Persa, or The Persian (140-185)

Never, on my word, shall you eat here this day, so don’t be mistaken, before you declare to me that you’ll do this that I’m requesting; and unless you bring your daughter with you hither at once as soon as you can, by my faith, I’ll cashier you from this squad. What now? What’s the matter? Why don’t you say what you will do?

I’ troth, prithee sell even myself as well, if you like, so long as you sell me with my stomach full.

If you are going to do this, do it.

For my part, I’ll do what you desire,

You act kindly. Make haste, be off home; cleverly tutor your daughter beforehand, instruct her cunningly, what she is to say, where she is to declare she was born,

who were her parents, how she was kidnapped. But let her declare that she was born at a distance from Athens; and let her shed tears when she makes mention of it.

Now won’t you hold your tongue? Three times more artful is she than you would have her be.

I’ troth, you say what’s excellent. But do you know what you are to do? Get

a tunic and a girdle, and bring a scarf and a broad-brimmed hat for him to wear who is to sell her to this Procurer—

Well-capital!

As though he were a foreigner.

I approve of it—

And do you bring your daughter cleverly drest up after a foreign fashion.

Où sont[*] the dresses?

Borrow them of the chorus-leader[*].

He ought to lend them; the Aediles[*] have contracted for them to be found.

I’ll have them here just now. But I’m to be acquainted with nothing of these matters?

I’ faith, nothing, in fact. But, when I’ve got the money, do you at once claim her of the Procurer.

Let him keep her for himself, if I don’t immediately carry her off from him.

Be off and attend to this. (Exit SATURIO.) In the meantime, I want to send a boy to my mistress; that she may be of good courage, and that I shall manage it to-day. I’m talking too much at length.

It were enough to tell an untaught, thoughtless, silly girl the same thing so many times over; really, in fact, I do imagine that I’m quite looked upon by you as a blockhead and a country booby.

Although I do drink wine, still I’m not in the habit of swallowing down your commands together with it. I really had fancied that both myself and my ways had now been sufficiently proved by you; for, as for me, I’ve attended you now these five years; whereas, in that time, a cuckoo even, I do believe, if he had gone to school, could by now have been made to know his letters well; while, in the meantime, whether speaking or not speaking[*], you have not made yourself acquainted with my disposition.

Can you not hold your tongue? Can you not cease advising me? I remember, and I know, and I understand, and I keep in mind; i’ faith, you are in love, poor thing; on that account your mind’s disturbed. I’ll cause that that shall be calmed for you.

Wretched is the person that’s in love.

Good for nothing, indeed, he certainly is,

who is in love with nothing. What need has that person of life? I ought to go, that I may prove obedient to my mistress; that through my aid she may the sooner become a free woman. I’ll go meet this Toxilus, however; his ears I’ll stuff with what has been enjoined upon me.

Are these things quite clear and certain to you—do you quite remember and understand them?

Better than you who have instructed me.

Say you so, you whip-rascal?

I really do say so.