Plautus's comedies ... made English, with critical remarks upon each play.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Sceparnio, with his Spade, and Working-Tools.

HEavens bless us all! What a plaguy storm has old Neptune sent us this Night! The Wind has all untiled our House here. What shall I call it? It can be no Wind, but some Conjurer raising the Devil; for all the Tiles are come ratling down, and the Windows shatter'd, so we shall keep open House now.

[He falls to digging

SCENE II.

Enter Pleusidippus at a distance, with three of his Friends.

Pleu. to his Friends]

Well, Gentlemen, I've taken ye off your Bus'ness, and still our searching's to no pur∣pose; for I cou'd n't catch this rascally Bawd at the Haven. But I wou'd n't ha' my carelesness ruin my Hopes; and therefore, my Friends, I'm forc'd to de∣tain ye the longer.—So now I'll visit the Temple o' Venus here, where the Fellow design'd to sacrifice, as he told me.

Sce. digging]

Upo' my honour, I shall take a new Course wi' this damnable Clay, that has almost kill'd me.

Pleu.

I hear some body's Voice just by.

SCENE III.

Enter Demones from his House.

Dem.

Sceparnio!

Sce.

Who calls me?

Dem.

He that bought and paid for ye.

Sce.

As much as to say, I'm your Servant: Sir?

Dem.

We shall want a world o' Mortar, therefore dig deep: The whole House must be new-roof'd; for now 'twill no more shelter a Man than a Sive.

Pleu. going to them]

Father, well met;—and you too.

Dem.

Good morrow t'ye, Sir.

Sce.

Are ye Man or Woman, that you call him Fa∣ther?

Pleu.

A Man, undoubtedly.

Dem.

If so, you must seek elswhere. I had once a little Daughter, which I lost formerly, but ne'r had a Son i'my Life.

Pleu.

Heavens grant ye the Blessing o' one.

Sce.

And you the Plague o' one, who e'r you are; for troubling us wi' your Tattle, when we've business enough of our own.

Pleu.

Pray, d'ye live at this House?

Sce.

Why that Question? You lay lurking here to break it open i'the night-time, d'ye?

Pleu.

He had need be a rich and faithful Servant, who dares thus interrupt his Master, and shew himself so un∣civil to a Gentleman.

Sce.

And he a bold and impudent Fellow, who comes

to be impertinent before another Man's Door; who owes him ne'r a Penny.

Dem.

Hold your Tongue Sceparnio.—What is't you want, young Gentleman?

Pleu.

T'ha' that Fellow kick'd, for his Impudence in interposing before his Master.—But, if it be no hin∣drance to your Bu'ness, I've a Question or two to ask ye.

Dem.

Sir, it shan't disturb my bus'ness.

Sce.

Prethee go into the Marsh, and cut Reeds for us to thatch our House with, now 'tis dry Weather.

Dem.

Sirrah, be silent.—Well, Sir, your Plea∣sure.

Pleu.

Then let me ask ye, whether you saw e'r a grey, frizl'd-crown, villanous, perjur'd, wheedling Ra∣scal?

Dem.

O, a multitude: For such as these, ha' been the ruin o' me.

Pleu.

He that I speak of, brought two young Wo∣men to the Temple of Venus, either Yesterday or to Day, to prepare for a Sacrifice.

Dem.

Truly, Sir, I saw no such Person, nor has there been any Sacrifice, this long Time; nor cou'd there be, without my knowledge; when there is, they always come hither for Water, Fire, Vessels, Knives, Spit, Seething Pot, or something or other. In short, my Vessels and Well are for Venus's use, not mine; and I can assure ye, there has been a cessation these ma∣ny Days.

Pleu.

By this, I perceive I'm ruin'd.

Dem.

Really, Sir, I wish I cou'd help ye.

Sce.

Hark ye, Sir, you that haunt the Temple for your Belly-sake; you'd better march home and dine on what you can get. I warrant ye, you were invited hi∣ther, and the Fellow ga' ye the Slip, that's your Ail∣ment.

Pleu.

Very well?

[Argrily.

Sce.

Without Controversie, you may go home with∣out your Dinner. Y'had better follow Ceres Govern∣our o'the Cupboard, than Venus Ruler o'the Bed, for you're more Sheep-stealer than Whore-master.

Pleu.

The Fellow grows shamefully scurrilous.

Dem. looking towards the Sea]

Bless me! What Peo∣ple are yonder, nigh the Shore, Sceparnio?

Sce.

I fancy they're some damnable Gamesters.

Dem.

Why so?

Sce.

Because they've lost all, their Ship and all.

Dem.

'Tis true, they have.

Sce.

And our House has nothing but Rubbish t'enter∣tain 'em with.

Dem. starting]

Alas! poor little Souls, how many are there?—Lord, how they swim for their Lives!

Pleu.

Pray now, where are they?

Dem.

Yonder, on the right-hand;—don't ye see 'em floating by the Shore?

Pleu.

I do—

[to his Friends]

Pray follow me.—What wou'd I give to find that cursed Villain there!—Fare ye well.

[Exit Pleudisippus with his Friends.

SCENE IV.

Demones and Sceparnio.

Sce.

So we wou'd without your bidding.—

[looking upon the Sea]

O Palemon, Neptune's best Friend and Companion, what a dreadful Sight do I see!—

Dem.

Prethee, what is't?

Sce.

I vow, two little Girls, all alone, in a small Boat.—How lamentably are the poor Creatures tost!—softly,—softly,—well recover'd!—The Tide drives the Boat from the Rock to the Shore.

A Pylot cou'd n't do't better.—I think I ne'r saw the Sea run so high, i'my born Days.—They're safe, if the Waves don't catch 'em.—Now,—now,—comes all the Danger!—So, there's one wash'd out;—but by good luck, fall'n upo' the Flats: She'll easily get off.—Huzzah! D'ye see how the Billows ha' thrown her a shore?—She's upon her Feet, and makes this way:—All's well, all's well!—O, th' other's leap'd a shore too; and the poor Soul's upon her Knees i'the Water for fear.—Very well! she's up, and upon dry Land.—She's taken to the right, to her sorrow, I'll warrant her; for, faith, she may wander there all Day.—

Dem.

What does that concern your Work?

Sce.

—But if she chance to tumble down yon Cliff, she'll make but a short cut of her Ramble.—

Dem.

Nay, if you've a mind to sup wi'their Fare, Sceparnio, follow them; if wi' mine, follow me.

Sce.

That's but reasonable.

Dem.

Come along then.

Sce.

Well, Sir.

[Exeunt Demones and Sceparnio.

SCENE V.

Enter Palestra, with her Cloaths wet, from among the Cliffs, at the further End of the Stage.

How ill soever Men's Miseries are represented, they still fall short o' Truth and Experience. Is't Heaven's pleasure, to throw m' on these unknown Coasts, in a dreadful Fright, and in this very Garb? Was I born to be expos'd to these Calamities? Is't the Reward o' my strict Life? I should not think these Miseries so se∣vere, had I offended against Heaven, or my Parents: But if I've been so exact i'my Duty to both, it seems

unbecoming, O ye Gods, nay unjust, and unreasonable, t'afflict me thus. Ah what dreadful Punishments must Villains meet with, if vertuous Persons be so hardly dealt withal? If I cou'd call to mind any o' m' own or Parents Faults, I shou'd bear it better; but 'tis my Ma∣ster's, I'm punish'd for; his Crimes fall heavy upo' my Head. He has lost his Ship, and all he's worth, ex∣cept me, th' only remainder of his Fortune; for my Companion i'the Boat, is perish'd, and now I'm all alone. Were she but safe, her Company wou'd ha' been some relief to my Griefs. But now, what hope, help, or Counsel am I capable of? I'm forc'd to wander all alone i'these wild Desarts. On one side, craggy Cliffs; on th' other, the Ocean's foaming Surges; and not a living Soul to meet with. My Cloaths are my Riches; and I know neither where to find Sustinence, or a House to hide my Head in. What desire can I have to live then? I'm a Stranger to this Place; ne'r was here before this Time.—Ah wou'd some good Body wou'd but direct m'into some Road, or Foot-Path.—Shall I take this way, or that way? I am n't able to resolve; and I can't perceive a foot of Habi∣table Land hereabouts. A Chilness, a Faintness, and the great Fright, ha' seiz'd on all my Joints. Alas, my dear Father and Mother! you know nothing o' these sad Afflictions. I was born a Gentlewoman, it avails no∣thing; I'm more miserable than if born a Slave; for I can ne'r be any Comfort to those who ga' me Birth and Education.

[she weeps.

SCENE VI.

Ampelisca appears among the Cliffs, with her Cloaths wet, at another part of the further end of the Stage.

Amp. to her self.]

What can be more proper, or more necessary, than making way wi' my self, as long as I'm under these Miseries, and Afflictions? I cann't be solicitous o' Life, since I'm depriv'd o' the Person who made it easy to me. I've wander'd through all Places, search'd into every little Hole to find her, call'd, look'd, and listn'd as much as possible.—I can find her no where, know not where to go, how to look for her, or whom t'enquire of, for here's not a Soul to be seen.—Sure there's no such dismal Desart upo' the Face o' th' Earth, as this. But if she be alive, and above ground, I'll ne'r give o're searching till I've found her.

Pal.

What Voice can this be here?

Amp.

I vow, I'm strangly afraid.—Who's that so nigh me?

Pal.

Blessed Hope, assist me!—

Amp.

'Tis a Woman's Voice, I know't by the Sound.

Pal.

—And free me from my Fears.

Amp.

It must be a Woman's Voice, for certain.

Pal.

Good now, is't Ampelisca?

Amp.

Is't you, Palestra?

Pal.

Why don't I call her by her Name, that she may know me?—Ampelisca.

Amp.

Hah! who's that?

Pal.

'Tis I, Palestra.

Amp.

Prethee, whereabouts are ye?

Pal.

Truly, amidst a thousand Troubles.

Amp.

I'm your Partner, and have as large a share as you.—I long strangly to see ye.

Pal.

And I as much.

Amp.

Then let's follow by the Ear.—Where are ye?

Pal.

Here; come this way and meet me.

Amp.

As fast as I can.

[They come forward and meet.]

Pal.

Your Hand, my Dear.

Amp.

Take it.

[They join Hands.

Pal.

Art thou alive? Prethee tell me.

Amp.

Yes, and so wish to live, while I touch thee, I can scarce believe I have ye here. Pray let m' embrace thee, my Soul.—

[they embrace]

Ah, what a Refresh∣ment 'tis after m' Affliction!

Pal.

You've prevented me from saying the same thing.—But let's be going now.

Amp.

Prethee, my Dear, which way shall we take?

Pal.

Along the Shore, I think.

Amp.

Which way you please, I'll follow.

Pal.

Shall we go so, with our Cloaths all wet?

Amp.

For that, we must make as good a shift as we can—But pray now, what's that?

Pal.

Which?

Amp.

Prethee, don't ye see a Temple?—D' ye see that?

Pal.

Where?

Amp.

O' the right-hand.

Pal.

I see the Gods respect this Place.

Amp.

Then men can be no Strangers to't, the Situ∣ation's so delightful too.—Who e'r's the God, I'll beg of him t'ease us Wretches in our Miseries, and to grant us some Assistance, i'this poor and sad Con∣dition.

[They kneel down before the Temple.

SCENE VII.

Enter the Priestess of Venus, out of the Temple.

Pries.

Who are these, that beg my Patroness's Pro∣tection? Their Prayers ha' brought m'out to see who they are. They've certainly pitch'd upon the kind∣est, tenderest, and best natur'd Goddess that cou'd be.

Pal.

Heavens bless ye, good Mother.

Pries.

Bless ye both, my Children.—Pray where were ye going, wi'your Cloaths so wet, i' that pitiful Condition?

Pal.

We came but a little way now: But 'tis a huge way from the Place we first set out at.

Pries.

You came in a Ship, by Sea then?

Pal.

Yes, an't please ye.

Pries.

Y'ought t' •…•…ha come then to this Temple wi'your Proper Habits, and your Off'rings; for 'tis ne'r usual to come i' this manner.

Pal.

Alas, what Off'rings can y'expect, when we were both cast away at Sea?——

[They kneel to her]

Therefore we beg of you for Heaven's sake, t'have pity upon a couple o' poor helpless Creatures, without Know∣ledge or Hopes, to take us into your House, and keep us from perishing; for we've neither Shelter, expecta∣tion of any, nor nothing, but what you see about us.

Pries.

Gi' me your Hands, and rise both of ye: No Woman can be more sensible o' your Miseries than I. But alas, my Children, mine's but a poor and mean Place: I can scarce keep Life and Soul together, and have all my Dependance upo' Venus here.

Amp.

Pray now, is this Venu•…•…'s Temple?

Pries.

Yes, and I'm her Priestess.—But you shall be heartily welcome, as far as my poor Stock will go.—Come along.

Pal.

Truly, Mother, you've a kind and tender care of us.

Pries.

'Tis my Duty.

[Exeunt omnes, to the Temple of Venus.

The End of the First Act.