The Bard perceiving his piece cavil'd at By partial critics, and his adversaries Misrepresenting what we're now to play, Pleads his own cause: and you shall be the judges, Whether he merits praise or condemnation. The _Synapothnescontes_ is a piece By Diphilus, a comedy which Plautus, Having translated, call'd COMMORIENTES. In the beginning of the Grecian play There is a youth, who rends a girl perforce From a procurer: and this incident, Untouch'd by Plautus, render'd word for word, Has our bard interwoven with his _Brothers_; The new piece which we represent to-day. Say then if this be theft, or honest use Of what remain'd unoccupied.--For that Which malice tells, that certain noble persons Assist the Bard, and write in concert with him; That which they deem a heavy slander, He Esteems his greatest praise: that he can please Those who please you, who all the people please; Those who in war, in peace, in counsel, ever Have render'd you the dearest services, And ever borne their faculties so meekly. Expect not now the story of the play: Part the old men, who first appear, will open; Part will in act be shown.--Be favorable; And let your candor to the poet now Increase his future earnestness to write! ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. _Enter MICIO._ Ho, Storax!--AEschinus did not return Last night from supper; no, nor any one Of all the slaves who went to see for him. --'Tis commonly--and oh how truly!--said, If you are absent, or delay, 'twere best That should befall you, which your wife denounces, Or which in anger she calls down upon you, Than that which kindest parents fear.--Your wife, If you delay, or thinks that you're in love, Or lov'd, or drink, or entertain yourself, Taking your pleasure, while she pines at home. --And what a world of fears possess me now! How anxious that my son is not return'd; Lest he take cold, or fall, or break a limb! --Gods, that a man should suffer any one To wind himself so close about his heart, As to grow dearer to him than himself! And yet he is not my son, but my brother's, Whose bent of mind is wholly different. I, from youth upward even to this day, Have led a quiet and serene town-life; And, as some reckon fortunate, ne'er married. He, in all points the opposite of this, Has pass'd his days entirely in the country With thrift and labor; married; had two sons; The elder boy is by adoption mine; I've brought him up; kept; lov'd him as my own; Made him my joy, and all my soul holds dear, Striving to make myself as dear to him. I give, o'erlook, nor think it requisite That all his deeds should be controll'd by me, Giving him scope to act as of himself; So that the pranks of youth, which other children Hide from their fathers, I have us'd my son Not to conceal from me. For whosoe'er Hath won upon himself to play the false one, And practice impositions on a father, Will do the same with less remorse to others; And 'tis, in my opinion, better far To bind your children to you by the ties