Cistellaria, or The Casket (15-47)

I rejoice that we came[*] to you; in such a delightful manner have we been here this day received; nor except in the management, was there anything there at your house but what pleased me.

How so, prithee?

Too seldom did the servant give me something to drink, and, as it was, it clouded the colour of the wine.

Pray, is that becoming to be mentioned here?

It’s both right and proper; there’s no other person here.

With reason do I love you both, who esteem and honor me.

I’ faith, my dear Silenium, it befits this class to be kindly disposed among themselves, and carefully to keep up friendships,

when you see these matrons of elevated rank, born of the noblest families, how they value friendship, and how carefully they keep it united between themselves. If we do that same thing, if we imitate the same example, still as it is, with difficulty do we exist with their extreme dislike. Of their own enjoyments they would have us to be in want,

in resources of our own they would have us not to possess any power, and to stand in need of them in all matters, that we may be their humble servants[*]. If you wait upon them, you’d rather be giving your room than your company. So very kind are they before the world to our class; in private, if ever there’s the opportunity,

underhandedly they pour cold water[*] upon us. They declare that we are in the habit of having commerce with their husbands; they say that we are their supplanters; they attempt to crush us. Because we are the free daughters of slaves[*], both I and your mother, we became Courtesans; she brought up yourself, and I this girl (pointing to GYMNASIUM),

by chance-fathers. Nor yet for the sake of vanity have I driven her to the calling of a Courtesan, but that I mightn’t starve.

But it had been better to give her in marriage to a husband in preference.

Heyday, now! Surely, faith, she’s married to a husband every day; she has both been married to one to-day, she’ll be marrying again to-night. I’ve never allowed her to go to bed a widow.

For if she weren’t to be marrying, the household would perish with doleful famine.

It behoves me, mother, to be just as you wish I should be.

I’ troth, I don’t regret it, if you will prove such as you say you’ll be; for if, indeed, you shall be such as I intend, you’ll never be a Hecale[*] in your old age, and you’ll ever keep that same tender age which you now have,