Pseudolus, or The Cheat (1269_1270-1321)

After I had fulfilled all my task just as I intended, the enemy put to flight, I was leaving them reclining and drinking, each lover with his mistress, and my own mistress there as well, indulging heart and soul. But after I had risen, they begged me to dance. After this fashion (he dances) did I show myself off there quite charmingly, in a master-like style, to wit; for I am

thoroughly acquainted with the Ionian step. Thus, clad in my little mantle, full of fun, I was stepping about, this way. Some of them clapped me, others cried out for me to dance again. In that same Ionian fashion once again did I begin to take a turn; I presented myself to my mistress,

that she might caress me; as I was pirouetting, down I tumbled: that was the funeral dirge [*] for my sport. And so, while I was a-struggling to get up, near—, almost, I mean, I soiled my mantle.

Then, by my troth, I was the cause of plenteous mirth. A goblet was presented me on account of my fall. Forthwith I changed my mantle, and put on this; thence have I come hither, that I might get rid of my surfeit. Now I’m going to my old master, to put him in mind of our bargain. Open-open the door. Hallo, there! Tell Simo, somebody, that I’m here.

The voice of a rascally fellow is calling me out of doors. (He stares at PSEUDOLUS.) But what’s this? How’s this? What is it I see in this guise?

Your own Pseudolus, drunk, with a chaplet on [*].

By my troth, this is free and easy indeed. But see his attitude; is he on my account a bit the more afraid?

I’m thinking whether I shall address him harshly or kindly. But this (pointing to a purse in his hand) that I’m carrying forbids me to use rough measures towards him just now; if there’s any hope for me, centred in this.

A worthless fellow is coming to meet the best of men.

May the Gods bless you, Pseudolus. (PSEUDOLUS eructates.) Foh! go to utter perdition.

But why should I have that mischance befal me?

Why, the plague, in your drunkenness, are you eructating in my face?

Hold me up, steadily; take care that I don’t fall. Don’t you see me, how drenched and soaking I am?

What impudence is this, for you to be going about this way in broad daylight, drunk, with a chaplet on?

Such is my pleasure. (Eructates again.)

Why your pleasure? Do you persist in eructating in my very face?

An eructation is comforting to me; do indulge me in it; do but stand off.

For my part I really do believe, you villain, that you are able in a single hour to drink up four right plentiful vintages of the Massic hills [*].

A winter hour [*], add.

You don’t remind me amiss. But tell me, however, whence I am to say that you are bringing your deeply-laden bark?

I’ve just been having a thorough bout with your son.

That damsel is the cause of this; along with your son she is carousing, a free woman.

You are a most worthless fellow.

But, Simo, wasn’t Ballio nicely diddled? How well I carried what I told you into effect.

I know everything in its order, just as you managed each particular.

Why, then, do you hesitate to pay me the money?

You ask what’s just, I confess; take it.

But you declared that you wouldn’t give it me; and still do you give it.

Are you laughing at me?

What? Are you going to take this from your master, Pseudolus?