I'm glad, however my affairs proceed, That Phaedria's have succeeded to his mind. How wise to foster such desires alone, As, although cross'd, are easily supplied! Money, once found, sets Phaedria at his ease; But my distress admits no remedy. For, if the secret's kept, I live in fear; And if reveal'd, I am expos'd to shame. Nor would I now return, but in the hope Of still possessing her.--But where is Geta? That I may learn of him the fittest time To meet my father. SCENE VII. _Enter, at a distance, PHORMIO._ PHOR. (_to himself_). I've receiv'd the money; Paid the procurer; carried off the wench; Who's free, and now in Phaedria's possession. One thing alone remains to be dispatch'd; To get a respite from th' old gentlemen To tipple some few days, which I must spend In mirth and jollity. ANT. But yonder's Phormio.-- (_Goes up._) What now? PHOR. Of what? ANT. What's Phaedria about? How does he mean to take his fill of love? PHOR. By acting your part in his turn. ANT. What part? PHOR. Flying his father's presence.--And he begs That you'd act his, and make excuses for him; For he intends a drinking-bout with me. I shall pretend to the old gentlemen That I am going to the fair at Sunium, To buy the servant-maid that Geta mention'd: Lest, finding I am absent, they suspect That I am squandering the sum they paid me. --But your door opens. ANT. Who comes here? PHOR. 'Tis Geta. SCENE VIII. _Enter hastily, at another part of the stage, GETA._ GETA. O fortune, O best fortune, what high blessings, What sudden, great, and unexpected joys Hast thou shower'd down on Antipho to-day!---- ANT. What can this be he's so rejoic'd about? GETA. --And from what fears deliver'd us, his friends? --But wherefore do I loiter thus? and why Do I not throw my cloak upon my shoulder, And haste to find him out, that he may know All that has happen'd? ANT. (_to PHORMIO_). Do you comprehend What he is talking of? PHOR. Do you? ANT. Not I. PHOR. I'm just as wise as you. GETA. I'll hurry hence To the procurer's.--I shall find them there. (_Going._) ANT. Ho, Geta! GETA. Look ye there!--Is't new or strange, To be recall'd when one's in haste? (_Going._) ANT. Here, Geta! GETA. Again? bawl on! I'll ne'er stop. (_Going on._) ANT. Stay, I say! GETA. Go, and be drubb'd! ANT. You shall, I promise you, Unless you stop, you rascal! GETA (_stopping_). Hold, hold, Geta! Some intimate acquaintance this, be sure, Being so free with you.--But is it he That I am looking for, or not?--'Tis he. PHOR. Go up immediately. (_They go up to GETA._) ANT. (_to GETA_). What means all this? GETA. O happy man! the happiest man on earth! So very happy, that, beyond all doubt, You are the God's chief fav'rite, Antipho. ANT. Would I were! but your reason. GETA. Is't enough To plunge you over head and ears in joy? ANT. You torture me. PHOR. No promises! but tell us What is your news? GETA. Oh, Phormio! are you here? PHOR. I am: but why d'ye trifle?