Bacchides, or The Twin Sisters (650-689b)

please me not, who filch some two or three minae from their masters. There’s nothing more worthless than a servant without skill—worthless, if he has not a breast mightily well-stocked, so that, whenever there is necessity, he may draw his supply from his own breast. No one can be a person well to do ⋯

unless he understands both how to do good and how to do evil. With rogues he must be a rogue; with thieves let him filch whatever he can. It befits him who is truly wise, to be a person that can shift his very skin[*].

Good with the good let him be, bad with the bad: just as things are, so let him ever frame his humour. But I should like to know how much gold my master has taken for himself, and what he has given up to his father.

If he is a prudent person, he has made a Hercules[*] of his parent: he has given him the tenth part, and has kept back nine for himself. But, see! the person whom I was looking for; he meets me most opportunely. (To MNESILOCHUS.) Has any of your money fallen down, my master, that thus, in silence, you are looking down upon the ground?

Why do I see you two sad and sorrowful?

I like it not; and ’tis not without some reason. Are you going now to give me any answer?

I’m undone, Chrysalus.

Perhaps you took too little of the gold.

How, a plague, too little? Why, yes, indeed, a very great deal less than too little.

Why the mischief then, simpleton, since by my skill an opportunity was procured for that very purpose, that you might take as much as you pleased,

did you thus take it up with the tips of two fingers[*]? Or, didn’t you know how rarely an opportunity of that kind presents itself to a person?

You are mistaken.

Why, surely, ’tis you yourself that were mistaken, when you dip’t your fingers in not deep enough.

I’ faith, you’d upbraid me more than now you do, if you knew the matter better. I’m undone.

My mind is now foreboding further mischief from those words.

I’m ruined.

How so?

Because I’ve given all up to my father, with every particle[*] of it.

Given it up?

Given it up.

What, all?

Every jot.

We are done for. How came it into your mind to do this deed so foul?

I had a suspicion, Chrysalus, by reason of a charge, that Bacchis and he (pointing to PISTOCLERUS) had been playing me false; for that reason, in my anger, I gave up all the gold

to my father.

What did you say to your father when you gave up the gold?

That I had at once received this gold from his host, Archidemides.

Eh! by that speech you have this day consigned Chrysalus to the torture; for, when he shall set eyes on me, the old gentleman will carry me off that instant to the executioner.

I’ve besought my father.

I suppose, to do, in fact, the thing that I was speaking of?