The Self-Tormentor: Act the Second: Scene III
BACCH. Well, I commend you, my Antiphila:Happy, that you have made it still your care,That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you!Nor Gracious Heav'n so help me, do I wonderIf ev'ry man should wish you for his own;For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind.And when I ponder with myself, and weighYour course of life, and all the rest of thoseWho live not on the common, 'tis not strange,Your morals should be different from ours.Virtue's your int'rest; those, with whom we deal,Forbid it to be ours: For our gallants,Charm'd by our beauty, court us but for that;Which fading, they transfer their love to others.If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves,We live forlorn, deserted, and distress'd.You, when you've once agreed to pass your lifeBound to one man, whose temper suits with yours,He too attaches his whole heart to you:Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each;Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love.
ANTI. I know not others'; for myself I know,From his content I ever drew my own.
CLIN. (overhearing). Excellent maid! my best Antiphila!Thou too, thy love alone is now the causeThat brings me to my native land again.For when away, all evils else were lightCompar'd to wanting thee.SYRUS. I do believe it.
CLIN. O Syrus, 'tis too much: I can not bear it.Wretch that I am!--and must I be debarr'dTo give a loose to love, a love like this?
SYRUS. And yet if I may judge your father's mind,He has more troubles yet in store for you.BACCH. Who is that youth that eyes us? (Seeing CLINIA.)
ANTI. Ha! (seeing him.)--Support me!
BACCH. Bless me, what now?
BACCH. Alas, poor soul!What is't surprises you, Antiphila?ANTI. Is't Clinia that I see, or no?
BACCH. Whom do you see?
CLIN. Welcome my soul! (Running up to her.)
ANTI. My wish'd-for Clinia, welcome!
CLIN. How fares my love?
ANTI. O'erjoyed at your return.
CLIN. And do I hold thee, my Antiphila,Thou only wish and comfort of my soul!
SYRUS. In, in, for you have made our good man wait. (Exeunt.
Words in this poem
- fading n.
- An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
- meanwhile n.
- The intervening time; as, in the meantime (or mean time).
- forlorn a.
- Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
- anti
- A prefix meaning against, opposite or opposed to, contrary, or in place of; -- used in composition in many English words. It is often shortened to ant-; as, antacid, antarctic. [Gr. Ante.]
- exeunt
- They go out, or retire from the scene; as, exeunt all except Hamlet. See 1st Exit. [L., 3d pers. pl. pres. of exire to go out.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Self-Tormentor: Act the Second: Scene III is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Comedies of Terence, Project Gutenberg ebook #22695; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Terence, The Self-Tormentor: Act the Second: Scene III, in The Comedies of Terence (1765), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #22695, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/terence-comedies/the-self-tormentor-act-the-second-scene-iii.html, id L25793.
Form and metre
The Self-Tormentor: Act the Second: Scene III is 48 lines in 15 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 --A----B-B--------A-- antiphila · care · youA · wonder · own · mind · weigh · thoseB · strange · oursB · deal · gallants · that · others · ourselves · distress'd · life · yours · youA · each · love
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| BACCH. Well, I commend you, my Antiphila: | 11 | ···˘/······ |
| Happy, that you have made it still your care, | 10 | /˘········ |
| That virtue should seem fair as beauty in you! | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| Nor Gracious Heav'n so help me, do I wonder | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| If ev'ry man should wish you for his own; | 10 | ·········· |
| For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind. | 10 | ··/˘˘/·/˘· |
| And when I ponder with myself, and weigh | 10 | ···/˘··/·· |
| Your course of life, and all the rest of those | 10 | ·········· |
| Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Your morals should be different from ours. | 11 | ·/˘··/˘˘·/˘ |
| Virtue's your int'rest; those, with whom we deal, | 10 | /˘········ |
| Forbid it to be ours: For our gallants, | 11 | ˘/···/·/˘/˘ |
| Charm'd by our beauty, court us but for that; | 10 | ··//˘····· |
| Which fading, they transfer their love to others. | 11 | ·/˘·˘/···/˘ |
| If then meanwhile we look not to ourselves, | 10 | ··/·····˘/ |
| We live forlorn, deserted, and distress'd. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘·˘/ |
| You, when you've once agreed to pass your life | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Bound to one man, whose temper suits with yours, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| He too attaches his whole heart to you: | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each; | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love. | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| ANTI. I know not others'; for myself I know, | 12 | /˘···/˘··/·· |
| From his content I ever drew my own. | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| CLIN. (overhearing). Excellent maid! my best Antiphila! | 14 | ··˘/˘/˘······· |
| Thou too, thy love alone is now the cause | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| That brings me to my native land again. | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| For when away, all evils else were light | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| Compar'd to wanting thee. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| SYRUS. I do believe it. | 7 | ····˘/· |
| CLIN. O Syrus, 'tis too much: I can not bear it. | 12 | ············ |
| Wretch that I am!--and must I be debarr'd | 10 | ·········· |
| To give a loose to love, a love like this? | 10 | ·········· |
| SYRUS. And yet if I may judge your father's mind, | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| He has more troubles yet in store for you. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| BACCH. Who is that youth that eyes us? (Seeing CLINIA.) | 11 | ········/·· |
| ANTI. Ha! (seeing him.)--Support me! | 9 | /˘·/˘·˘/· |
| BACCH. Bless me, what now? | 5 | ····· |
| BACCH. Alas, poor soul! | 5 | ·˘/·· |
| What is't surprises you, Antiphila? | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| ANTI. Is't Clinia that I see, or no? | 10 | /˘········ |
| BACCH. Whom do you see? | 5 | ····· |
| CLIN. Welcome my soul! (Running up to her.) | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| ANTI. My wish'd-for Clinia, welcome! | 9 | /˘·····/˘ |
| CLIN. How fares my love? | 5 | ····· |
| ANTI. O'erjoyed at your return. | 7 | /˘···˘/ |
| CLIN. And do I hold thee, my Antiphila, | 11 | ··········· |
| Thou only wish and comfort of my soul! | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| SYRUS. In, in, for you have made our good man wait. (Exeunt. | 15 | ········/···/˘˘ |
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