near soever, Clitipho, to whom
I dare lay open all my weaknesses.
With one my pride forbids it, with another
The very action shames me: and believe me,
It is the same with him; and 'tis our place
To mark on what occasions to indulge him.

SYRUS. What says he now? (_Aside._)

CLIT. Confusion!

SYRUS. Clitipho,
These are the very precepts that I gave you:
And how discreet and temperate you've been!

CLIT. Prithee, peace!

SYRUS. Aye, I warrant you.

CHREM. Oh, Syrus,
I'm quite asham'd of him.

SYRUS. I do not doubt it.
Nor without reason; for it troubles me.

CLIT. Still, rascal!

SYRUS. Nay, I do but speak the truth.

CLIT. May I not then go near them?

CHREM. Prithee, then,
Is there _one_ way alone of going near them?

SYRUS. Confusion! he'll betray himself before
I get the money. (_Aside._)--Chremes, will you once
Hear a fool's counsel?

CHREM. What do you advise?

SYRUS. Order your son about his business.

CLIT. Whither?

SYRUS. Whither! where'er you please. Give place to them.
Go take a walk.

CLIT. Walk! where?

SYRUS. A pretty question!
This, that, or any way.

CHREM. He says right. Go!

CLIT. Now, plague upon you, Syrus! (_Going._)

SYRUS (_to CLITIPHO, going_). Henceforth, learn
To keep those hands of yours at rest. (_Exit CLITIPHO._

[Changes:

CLIT. Still, rascal!
_1768 edition has question mark_]

SCENE VI.

_CHREMES, SYRUS._

D'ye mind?
What think you, Chremes, will become of him,
Unless you do your utmost to preserve,
Correct, and counsel him?

CHREM. I'll take due care.

SYRUS. But now's your time, Sir, to look after him.

CHREM. It shall be done.

SYRUS. It must be, if you're wise:
For ev'ry day he minds me less and less.

CHREM. But, Syrus, say, what progress have you made
In that affair I just now mention'd to you?
Have you struck out a scheme that pleases you?
Or are you still to seek?

SYRUS. The plot, you mean,
On Menedemus. I've just hit on one.

CHREM. Good fellow! prithee now, what is't?

SYRUS. I'll tell you.
But as one thing brings in another----

CHREM. Well?

SYRUS. This Bacchis is a sad jade.

CHREM. So it seems.

SYRUS. Aye, Sir, if you knew all; nay, even now
She's hatching mischief.--Dwelling hereabouts,
There was of late an old Corinthian woman,
To whom this Bacchis lent a thousand pieces.

CHREM. What then?

SYRUS. The woman's dead; and left behind
A daughter, very young, whom she bequeath'd,
By way of p