_Enter CLITIPHO, and CHREMES following._ CHREM. How now? What manners are these, Clitipho? does this Become you? CLIT. What's the matter? CHREM. Did not I This very instant see you put your hand Into yon wench's bosom? SYRUS. So! all's over: I am undone. (_Aside._) CLIT. Me, Sir? CHREM. These very eyes Beheld you: don't deny it.--'Tis base in you To be so flippant with your hands. For what Affront's more gross than to receive a friend Under your roof, and tamper with his mistress? And, last night in your cups too, how indecent And rudely you behav'd! SYRUS. 'Tis very true. CHREM. So very troublesome, so help me Heav'n, I fear'd the consequence. I know the ways Of lovers: they oft take offense at things You dream not of. CLIT. But my companion, Sir, Is confident I would not wrong him. CHREM. Granted. Yet you should cease to hang forever on them. Withdraw, and leave them sometimes to themselves. Love has a thousand sallies; you restrain them. I can conjecture from myself. There's none, How near soever, Clitipho, to whom I dare lay open all my weaknesses. With one my pride forbids it, with another The very action shames me: and believe me, It is the same with him; and 'tis our place To mark on what occasions to indulge him. SYRUS. What says he now? (_Aside._) CLIT. Confusion! SYRUS. Clitipho, These are the very precepts that I gave you: And how discreet and temperate you've been! CLIT. Prithee, peace! SYRUS. Aye, I warrant you. CHREM. Oh, Syrus, I'm quite asham'd of him. SYRUS. I do not doubt it. Nor without reason; for it troubles me. CLIT. Still, rascal! SYRUS. Nay, I do but speak the truth. CLIT. May I not then go near them? CHREM. Prithee, then, Is there _one_ way alone of going near them? SYRUS. Confusion! he'll betray himself before I get the money. (_Aside._)--Chremes, will you once Hear a fool's counsel? CHREM. What do you advise? SYRUS. Order your son about his business. CLIT. Whither? SYRUS. Whither! where'er you please. Give place to them. Go take a walk. CLIT. Walk! where? SYRUS. A pretty question! This, that, or any way. CHREM. He says right. Go! CLIT. Now, plague upon you, Syrus! (_Going._) SYRUS (_to CLITIPHO, going_). Henceforth, learn To keep those hands of yours at rest. (_Exit CLITIPHO._ [Changes: CLIT. Still, rascal! _1768 edition has question mark_] SCENE VI. _CHREMES, SYRUS._ D'ye mind? What think you, Chremes, will become of him, Unless you do your utmost to preserve, Correct, and counsel him? CHREM. I'll take due care. SYRUS. But now's your time, Sir, to look after him. CHREM. It shall be done. SYRUS. It must be, if you're wise: For ev'ry day he minds me less and less. CHREM. But, Syrus, say, what progress have you made In that affair I just now mention'd to you? Have you struck out a scheme that pleases you? Or are you still to seek? SYRUS. The plot, you mean, On Menedemus. I've just hit on one. CHREM. Good fellow! prithee now, what is't?