Jove! much more to the point, if it were your nether portions! But what do you mean? And yet I think I have a pretty fair notion myself what it is already; however, I’m anxious to have it from your own lips. _Phil._ Viden hanc? Do you see this girl? (_pointing to the Sister_) _Nic._ Video. I do. _Phil._ Haud mala est mulier. (_approvingly_) Not a bad one! _Nic._ Pol vero ista mala et tu nihili. (_indignantly_) Good Lord! She certainly is a bad one, and you are an ass. _Phil._ Quid multa? ego amo. (_not listening_) In short, I’m in love with her. _Nic._ An amas? You in love? _Phil._ ναὶ γάρ. _Bien sur!_ _Nic._ Tun, homo putide, amator istac fieri aetate audes? You, you disgusting creature? You venture to turn lover at your age? _Phil._ Qui non? Why not? _Nic._ Quia flagitium est. Because it’s infamous. _Phil._ Quid opust verbis? meo filio non sum iratus, neque te tuost aequom esse iratum: si amant, sapienter faciunt. (_gathering courage rapidly_) Tut, tut! I’m not angry at my son, and you oughtn’t to be angry at yours: if they’re in love, they’re acting wisely. _Bacch._ Sequere hac. (_to sister_) Come along. _Nic._ Eunt eccas tandem probri perlecebrae et persuastrices, quid nunc? etiam redditis nobis filios et servom? an ego experior tecum vim maiorem? Ah, there they come at last, the seductive, persuasive pests! (_to sisters_) Well now? See here, are you going to give us back our sons and servant? Or shall I try more vigorous measures with you? _Phil._ Abin hinc? non homo tu quidem es, qui istoc pacto tam lepidam inlepide appelles. (_to Nicobulus, protestingly_) Get out, will you? There’s no red blood in you, addressing a sweet little girl (_leering at Bacchis_) in that sour fashion. _Bacch._ Senex optime quantumst in terra, sine me hoc exorare abs te, 1170 ut istuc delictum desistas tanto opere ire oppugnatum. (_to Nicobulus, as she tries to fondle him_) You nicest old man in all the world, do let me persuade you not to be so awfully opposed to your son’s naughtiness. _Nic._ Ni abeas, quamquam tu bella es, malum tibi magnum dabo iam. (_struggling to be very stern_) Unless you get away from me--no matter if you are pretty--I’ll give you a good sound slap this minute. _Bacch._ Patiar, non metuo, ne quid mihi doleat quod ferias. (_softly, still fondling him_) I’ll take it. I’m not afraid of your striking me so as to hurt at all. _Nic._ Ut blandiloquast! ei mihi, metuo. (_aside_) What a coaxer she is! Oh, dear me! I’m afraid! _Soror_ Hic magis tranquillust. (_caressing Philoxenus to his high satisfaction_) This one is more peaceful. _Bacch._