Pseudolus, or The Cheat (280-318c)

that he hasn’t even yet paid you those twenty minae for his mistress.

That which we are ashamed at is much more easily endured than that which we are vexed at. At not having paid the money, he is ashamed; I, because I have not received it, am vexed.

Still, he’ll pay it, he’ll procure it; do you only wait some days to come. But he has been afraid of this, that you’ll sell her on account of his embarrassment.

He had an opportunity, had he wished, of paying the money long ago.

What if I had it not?

If you had been in love, you would have found it on loan. You would have gone to the usurer [*]; you would have paid the interest; or else you would have pilfered it from your father.

Ought he to have pilfered it from his father, you most shameless villain? There is no fear that you’ll point out to him anything that’s right.

That’s not like a procurer.

And could I possibly pilfer anything from my father, an old man so much on his guard? And besides, if I could do so, filial affection forbids.

I understand you; do you then at night embrace filial affection in place of Phœnicium. But since I see you prefer your filial affection to your love—are all men your fathers? Is there no one for you to ask

to lend you some money?

Why, the very name of lending’s dead and gone by this.

Look you now; since, i’ faith [*], those fellows arose from the banker’s table, with a filled skin, who, when they called in their own, paid what they had borrowed to no born creature, since then, I say, all people have been more cautious not to trust another.

Most wretched am I; nowhere am I able to find a coin of silver;

so distractedly am I perishing both through love and want of money.

Buy oil on credit [*], and sell it for ready money; then, i’ faith, even two hundred minae ready money might be raised.

There I’m done; the twenty-five year old law [*] founders me. All are afraid to trust me.

The same law [*] have I. I’m afraid to trust you.

To trust him, indeed! How now, do you repent of the great profit he has been to you?

No lover is a profitable one, except him who keeps continually making presents. Either let him be always giving, or when he has nothing, let him at the same time cease to be in love.

And don’t you pity me at all?

You come empty-handed; words don’t chink. But I wish you life and health.

Heyday! Is he dead already?

However he is, to me indeed, at all events, with these speeches, he is dead. Then, does a lover really live, when he comes begging to a procurer? Do you always come to me with a complaint that brings [*] its money. As for that, which you are now lamenting about, that you have got no money, complain of it to your stepmother [*].

Why, have you ever been married to his father, pray?

May the Gods grant better things.

Do what we ask you, Ballio, on my credit, if you are afraid to trust him. Within the next three days, from some quarter, in some way, either by land or sea, I’ll rout up this money for you.

I, trust you?

Why not?

Because, i’ faith, on the same principle that I trust you, on that principle I should tie a run-away dog to a lamb’s fry.