The Brothers: Act the First: Scene I

Ho, Storax!--AEschinus did not returnLast night from supper; no, nor any oneOf all the slaves who went to see for him.--'Tis commonly--and oh how truly!--said,If you are absent, or delay, 'twere bestThat 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 oneTo 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 countryWith 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 requisiteThat 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 childrenHide from their fathers, I have us'd my sonNot to conceal from me. For whosoe'erHath 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 farTo bind your children to you by the tiesOf gentleness and modesty, than fear.And yet my brother don't accord in this,Nor do these notions nor this conduct please him.Oft he comes open-mouth'd--"Why how now, Micio?Why do you ruin this young lad of ours?Why does he wench? why drink? and why do youAllow him money to afford all this?You let him dress too fine. 'Tis idle in you."--'Tis hard in him, unjust and out of reason.And he, I think, deceives himself indeed,Who fancies that authority more firmFounded on force, than what is built on friendship;For thus I reason, thus persuade myself:He who performs his duty driven to'tBy fear of punishment, while he believesHis actions are observ'd, so long he's wary;But if he hopes for secrecy, returnsTo his own ways again: But he whom kindness,Him also inclination makes your own:He burns to make a due return, and acts,Present or absent, evermore the same.'Tis this then is the duty of a father,To make a son embrace a life of virtue,Rather from choice than terror or constraint.Here lies the mighty difference betweenA father and a master. He who knows notHow to do this, let him confess he knows notHow to rule children.--But is this the manWhom I was speaking of? Yes, yes, 'tis he.He seems uneasy too, I know not why,And I suppose, as usual, comes to wrangle.

HarperColman 1768Ho, Storax!--No reply?--Then AeschinusNever return'd, it seems, last night from supper;Nor any of the slaves, who went to meet him.--'Tis commonly--and oh how truly!--said,If you are absent, or delay, 'twere bestThat should befall you, which your wife declaresOr which in anger she supposes of youThan that which kindest parents fear.--Your wife,If you delay, suspects that you're engag'dIn some intrigue, debauch, or entertainment;Consulting your own happiness abroad,While she, poor soul! is left to pine at home.But what a world of fears possess me now!How many ills I figure to myself,As causes that my son is not return'd!Lest he have taken cold, or had a fall,Or broke a limb!--Good heavens! that a man