To win the mistress, first to bribe the maid.

CLIN. Go on, I beg you, Syrus; and take heed
You fill me not with idle joy.--What said she
When you nam'd me?

SYRUS. As soon as we inform'd her
You was return'd, and begg'd her to come to you,
She left her work immediately, and burst
Into a flood of tears, which one might see
Were shed for love of you.

CLIN. By all the Gods,
I know not where I am for very joy.
Oh, how I trembled!

CLIT. Without cause, I knew.
But come; now, Syrus, tell us, who's that other?

SYRUS. Your mistress, Bacchis.

CLIT. How! what! Bacchis? Tell me,
Where d'ye bring her, rogue?

SYRUS. Where do I bring her?
To our house certainly.

CLIT. My father's?

SYRUS. Aye.

CLIT. Oh monstrous impudence!

SYRUS. Consider, Sir;
More danger, the more honor.

CLIT. Look ye, Sirrah,
You mean to purchase praise at my expense,
Where the least slip of yours would ruin me.
What is't you drive at?

SYRUS. But----

CLIT. But what?

SYRUS. I'll tell you,
Give me but leave!

CLIN. Permit him.

CLIT. Well, I do.

SYRUS. This business--now--is just as if-- (_Drawling._)

CLIT. Confusion!
What a long roundabout beginning!

CLIN. True.
To the point, Syrus!

SYRUS. I've no patience with you.
You use me ill, Sir, and I can't endure it.

CLIN. Hear him: peace, Clitipho! (_To CLITIPHO._)

SYRUS. You'd be in love;
Possess your mistress; and have wherewithal
To make her presents: but to gain all this
You'd risk no danger. By my troth, you're wise,
If it be wise to wish for what can't be.
Take good and bad together; both, or none;
Choose which you will; no mistress, or no danger.
And yet, the scheme I've laid is fair and safe;
Your mistress may be with you at your father's
Without detection; by the self-same means
I shall procure the sum you've promis'd her,
Which you have rung so often in my ears,
You've almost deafen'd them.--What would you more?

CLIT. If it may be so----

SYRUS. If! the proof shall show.

CLIT. Well, well then, what's this scheme?

SYRUS. We will pretend
That Bacchis is his mistress.

CLIT. Mighty fine!
What shall become then of his own? Shall she
Pass for his too, because one's not enough
To answer for?

SYRUS. No. She shall to your mother.

CLIT. How so?

SYRUS. 'Twere tedious, Clitipho, to tell:
Let it suffice, I've reason for it.

CLIT. Nonsense!
I see no ground to make me hazard this.

SYRUS. Well; if you dread this, I've another way,
Whi