I might
Beg one indeed to intercede for me,
Who may plead thus--"Nay, pardon him this once!
But if he fails again, I've not a word
To say for him."--And well if he don't add,
"When I go hence e'en hang him!"

DAVUS. What of him,
Gentleman-usher to the music-girl?
How goes he on?

GETA. So, so!

DAVUS. He has not much
To give, perhaps.

GETA. Just nothing, but mere hope.

DAVUS. His father too, is he return'd?

GETA. Not yet.

DAVUS. Nor your old man, when do you look for him?

GETA. I don't know certainly: but I have heard
That there's a letter from him come to port,
Which I am going for.

DAVUS. Would you aught else
With me, good Geta?

GETA. Nothing, but farewell! (_Exit DAVUS._
Ho, boy! what, nobody at home! (_Enter boy._) Take this
And give it Dorcium. (_Gives the Purse, and Exit._)

[Changes:

To marry them."
_close quote missing in Harper text_

You shall disprove no tittle of the charge
_Harper text reads "no title"_]

SCENE III.

_ANTIPHO, PHAEDRIA._

ANT. Is it come to this?
My father, Phaedria!--my best friend!--That I
Should tremble, when I think of his return!
When, had I not been inconsiderate,
I, as 'tis meet, might have expected him.

PHAED. What now?

ANT. Is that a question? and from you?
Who know the atrocious fault I have committed?
Oh, that it ne'er had enter'd Phormio's mind
To give such counsel! nor to urge me on,
In the extravagance of blind desire,
To this rash act, the source of my misfortunes!
I should not have possess'd her: that indeed
Had made me wretched some few days.--But then
This constant anguish had not torn my mind.----

PHAED. I hear you.

ANT. --While each moment I expect
His coming to divorce me.

PHAED. Other men,
For lack of what they love, are miserable;
Abundance is your grievance. You're too rich
A lover, Antipho! For your condition
Is to be wish'd and pray'd for. Now, by Heaven,
Might I, so long as you have done, enjoy
My love, it were bought cheaply with my life.
How hard my lot, unsatisfied, unbless'd!
How happy yours, in full possession!--One
Of lib'ral birth, ingenuous disposition,
And honest fame, without expense, you've got:
The wife, whom you desir'd!--in all things bless'd,
But want the disposition to believe so.
Had you, like me, a scoundrel pimp to deal with,
Then you'd perceive--But sure 'tis in our nature
Never to be contented.

ANT. Now to me,
Phaedria, 'tis you appear the happy man.
Still quite