PAM. I should remember her? Oh, Mysis, Mysis! The words of Chrysis touching my Glycerium Are written in my heart. On her death-bed She call'd me. I approach'd her. You retir'd. We were alone; and Chrysis thus began: "My Pamphilus, you see the youth and beauty Of this unhappy maid: and well you know, These are but feeble guardians to preserve Her fortune or her fame. By this right hand I do beseech you, by your better angel, By your tried faith, by her forlorn condition, I do conjure you, put her not away, Nor leave her to distress. If I have ever, As my own brother, lov'd you; or if she Has ever held you dear 'bove all the world, And ever shown obedience to your will---- I do bequeath you to her as a husband, Friend, Guardian, Father: all our little wealth To you I leave, and trust it to your care."---- She join'd our hands, and died.--I did receive her, And once receiv'd will keep her. MYSIS. So we trust. PAM. What make you from her? MYSIS. Going for a midwife. PAM. Haste then! and hark, be sure take special heed, You mention not a word about the marriage, Lest this too give her pain. MYSIS. I understand. [Changes: _All quotation marks in this Scene are supplied from the 1768 edition._ _Harper_ Can make me keep my faith? MYSIS. I only know That she deserves you should remember her. PAM. I should remember her? Oh, Mysis, Mysis! _Colman 1768_ Can move my soul, or make me keep my faith? MYSIS. I only know, my mistress well deserves You should remember her. PAM. Remember her? Oh Mysis, Mysis! even at this hour,] ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. _CHARINUS, BYRRHIA._ CHAR. How, Byrrhia? Is she to be married, say you, To Pamphilus to-day? BYR. 'Tis even so. CHAR. How do you know? BYR. I had it even now From Davus at the Forum. CHAR. Woe is me! Then I'm a wretch indeed: till now my mind Floated 'twixt hope and fear: now, hope remov'd, Stunn'd, and o'erwhelm'd, it sinks beneath its cares. BYR. Nay, prithee master, since the thing you wish Can not be had, e'en wish for that which may! CHAR. I wish for nothing but Philumena. BYR. Ah, how much wiser were it, that you strove To quench this passion, than, with words like these To fan the fire, and blow it to a flame? CHAR. How readily do men at ease prescribe To those who're sick at heart! distress'd like me, You would not talk thus. BYR. Well, well, as you please. CHAR. Ha! I see Pamphilus. I can resolve On any thing, e'er give up all for lost. BYR. What now? CHAR. I will entreat him, beg, beseech him, Tell him our course of love, and thus, perhaps, At least prevail upon him to defer His marriage some few days: meanwhile, I hope, Something may happen. BYR. Aye, that something's nothing. CHAR. Byrrhia, what think you? Shall I speak to him? BYR. Why not? for though you don't obtain your suit, He will at least imagine you're prepar'd To cuckold him, in case he marries her. CHAR. Away, you hang-dog, with your base suspicions! SCENE II.