CLIT. Nay, but he ever was a cross old man: And now there's nothing that I dread so much, As lest he be transported in his rage To some gross outrages against his son. CHREM. He!--He!--But I'll contain myself. 'Tis good For Menedemus that his son should fear. (_Aside._) CLIT. What say you, Sir, within yourself! (_Overhearing._) CHREM. I say, Be't as it might, the son should have remain'd. Grant that the father bore too strict a hand Upon his loose desires; he should have borne it. Whom would he bear withal, if not a parent? Was't fitting that the father should conform To the son's humor, or the son to his? And for the rigor that he murmurs at, 'Tis nothing: the severities of fathers, Unless perchance a hard one here and there, Are much the same: they reprimand their sons For riotous excesses, wenching, drinking; And starve their pleasures by a scant allowance. Yet this all tends to good: but when the mind Is once enslav'd to vicious appetites, It needs must follow vicious measures too. Remember then this maxim, Clitipho, A wise one 'tis to draw from others' faults A profitable lesson for yourself. CLIT. I do believe it. CHREM. Well, I'll in, and see What is provided for our supper: you, As the day wears, see that you're not far hence. (_Exit._ [Changes: _Harper_ That I, and under my own roof, had been _Colman 1768_ That I, and under my own roof, might be] SCENE IV. _CLITIPHO alone._ What partial judges of all sons are fathers! Who ask gray wisdom from our greener years, And think our minds should bear no touch of youth; Governing by their passions, now kill'd in them, And not by those that formerly rebell'd. If ever I've a son, I promise him He shall find me an easy father; fit To know, and apt to pardon his offenses! Not such as mine, who, speaking of another, Shows how he'd act in such a case himself: Yet when he takes a cup or two too much, Oh, what mad pranks he tells me of his own: But warns me now "to draw from others' faults A profitable lesson for myself." Cunning old gentleman! he little knows, He pours his proverbs in a deaf man's ear. The words of Bacchis, _Give me, Bring me_, now Have greater weight with me: to whose commands, Alas! I've nothing to reply withal; Nor is there man more wretched than myself. For Clinia here (though he, I must confess, Has cares enough) has got a mistress, modest, Well-bred, and stranger to all harlot arts: Mine is a self-will'd, wanton, haughty madam, Gay, and extravagant; and let her ask Whate'er she will, she must not be denied; Since poverty I durst not make my plea. This is a plague I have but newly found, Nor is my father yet appris'd of it. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. _Enter CLINIA._