GETA. Not a jot. ANT. And may I hope? GETA. I don't know. ANT. Ah! GETA. Unless that Phaedria Did all he could do for you.---- ANT. Nothing new. GETA. --And Phormio has on all occasions else. Prov'd himself a brave fellow. ANT. What did he? GETA. Out-swagger'd your hot father. ANT. Well said, Phormio! GETA. --I did the best I could too. ANT. Honest Geta, I am much bounden to you all. GETA. Thus, Sir, Stand things at present. As yet all is calm. Your father means to wait your uncle's coming. ANT. For what? GETA. For his advice, as he propos'd; By which he will be rul'd in this affair. ANT. How do I dread my uncle's coming, Geta. Since by his sentence I must live or die! GETA. But here comes Phaedria. ANT. Where? GETA. From his old school. (_They retire._) SCENE V. _Enter, from Dorio's, DORIO, PHAEDRIA following._ PHAED. Nay, hear me, Dorio! DORIO. Not I. PHAED. But a word! DORIO. Let me alone. PHAED. Pray hear me! DORIO. I am tir'd With hearing the same thing a thousand times. PHAED. But what I'd say you would be glad to hear. DORIO. Speak then! I hear. PHAED. Can't I prevail on you To stay but these three days?-- Nay, where d'ye go? DORIO. I should have wonder'd had you said aught new. ANT. (_behind_). This pimp, I fear, will work himself no good. GETA. I fear so too. PHAED. Won't you believe me? DORIO. Guess. PHAED. Upon my honor. DORIO. Nonsense. PHAED. 'Tis a kindness Shall be repaid with interest. DORIO. Words, words! PHAED. You'll be glad on't; you will, believe me. DORIO. Pshaw! PHAED. Try; 'tis not long. DORIO. You're in the same tune still. PHAED. My kinsman, parent, friend!---- DORIO. Aye, talk away. PHAED. Can you be so inflexible, so cruel. That neither pity nor entreaties touch you? DORIO. And can you be so inconsiderate, And so unconscionable, Phaedria, To think that you can talk me to your purpose, And wheedle me to give the girl for nothing? ANT. (_behind_). Poor Phaedria! PHAED. (_to himself_). Alas! he speaks the truth. GETA (_to ANTIPHO_). How well they each support their characters! PHAED. (_to himself_). Then that this evil should have come upon me, When Antipho was in the like distress! ANT. (_going up_). Ha! what now, Phaedria? PHAED. Happy, happy Antipho!---- ANT. I? PHAED. Who have her you love in your possession, Nor e'er had plagues like these to struggle with! ANT. In my possession? yes, I have, indeed, As the old saying goes, a wolf by th' ears: For I can neither part with her nor keep her. DORIO. 'Tis just my case with him. ANT. (_to DORIO_). Thou thorough bawd! --(_To PHAEDRIA._) What has he done? PHAED. Done?--The inhuman wretch Has sold my Pamphila. GETA. What! sold her? ANT. Sold her? PHAED. Yes; sold her. DORIO (_laughing_). Sold her.--What a monstrous crime! A wench he paid his ready money for.