_Davus._ Truly, Sir, I don’t understand what you said last. _Simo._ No! not understand it! _Davus._ No. I am not Œdipus[87] but Davus. _Simo._ Then you wish that what I have to say should be explained openly and without reserve. _Davus._ Certainly I do. _Simo._ Then, sirrah, if I discover that you endeavour to prevent my son’s marriage by any of your crafty tricks; or interfere in this business to show your cunning; you may rely on receiving a few scores of lashes, and a situation in the grinding-house[88] for life: upon this token, moreover, that when I liberate you from thence, I will grind in your stead. Is this plain enough for you, or don’t you understand yet? _Davus._ Oh, perfectly! you come to the point at once: you don’t use much circumlocution, i’faith. _Simo._ Remember! In this affair above all others, if you begin plotting, I will never forgive it. _Davus._ Softly, worthy Sir, softly, good words I beg of you. _Simo._ So! you are merry upon it, are you, but I am not to be imposed upon. I advise you, finally, to take care what you do: you cannot say you have not had fair warning. [_Exit._ SCENE III[89]. DAVUS. In truth, friend Davus, from what I have just heard from the old man about the marriage, I think thou hast no time to lose. This affair must be [90]handled dexterously, or either my young master or I must be quite undone. Nor have I yet resolved which side to take; whether I shall assist Pamphilus, or obey his father. If I abandon the son, I fear his happiness will be destroyed: if I help him, I dread the threats of the old man, who is as crafty as a fox. First, he has discovered his son’s intrigue, and keeps a jealous eye upon me, lest I should set some scheme a-foot to retard the marriage. If he finds out the least thing, I am undone[91], for right or wrong, if he once takes the whim into his head, he will soon find a pretence for sending me to grind in the mill for my life; and, to crown our disasters, this Andrian, Pamphilus’s wife or mistress, I know not which, is with child by him: ’tis strange enough to hear their presumption. I think their [92]intentions savour more of madness than of any thing else: boy or girl, say they, the child shall be brought up[93]. They have made up among them too, some story or other, to prove that she is a citizen of Athens[94]. Thus runs the tale. Once upon a time there was a certain old merchant[95], who was shipwrecked upon the island of Andros, where he afterwards died, and the father of Chrysis took in his helpless little orphan, who was this very Glycera. Fables! for my part I don’t believe a word of it: however, they themselves are vastly pleased with the story. But here comes her maid Mysis. Well, I’ll betake myself to the Forum[96], and look for Pamphilus: lest his father should surprise