Stichus, or The Parasite Rebuffed (139-225)

’Tis folly, father, to lead unwilling dogs to hunt.

That wife is an enemy, who is given to a man in marriage against her will.

Are you then determined that neither of you will obey the command of your father?

We do obey; for where you gave us in marriage, thence are we unwilling to depart.

Kindly good b’ye; I’ll go and tell my friends your resolutions.

They will, I doubt not, think us the more honorable, if you tell them to honorable men.

Take you care, then, of their domestic concerns, the best way that you can.

Now you gratify us, when you direct us aright: now we will hearken to you. Now, sister, let’s go indoors.

Well, first I’ll take a look at home. If, perchance, any news should come to you from your husband, take you care that I know it.

Neither will I conceal it from you, nor do you conceal from me what you may know.

(Calls at the door of her house.) Ho there, Crocotium[*], go, fetch hither Gelasimus, the Parasite; bring him here with you. For, i’ faith, I wish to send him to the harbour, to see if, perchance, any ship from Asia[*] has arrived there yesterday or to-day. But, one servant has been sitting at the harbour whole days in waiting; still, however, I wish it to be visited every now and then. Make haste, and return immediately.

I do suspect that Famine was my mother; for since I was born I have never been filled with victuals. And no man could better return the favour to his mother, than do I right unwillingly return it to my mother, Famine. For in her womb, for ten months she bore me,

whereas I have been carrying her for more than ten years in my stomach. She, too, carried me but a little child, wherefore I judge that she endured the less labour; in my stomach no little Famine do I bear, but of full growth, i’ faith, and extremely heavy.

The labour-pains arise with me each day, but I’m unable to bring forth my mother, nor know I what to do. I’ve often heard it so said that the elephant is wont[*] to be pregnant ten whole years; for sure this hunger of mine is of its breed.

For now for many a year has it been clinging to, my inside. Now, if any person wants a droll fellow, I am on sale, with all my equipage: of a filling-up for these chasms am I in search. When little, my father gave me the name of Gelasimus[*],

because, even from a tiny child, I was a droll chap. By reason of poverty, in fact, did I acquire this name, because, it was poverty that made me to be a droll; for whenever she reaches a person, she instructs him thoroughly in every art. My father used to say that I was born when provisions were dear;

for that reason, I do believe, I am now the more sharply set. But on our family such complacence has been bestowed—I am in the habit of refusing no person, if any one asks me out to eat. One form of expression has most unfortunately died away with people, and one, i’ faith, most beseeming and most elegant to my thinking,

which formerly they employed: Come here to dinner—do so—really, do promise—don’t make any difficulties—is it convenient?—I wish it to be so, I say; I’ll not part with you unless you come. But now, in the present day, they have found a substitute for these expressions—a saying, by my faith, truly right worthless and most vile:

I’d invite you to dinner, were I not dining; out myself. I’ faith, I wish the very loins of that phrase broken, that it mayn’t repeat its perjury if he does dine at his own house. These phrases reduce me to learn foreign habits[*], and to spare the necessity for an auctioneer,

and so proclaim the auction, and put myself up for sale.

This is the Parasite, whom I’ve been sent to fetch. I’ll listen to what he’s saying, before I accost him.

Now there are a good many curious mischief-makers here, who, with extreme zeal, busy themselves with the affairs of other people,

and who have themselves no affairs of their own to busy themselves with. They, when they know that any one is about to have an auction, go forthwith and sift out what’s the reason; whether a debt compels it, or whether he has purchased a farm; or whether, on a divorce, her marriage-portion is to be repaid to his wife[*].

All these, although, i’ faith, I don’t judge them undeserving, in their most wretched state, to go toiling on, I don’t care about. I’ll proclaim the reason of my auction, that they may rejoice in my mishaps, for there’s no person a busybody but what he’s ill-natured too. Very great mishaps, alas! have befallen wretched me.

So dreadfully afflicted has my property[*] rendered me: my many drinking-bouts are dead and gone; how many dinners, too, that I’ve bewailed, are dead! how many a draught of honeyed wine; how many breakfasts, too, that I have lost within these last three years!

In my wretchedness, for very grief and vexation have I quite grown old. I’m almost dead with hunger.

There’s no one such a droll, as he is when he is hungry.

Now am I resolved that I’ll make a sale: out of doors[*] am I obliged to sell whatever I possess.

Attend, if you please; the bargains will be for those who are present. I’ve funny bon mots[*] to sell. Come, bid your price. Who bids a dinner? Does any one bid a breakfast? They’ll cost vou an Herculean breakfast[*] or dinner. Ho, there! (to one of the SPECTATORS) did you nod to me? No one will offer you better—

I won’t allow that any Parasite has better