GETA. 'Twas not the thought, but money that was wanting. DEM. He might have borrow'd it! GETA. Have borrow'd it! Easily said. DEM. If not to be had else, On interest. GETA. Nay, now indeed you've hit it! Who would advance him money in your life? DEM. Well, well, it shall not, and it can not be, That I should suffer her to live with him As wife a single day. There is no cause. --Would I might see that fellow, or could tell Where he resides! GETA. What, Phormio! DEM. The girl's Patron. GETA. He shall be with you straight. DEM. Where's Antipho? PHAED. Abroad. DEM. Go, Phaedria; find him, bring him here. PHAED. I'll go directly. (_Exit_ GETA (_aside_). Aye, to Pamphila. (_Exit_ [Changes: _Harper_ DEM. If 'twere not so, you'd not defend him, Phaedria. _Colman 1768_ DEM. For, were't not so, you'd not defend him, Phaedria.] SCENE VII. _DEMIPHO alone._ I'll home, and thank the Gods for my return: Thence to the Forum, and convene some friends, Who may be present at this interview, That Phormio may not take me unprepar'd. (_Exit._ ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. _PHORMIO, GETA._ PHOR. And Antipho, you say, has slunk away, Fearing his father's presence? GETA. Very true. PHOR. Poor Phanium left alone? GETA. 'Tis even so. PHOR. And the old gentleman enrag'd! GETA. Indeed. PHOR. The sum of all then, Phormio, rests on you: On you, and you alone. You've bak'd this cake; E'en eat it for your pains. About it then! GETA. I do beseech you. PHOR. (_to himself._) What if he inquire?---- GETA. Our only hope's in you. PHOR. (_to himself_). I have it!--Then, Suppose he offer to return the girl?---- GETA. You urg'd us to it. PHOR. (_to himself_). Aye! it shall be so. GETA. Assist us! PHOR. Let him come, old gentleman! 'Tis here: it is engender'd: I am arm'd With all my counsels. GETA. What d'ye mean to do? PHOR. What would you have me do, unless contrive That Phanium may remain, that Antipho Be freed from blame, and all the old man's rage Turn'd upon me? GETA. Brave fellow! friend indeed! And yet I often tremble for you, Phormio, Lest all this noble confidence of yours End in the stocks at last. PHOR. Ah, 'tis not so. I'm an old stager too, and know my road. How many men d'ye think I've bastinadoed Almost to death? Aliens and citizens? The oft'ner, still the safer.--Tell me then, Didst ever hear of actions for assault And batt'ry brought against me? GETA. How comes that? PHOR. Because the net's not stretch'd to catch the hawk, Or kite, who do us wrong; but laid for those Who do us none at all: In them there's profit, In those mere labor lost. Thus other men May be in danger who have aught to lose; I, the world knows, have nothing.--You will say, They'll seize my person.--No, they won't maintain A fellow of my stomach.--And they're wise, In my opinion, if for injuries They'll not return the highest benefit. GETA. It is impossible for Antipho To give you thanks sufficient.