Chapter 70

ENTER _Mnesilochus_ FROM _Bacchis’s_ HOUSE.

_Mnes._

Petulans, protervo iracundo animo, indomito incogitato, sine modo et modestia sum, sine bono iure atque honore, incredibilis imposque animi, inamabilis inlepidus vivo, malevolente ingenio natus. postremo id mi est quod volo ego esse aliis. credibile hoc est? nequior nemost neque indignior quoi di bene faciant neque quem quisquam homo aut amet aut adeat.

A hasty fool, a reckless, passionate, uncontrollable, unthinking fool without method and moderation, that’s what I am--a creature without any sense of right and honour, distrustful, hotheaded, loveless, graceless, crabbed and born crabbed! Yes, yes, I’m everything that I wish some one else was! Is this credible? There’s not a viler man alive, a man more unworthy of heaven’s kindness, of having a mortal soul love him or come near him!

inimicos quam amicos aequomst med habere, malos quam bonos par magis me iuvare. omnibus probris, quae improbis viris 620 digna sunt, dignior nullus est homo; qui patri reddidi omne aurum amans, mihi quod fuit prae manu. sumne ego homo miser? perdidi me simulque operam Chrysali.

Enemies are what I ought to have, not friends; rascals are the right people to help me, not honest men. Not a man on earth has a better title to all the infamy of an infamous scoundrel! I to give all that gold to my father, and I in love--gold I had in hand! If I’m not a poor, poor fool! I’ve thrown away my own life together with all Chrysalus did for me.

_Pistoc._

Consolandus his mist, ibo ad eum. Mnesiloche, quid fit?

(_aside_) I must console him: I’ll up to him. (_aloud, approaching_) How are things, Mnesilochus?

_Mnes._

Perii.

I’m done for.

_Pistoc._

Di melius faciant.

God forbid!

_Mnes._

Perii.

(_still more dejectedly_) I’m done for.

_Pistoc._

Non taces, insipiens?

Won’t you shut up, you silly fellow?

_Mnes._

Taceam?

Shut up?

_Pistoc._

Sanus satis non est.

You’ve lost your wits.

_Mnes._

Perii. multa mala mi in pectore nunc acria atque acerba eveniunt. criminin me habuisse fidem? immerito tibi iratus fui.

I’m done for. Oh, the confounded thoughts that crowd in on me now, exasperating, excruciating! To have credited that accusation! I had no reason to be angry with you.

_Pistoc._

Heia, bonum habe animum.

Oh well, cheer up.

_Mnes._

Unde habeam? mortuos pluris pretist 630 quam ego sum.

Where can I get cheer? A corpse is worth more than I am.

_Pistoc._

Militis parasitus venerat modo aurum petere hinc, eum ego meis dictis malis his foribus atque hac platea abegi; reppuli, reieci hominem.

(_encouragingly_) The Captain’s parasite has just been here after the money: I let him have a volley of abuse and drove him away up the street here. I fought him off, flung him back.

_Mnes._

Quid mi id prodest? quom ipse veniet, quid faciam? nil habeo miser. ille quidem hanc abducet, scio.

(_disconsolate_) What’s the good of that to me? When he comes himself, what shall I do? I haven’t a penny, wretch that I am! Of course he’ll carry her off, I know that.

_Pistoc._

Si mihi sit, non pollicear.

If I had any money myself, I wouldn’t promise it to you.

_Mnes._

Scio, dares, novi tuom. sed nisi ames, non habeam tibi fidem tantam; eo quod amas tamen nunc agitas sat tute tuarum rerum; sin liber sies egone ut opem mi ferre posse putem inopem te? non potest.

I know, you’d give it to me: I know your way. If you weren’t in love yourself, though, I shouldn’t have such confidence in you. Being in love, however, you have troubles enough of your own as it is. But even if you were fancy free, could I think you able to supply me, unsupplied as you are yourself? Impossible!

_Pistoc._

Tace modo: deus respiciet nos aliquis.

Oh, do shut up: some god will look out for us.

_Mnes._

Nugae. vale.

Rubbish! (_despairingly, moving off_) Farewell!

_Pistoc._

Mane.

(_looking down street_) Wait.

_Mnes._

Quid est?

What’s the matter?

_Pistoc._

Tuam copiam eccam Chrysalum video. tace.

(_pointing_) Look! I see your supply station, Chrysalus. Sh--h! (_they withdraw_).

IV. 4.