The Self-Tormentor: Act the First: Scene I

CHREM. Though our acquaintance is as yet but young,Since you have bought this farm that neighbors mine,And little other commerce is betwixt us;Yet or your virtue, or good neighborhood,(Which is in my opinion kin to friendship,)Urge me to tell you, fairly, openly,That you appear to me to labor moreThan your age warrants, or affairs require.Now, in the name of heav'n and earth, what is'tYou want? what seek you? Threescore years of age,Or older, as I guess; with an estate,Better than which, more profitable, noneIn these parts hold; master of many slaves;As if you had not one at your command,You labor in their offices yourself.I ne'er go out so soon at morn, returnSo late at eve, but in your grounds I see youDig, plow, or fetch and carry: in a word,You ne'er remit your toil, nor spare yourself.This, I am certain, is not done for pleasure.--You'll say, perhaps, it vexes you to seeYour work go on so slowly;--do but giveThe time you spend in laboring yourselfTo set your slaves to work, 'twill profit more.

MENE. Have you such leisure from your own affairsTo think of those, that don't concern you, Chremes?

CHREM. I am a man, and feel for all mankind.Think, I advise, or ask for information:If right, that I may do the same; if wrong,To turn you from it.

MENE. I have need to do thus.Do you as you think fit.

CHREM. Need any manTorment himself?

CHREM. If there's a cause,I'd not oppose it. But what evil's this?What is th' offense so grievous to your nature,That asks such cruel vengeance on yourself?MENE. Alas! alas! (In tears.)

CHREM. Nay, weep not; but inform me.Be not reserv'd; fear nothing: prithee, trust me:By consolation, counsel, or assistance,I possibly may serve you.

CHREM. But meanwhile lay downThose rakes: don't tire yourself.MENE. It must not be.

CHREM. What mean you?

MENE. Give me leave: that I may takeNo respite from my toil.

CHREM. I'll not allow it. (Taking away the rakes.)

MENE. Ah, you do wrong.

CHREM. What, and so heavy too! (Weighing them in his hand.)

MENE. Such my desert.

CHREM. Now speak. (Laying down the rakes.)

MENE. One only sonI have.--Have, did I say?--Had I mean, Chremes.Have I or no, is now uncertain.

MENE. That you shall know. An old Corinthian womanNow sojourns here, a stranger in these parts,And very poor. It happen'd, of her daughterMy son became distractedly enamor'd;----E'en to the brink of marriage; and all thisUnknown to me: which I no sooner learn'dThan I began to deal severely with him,Not as a young and love-sick mind requir'd,But in the rough and usual way of fathers.Daily I chid him; crying, "How now, Sir!Think you that you shall hold these courses long,And I your father living?--Keep a mistress,As if she were your wife!--You are deceiv'd,If you think that, and do not know me, Clinia.While you act worthily, you're mine; if not,I shall act toward you worthy of myself.All this arises from mere idleness.I, at your age, ne'er thought of love; but wentTo seek my fortune in the wars in Asia,And there acquir'd in arms both wealth and glory."--In short, things came to such a pass, the youth,O'ercome with hearing still the self-same thing,And wearied out with my reproaches; thinking,Age and experience had enabled meTo judge his interest better than himself,Went off to serve the king in Asia, Chremes.

CHREM. How say you?

MENE. Stole away three months ago,Without my knowledge.

CHREM. Both have been to blame:And yet this enterprise bespeaks a mind,Modest and manly.

MENE. Having heard of thisFrom some of his familiars, home I cameMournful, half-mad, and almost wild with grief.I sit me down; my servants run to me;Some draw my sandals off; while others hasteTo spread the couches, and prepare the supper:Each in his way, I mark, does all he canTo mitigate my sorrow. Noting this,"How," said I to myself, "so many thenAnxious for me alone? to pleasure me?So many slaves to dress me? All this costFor me alone?--Meanwhile, my only son,For whom all these were fit, as well as me,Nay rather more, since he is of an ageMore proper for their use; him, him, poor boy,Has my unkindness driven forth to sorrow.Oh I were worthy of the heaviest curse,Could I brook that!--No; long as he shall leadA life of penury abroad, an exileThrough my unjust severity, so longWill I revenge his wrongs upon myself,Laboring, scraping, sparing, slaving for him."--In short, I did so; in the house I leftNor clothes, nor movables: I scrap'd up all.My slaves, both male and female, except thoseWho more than earn'd their bread in country-work,I sold: Then set my house to sale: In allI got together about fifteen talents;Purchas'd this farm; and here fatigue myself;Thinking I do my son less injury,While I'm in misery too; nor is it justFor me, I think, to taste of pleasure here,Till he return in safety to partake on't.

CHREM. You I believe a tender parent, himA duteous son, if govern'd prudently.But you was unacquainted with his nature,And he with yours: sad life, where things are so!You ne'er betray'd your tenderness to him;Nor durst he place that confidence in you,Which well becomes the bosom of a father.Had that been done, this had not happen'd to you.MENE. True, I confess; but I was most in fault.

CHREM. All, Menedemus, will, I hope, be well,And trust, your son will soon return in safety.

MENE. Grant it, good Gods!

CHREM. They will. Now, therefore, sinceThe Dionysia are held here to-day,If 'tis convenient, come, and feast with me.

CHREM. Why so?--Nay, prithee now,Indulge yourself a while: your absent son,I'm sure, would have it so.

MENE. It is not meet,That I, who drove him forth to misery,Should fly it now myself.

CHREM. You are resolv'd?

MENE. Most constantly.

CHREM. Farewell then!

MENE. Fare you well! (Exit.

HarperNow, in the name of heav'n and earth, what is'tYou want? what seek you? Threescore years of ageColman 1768For in the name of heav'n and earth, what would you?What do you drive at? Threescore years of age

HarperI ne'er go out so soon at morn, returnSo late at eve, but in your grounds I see youDig, plow, or fetch and carry: in a word,Colman 1768I ne'er go out so soon, return so late,Morning or evening, but I see you stillAt labour on your acres, digging, plowing,Or carrying some burden: in a word,

HarperCHREM. If there's a cause,I'd not oppose it. But what evil's this?Colman 1768CHREM. If you're unhappy,I'm sorry for it. But what evil's this?

I possibly may serve you."I" invisible in Harper edition