An outline of humor: Being a true chronicle from prehistoric ages to the twentieth century
History
An outline of humor: Being a true chronicle from prehistoric ages to the twentieth century
Wit and humor
_Euclio_ (_aside_). The gods favor me; my property’s all
safe. If nothing’s lost, it’s safe. I was dreadfully afraid before I
went indoors. I was almost dead. (_Aloud._) I’m come back to you,
Megadorus, if you wish to say anything to me.
_Megadorus._ I thank you. I beg that as to what I shall inquire of
you, you’ll not hesitate to speak out boldly.
_Euclio._ So long, indeed, as you inquire nothing that I mayn’t
choose to speak out upon.
_Megadorus._ Tell me, of what sort of family do you consider me to
be sprung?
_Euclio._ Of a good one.
_Megadorus._ What do you think about my character?
_Euclio._ It’s a good one.
_Megadorus._ What of my conduct?
_Euclio._ Neither bad nor dishonest.
_Megadorus._ Do you know my age?
_Euclio._ I know that you are as rich in years as in pocket.
_Megadorus._ I surely did always take you to be a citizen without
evil guile, and now I am convinced.
Euclio (_aside_). He smells the gold. (_Aloud._) What do you
want with me now?
_Megadorus._ Since you know me, and I know you, what sort of
person you are, may it bring a blessing on myself, and you and your
daughter, if I now ask your daughter as my wife. Promise me that it
shall be so.
_Euclio._ Heyday! Megadorus, you are doing a deed that’s not
becoming to your usual actions, in laughing at me, a poor man, and
guiltless toward yourself and toward your family. For neither in act,
nor in words, have I ever deserved it of you that you should do what
you are doing now.
_Megadorus._ I vow that I neither came to laugh at you nor am I
laughing at you, nor do I think you deserving of it.
_Euclio._ Why, then, do you ask my daughter for yourself?
_Megadorus._ Because I believe that the match would be a good
thing for all of us.
_Euclio._ It suggests itself to my mind, Megadorus, that you are a
wealthy man, a man of rank, and that I am the poorest of the poor. Now,
if I should give my daughter in marriage to you, it suggests itself to
my mind that you are the ox, and that I am the ass; when I’m yoked to
you, and when I’m not able to bear the burden equally with yourself,
I, the ass, must lie down in the mire; you, the ox, would regard me no
more than if I had never been born. I should then feel aggrieved, and
my own class would laugh at me. In neither direction should I have a
fixed stall, if there should be a divorce; the asses would tear me with
their teeth, the oxen would butt at me with their horns. This is the
great risk, in my passing over from the asses to the oxen.
_Megadorus._ The nearer you can unite yourself in alliance with
honorable people the better. Do you receive this proposal, listen to
me, and promise her to me.
_Euclio._ But there is no marriage portion, I tell you.
_Megadorus._ You are to give none; so long as she comes with good
principles, she is sufficiently portioned.
_Euclio._ I say so for this reason, that you mayn’t be supposing
that I have found any treasures.
_Megadorus._ I know that; don’t enlarge upon it. Promise her to me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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