, what a life! what manners! what distraction!
A bride just coming home without a portion;
A Music-Girl already there in keeping:
A house of waste; the youth a libertine;
Th' old man a dotard!--'Tis not in the pow'r
Of Providence herself, howe'er desirous,
To save from ruin such a family.

SCENE XI.

_Enter at a distance SYRUS, drunk._

SYRUS. (_to himself_). Faith, little Syrus, you've ta'en special care
Of your sweet self, and play'd your part most rarely.
--Well, go your ways:--but having had my fill
Of ev'ry thing within, I've now march'd forth
To take a turn or two abroad.

DEM. (_behind_). Look there!
A pattern of instruction!

SYRUS. (_seeing him_). But see there:
Yonder's old Demea. (_Going up to him._) What's the matter now?
And why so melancholy?

DEM. Oh thou villain!

SYRUS. What! are you spouting sentences, old wisdom?

DEM. Were you my servant----

SYRUS. You'd be plaguy rich,
And settle your affairs most wonderfully.

DEM. I'd make you an example.

SYRUS. Why? for what?

DEM. Why, Sirrah?--In the midst of the disturbance,
And in the heat of a most heavy crime,
While all is yet confusion, you've got drunk,