PAM. I can not, father. I must not slack my duty to my mother. (_Going._) LACH. Where are you going? (_Exit PAMPHILUS._ SCENE IX. _Manent LACHES and PHIDIPPUS._ PHID. How perverse is this! (_Angrily._) LACH. Did not I say he'd take it ill, Phidippus, And therefore begg'd you to send back your daughter? PHID. 'Fore Heaven I did not think him such a churl. What! does he fancy I'll go cringing to him? No;--if he'll take his wife he may:--if not, Let him refund her portion;--there's an end! LACH. See there now! you're as fractious as himself. PHID. You're come back obstinate and proud enough In conscience, Pamphilus! (_Angrily._) LACH. This anger will subside, Though he has had some cause to be disturb'd. PHID. Because you've had a little money left you, Your minds are so exalted! LACH. What, d'ye quarrel With me too? PHID. Let him take to-day to think on't, And send me word if he shall have her home Or not: that if she don't remain his wife, She may be given to another. (_Exit hastily._ SCENE X. _LACHES alone._ Stay! Hear me! one word, Phidippus! Stay!--He's gone. --What is't to me? (_Angrily._) E'en let them settle it Among themselves; since nor my son, nor he Take my advice, nor mind one word I say. --This quarrel shall go round, I promise them: I'll to my wife, the author of this mischief, And vent my spleen and anger upon her. (_Exit._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. _Enter MYRRHINA hastily._ MYRR. What shall I do?--Confusion!--which way turn? Alas! what answer shall I make my husband? For I dare say he heard the infant's cries, He ran so hastily, without a word, Into my daughter's chamber. If he finds That she has been deliver'd, what excuse To make, for having thus conceal'd her labor, I can't devise.--But our door creaks!--'tis he. I am undone. SCENE II. _Enter PHIDIPPUS._ PHID. Soon as my wife perceiv'd That I was going to my daughter's chamber, She stole directly out o'doors.--But there She stands.--Why, how now, Myrrhina? Holo, I say! (_She affects not to see him._) MYRR. D'ye call me, husband? PHID. Husband! Am I your husband? am I ev'n a man? For had you thought me to be either, woman, You would not dare to play upon me thus. MYRR. How! PHID. How?--My daughter has been brought to bed. --Ha! are you dumb?--By whom? MYRR. Is that a question For you, who are her father, to demand? Alas! by whom d'ye think, unless her husband? PHID. So I believe: nor is it for a father To suppose otherwise. But yet I wonder That you have thus conceal'd her labor from us, Especially as she has been deliver'd At her full time, and all is as it should be. What! Is there such perverseness in your nature, As rather to desire the infant's death, Than that his birth should knit the bond of friendship Closer betwixt us; rather than my daughter, Against your liking, should remain the wife Of Pamphilus?--I thought all this Had been their fault, while you're alone to blame. MYRR. How wretched am I!