_Men._ I enquired of some of his friends, and when I learnt the truth, I returned home to my house miserable, my mind Unhinged—distracted with grief. I sat me down; my servants Came running to know my pleasure; some drew off my shoes, Others were hastening to and fro to prepare my dinner, Each anxious by doing his best to lessen the pain Of my great misfortune: in vain: the sight of them made me think, ‘What! is it then for me alone that all these persons So busily are engaged? all for my comfort? 100 For me is it that so many women are spinning; for me This great household expense & luxury are maintained? And my only son, who in all should equally share with me— Nay, should have the larger share, since at his age he is able Better to use such things & enjoy them—him, poor boy, I have driven out of the house by my unkindness. No, I had rather die than do it. While he leads a life Of poverty & of hardship, exiled from home & country By my severe treatment, so long will I visit 109 His punishment on myself, labouring, fasting, saving, Serving and slaving for him.’ I began there and then; I stripped the house for a sale, left nothing in it, not a dish To eat off, not a coat to put on. I collected everything: And as for the men and maids, excepting such as were able To work the cost of their living out on my fields, I sent them To market and sold them, I put up a notice, THIS HOUSE TO LET; And setting the price of all, some fifty talents, together, I bought this farm, and am well convinced at heart, Chremes, That in making myself miserable I act more justly Towards him, my absent son; and that ’twere crime to indulge 120 In any comfort, till he return home safe again To share it with me. _Chr._ I see that you are a kind father; And he, I think, had been a dutiful son, if treated With moderation and judgment: but look, you did not know Each other well enough: a common fault to observe In family life, and one destructive of happiness. You never let him perceive how dear he was to you, So he dared not confide in you, when it was his duty: To have done the one or other had spared you this misfortune. _Men._ ’Tis as you say, I admit; but I was the more to blame. 130 _Chr._ True. And to lose a child is deplorable. I had myself The same misfortune without my fault. A daughter it was, Stolen from me I know not how: my second child, a babe. That’s fifteen years ago. I was living at Ephesus, Where such events are regarded as commonish accidents. I know not where she was taken, have never heard of her since; And tho’ I have not forgot it, my own experience is, One does entirely get over the sort of thing—I assure you.