Asinaria, or The Ass-Dealer (499-543)

Perhaps so.

Still more then I tell you: Periphanes, a merchant of Rhodes, a rich man,

in the absence of my master, himself alone paid over to me, in private, a talent of silver, and trusted me, nor was he deceived in it.

Perhaps so.

And you, too, yourself, as well, if you had enquired about me of other people, would, i’ faith, I’m quite sure, have entrusted to me what you now have with you.

I don’t deny it.

And am I unable to render you obedient to my injunctions?

Or are you so disposed as to be free from the control of your mother?

How could I propitiate Piety[*], if I could desire to please you, being endowed with these manners, after the fashion, mother, that you enjoin upon me?

Is it consistent with propriety for you to oppose my precepts?

How so?

Is this worshipping Piety, to lessen the authority of a mother?

Those who act right I blame not, nor do I love those who do wrong.

You are a very prating, lovesick girl.

Mother, that is my living[*]. His tongue woos me, his person seeks me, his passion pleads, opportunity prompts.

I was purposing to convince you. Are you come as my accuser?

By my troth, I neither do accuse you, nor do I think it right I should do so;

but I do complain of my lot, when I am separated from him whom I love.

Will then one bit of the whole day’s talk be left for myself?

Both my share of the speaking and your own do I give up to you. Do you yourself keep the signal[*] both for speaking and for being silent.

But, i’ faith, if I only put up my oars in the boat-house[*] while I’m resting, all the welfare of the household is at a standstill for you.

How say you, the out and out most insolent woman that ever I saw? How often have I forbidden you to speak to Argyrippus, the son of Demaenetus, or to touch him, or to hold discourse with him, or to look at him? What has he ever given? What has he ordered to be brought to our house? Or do you fancy to yourself

that smooth words are gold?—that clever speeches are as good as presents? Of your own accord you fell in love with him; of your own accord you go after him; of your own accord you request him to be sent for to you. Those who are givers, those same you laugh at; those who are cheating us, you are dying for. If any one promises you that he’ll make you rich when his mother dies, ought you to be waiting for that?

I’ faith, a great risk impends over ourselves and the household, that we may die of hunger while we are awaiting her death. Now therefore, unless he brings me here twenty minae of silver, upon my word, though profuse of his tears, he shall certainly be turned from here out of doors. This day’s the end of[*] excuses for poverty at my house.

If, my mother, you were to order me to go without victuals, I would submit.

I don’t forbid you to love those who give that for the sake of which they ought to be loved.

What, mother, if this inclination of mine is fixed? What am I to do? Tell me.

Oh dear—look at my head[*], if, indeed, you consider your own interest.

Even the shepherd, mother, that feeds the sheep of another, has a certain one of his own to be the consoler of his hopes. For the sake of my affection, do allow me to love Argyrippus only, who is my choice.

Go in-doors, for, upon my word, there is really nothing more impudent than yourself.