Asinaria, or The Ass-Dealer (683-718)

By heaven, Libanus, I do entreat you, be pleased by your deeds to come to your master’s rescue; do give me those twenty minae: you see that thus in love I stand in need of them.

It shall be seen to; I wish it done; return here at nightfall. Now bid her, ever so little, to beg and entreat them of me.

Do you wish me to begin with caressing, or with kissing you?

Why, really, with them both.

And do you then, I do entreat you, prove the saving of us both.

O Libanus, my patron, do give me that; ’tis more becoming

for the freed-man[*], than for the patron, to be carrying a burden in the street.

My Libanus, golden apple of my eye, the gift and the very grace of love; there’s a dear, whatever you wish, I’ll do; prithee, do give us that money.

Call me, then, your little duck, dove, or your puppet; your swallow, jackdaw, little sparrow, your mannikin:

make of me the reptile that crawls, so that I may have a double tongue[*]; enfold me in your arms, and embrace my neck.

She, embrace you, villain?

Really, how undeserving I do seem. You shan’t for no purpose have uttered a speech so unseemly against me. By my troth, if indeed you expect to get this money, this day you shall carry myself on your shoulders.

What? I, carry you?

Otherwise, you shan’t get this money from me.

Heavens, I’m undone! Still, if indeed it is decorous for the master to carry the servant, mount.

In this way are proud people wont to be tamed. Stand still then, just as you were wont to do when formerly a boy[*]. Do you understand what I say? (He prepares to get upon the shoulders of ARGYRIPPUS.) Aye—so—move on: I praise you much; not any horse is there more clever than yourself as a horse.

Get on, directly.

I’ll do so. (He gets on.) Hallo!—what’s the matter? How are you going? By my troth, I’ll deprive you of your barley then, if you don’t amble[*], lifting up your feet.

Prithee, Libanus, there’s enough now.

Never this day, by my troth, shall you get anything by entreaty. For now up hill with the spur will I push on my steed. After that, I’ll deliver you to the millers, that there you may be tortured as you run[*].

Stand still, that I may now at once get down for the hill, although you are but a bad one.

Well now—since you’ve both made fun of me just as you liked, are you going to give the money?

Why, yes, if, indeed, you erect to me a statue and an altar, and then sacrifice an ox to me here as though to a God; for I am the Divinity Salvation to you.

Nay, but, master, do you betake yourself away from him, and do you come to me.

And, what he has demanded for himself, will you erect a statue for me, and offer prayers to me?

But what Divinity am I to call you?

Fortune, and that the Propitious one[*].

You are better than he then.

Why, is there ever anything better for a man than Salvation?

Though I praise Fortune, still, not to speak in dispraise of the Divinity Salvation—