ere.[22] If you were to employ the time you spend in laboring
yourself, in keeping your servants at work, you would profit much
more.

MEN. Have you so much leisure, Chremes, from your own affairs, that
you can attend to those of others-- those which don't concern you?

CHREM. I am a man,[23] {and} nothing that concerns a man do I deem a
matter of indifference to me. Suppose that I wish either to advise
{you} in this matter, or to be informed {myself}: if {what you do} is
right, that I may do the same; if it is not, {then} that I may
dissuade you.

MEN. It's requisite for me {to do} so; do you as it is necessary for
you to do.

CHREM. Is it requisite for any person to torment himself?

MEN. {It is} for me.

CHREM. If you have any affliction, I could wish it otherwise. But
prithee, what sorrow is this {of yours}? How have you deserved so
{ill} of yourself?

MEN. Alas! alas! (_He begins to weep._)

CHREM. Do not weep, but make me acquainted with it, whatever it is. Do
not be reserved; fear nothing; trust me, I tell you. Either by
consolation, or by counsel, or by any means, I will aid you.

MEN. Do you wish to know this matter?

CHREM. Yes, and for the reason I mentioned to you.

MEN. I will tell you.

CHREM. But still, in the mean time, lay down that rake; don't fatigue
yourself.

MEN. By no means.

CHREM. What can be your object? (_Tries to take the rake from him._)

MEN. Do leave me alone, that I may give myself no respite from my
labor.

CHREM. I will not allow it, I tell you. (_Taking the rake from him._)

MEN. Ah! that's not fair.

CHREM. (_poising the rake._) Whew! such a heavy one as this, pray!

MEN. Such are my deserts.

CHREM. Now speak. (_Laying down the rake._)

MEN. I have an only son,-- a young man,-- alas! why did I say
--"I have?"-- rather {I should say}, "I had" {one}, Chremes:
--whether I have him now, or not, is uncertain.

CHREM. Why so?

MEN. You shall know:-- There is a poor old woman here, a stranger from
Corinth:-- her daughter, a young woman, he fell in love with, insomuch
that he almost regarded her as his wife; all this {took place} unknown
to me. When I discovered the matter, I began to reprove him, not with
gentleness, nor in the way suited to the love-sick mind of a youth,
but with violence, and after the usual method of fathers. I was daily
reproaching him,-- "Look you, do you expect to be allowed any longer
to act thus, myself, your father, being alive; to b