Dramatis Personae 
 
 
 IN THE PROLOGUE. 
 LUXURY. 
 POVERTY. 
 
 
 IN THE PLAY. 
 CHARMIDES, an Athenian merchant. 
 LESBONICUS, the son of Charmides. 
 CALLICLES, a friend of Charmides. 
 MEGARONIDES, a friend of Callicles. 
 STASIMUS, the servant of Charmides and Lesbonicus. 
 PHILTO, a wealthy Athenian, 
 LYSITELES, the son of Philto, and a friend of Lesbonicus. 
 A SHARPER.

(Scene—A Street in Athens : the house of CHARMIDES on one side, and that of PHILTO on the other.)

THE SUBJECT.
 CHARMIDES, a wealthy Athenian, his property having been much duninished by the reckless conduct of his son, goes abroad. His dissolute son, Lesbonicus, being left behind at Athens , consumes the little resources left him, and then puts up his father’s house for sale. At his departure, Charmides has entrusted his interests and the care of his son and daughter to his friend Callicles and has also informed him that in his house there is a treasure buried as a reserve against future contingencies. In order that this may not be lost, Cailicles buys the house of Lesbonicus for a small sum. Ignorant of his reason for doing so, his fellow-citizens censure him for his conduct, and accuse him of a breach of good faith in ministering to the extravagance of Lesbonicus by supplying him with money. For this reason Megaronides expostulates with his friend Callicles, and greatly censures him; on which, Callicles, in self-defence, entrusts him with the secret of the treasure. Charmides having left behind him a grown-up daughter in the care of Callicles, Lysiteles, a young man of rank and character, falls in love with her, and through his father, Philto, asks her in marriage. Her brother, Lesbonicus, is not averse to the match, but refuses to let her marry without giving her a portion; and he offers her to Lysiteles, on condition that he will receive as her marriage-portion a piece of land near the city, the sole remnant of his fortune. This, however, Lysiteles refuses to accept. In the mean time, Callicles, at the suggestion of Megaronides, determines to give the young woman a dowry out of the treasure buried in the house which he has bought; but that Lesbonicus may not suspect whence the money really comes, a Sharper is hired, with instructions to pretend that he brings letters from Charmides with a thousand gold pieces as a portion for his daughter when she should marry. It happens, that while the Sharper is on his way with his pretended errand to the abode of Callicles, Charmides, having unexpectedly returned to Athens , is going towards his house. He meets the Sharper, who discloses his errand and attempts to impose upon Charmides, who thereupon discovers himself Charmides then meets his servant Stasimus, who tells him of the purchase of his house by Callicles, whereon he conceives himself to have been betrayed by his friend. Afterwards, on discovering the truth, he praises the fidelity of Callicles, and bestows his daughter on Lysiteles, with a portion of a thousand gold pieces, and, at the intercession of Lysiteles, he forgives his son Lesbonicus, and informs him that he is to be married to the daughter of Callicles.

THE ACROSTIC ARGUMENT. 
 CHARMIDES, going abroad, entrusts a treasure ( Thesaurum ) secretly hidden, and all his property ( Rem ), to his friend Callicles. He ( Istoc ) being absent, his son wantonly squanders his estate. For ( Nam ) he sells even the house: and Callicles makes purchase of it. His sister, a maiden ( Virgo ) without a dowry, is asked in marriage. That in a less degree ( Minus ), with censure, Callicles may bestow on her a dowry, he commissions one ( Mandat ) to say that he has brought the gold from her father. When ( Ut ) the Counterfeit has reached the house, the old man ( Senex ), Charmides, as he has just returned, disappoints him; his children then are married.

Follow me this way, daughter, that you may perform your office.

I am following, but I know not what to say will be the end of our journey.

’Tis here. See, this is the house. Now go you in.( (Exit POVERTY, who enters the house of CHARMIDES.) )

(to the AUDIENCE.) Now, that no one of you may be mistaken, in a few words

I will conduct you into the right path, if, indeed, you promise to listen to me. First, then, I will now tell you who I am, and who she is who has gone in here (pointing to the house) , if you give your attention. In the first place, Plautus has given me the name of Luxury, and then he has willed that this Poverty should be my daughter.

But why, at my suggestion, she has just entered here, listen and give attentive ear while I inform you. There is a certain young man who is living in this house; by my assistance he has squandered away his paternal estate. Since I see that there is nothing left for him to support me,

I have given him my daughter, together with whom to pass his life. But expect nothing about the plot of this play: the old men who will come hither will disclose the matter to you. The name of this play in the Greek is The Treasure [Thesaurus] ; Philemon wrote it : Plautus translated it into Latin ,

and gave it the name of The Three Pieces of Money [Trinummus] . Now, he begs this of you, that it may be allowed the play to keep that name. Thus much have I to say. Farewell. Attend in silence.

To reprove one’s friend for a fault that deserves it, is a thankless task; but sometimes ’tis useful

and ’tis profitable. Therefore, this day will I soundly reprove my friend for a fault that much deserves it. Unwilling am I, did not my friendship bid me do it. For this faultiness has encroached too much upon good morals, so drooping now are nearly all of them.

But while they are in this distempered state, bad morals, in the mean time, have sprung up most plenteously, like well-watered plants; nor is there now anything abundant here but these same bad morals. Of them you may now reap a most plenteous harvest:

and here a set of men are making the favour of a few of much more value than that in which they may benefit the many. Thus private interests outdo that which is to the public advantage—interests which in many points are a hindrance, and a nuisance, and cause an obstruction both to private and to public welfare.

I wish our household God to be graced with a chaplet.

Wife (addressing her within) , pay him due respect, that this dwelling may turn out for us prosperous, lucky, happy, and fortunate; and (in a lower voice) that, as soon as I possibly may, I may see you dead and gone.

This is he who in his old age has become a child —who has been guilty of a fault that deserves correction.

I will accost the man.

Whose voice is it that sounds near me?

Of one who wishes you well, if you are as I desire you to be; but, if you are otherwise, of one who is your enemy, and is angry with you.

Health to you, O my friend and years’-mate! How are you, Megaronides?

And, i’ faith health to you, Callicles!

Are you well? Have you been well?

I am well, and I have been still better.

And how does your wife do? How is she?

Better than I wish.

’Tis well, i’ faith, for you, that she is alive and well

Troth, I believe that you are glad if I have any misfortune.

That which I have, I wish for all my friends as well.

Harkye, how does your wife do?

She is immortal; she lives, and is likely to live.

I’ faith, you tell me good news; and I pray the Gods that, surviving you, she may last out your life.

By my troth! if indeed she were only married to yourself, I could wish it sincerely.

Do you wish that we should exchange?—that I should take yours, and you mine?

I’d be making you not to get a bit the better of the bargain of me.

Indeed, I fancy you would not be surprising me unawares.

Aye, faith, I should cause you not to be knowing the thing you were about.

Keep what you’ve got; the evil that we know is the best. But if I were now to take one that I know not, I should not know what to do.

In good sooth, just as one lives a long life, one lives a happy life.

But give your attention to this, and have done with your joking, for I am come hither to you for a given purpose.

Why have you come?

That I may rebuke you soundly with many harsh words.

Me, do you say?

Is there any one else here besides you and me?

There is no one.

Why, then, do you ask if ’tis you I mean to rebuke? Unless, indeed, you think that I am about to reprove my own self. For if your former principles now flag in you, or if the manners of the age are working a change in your disposition, and if you preserve not those of the olden time, but are catching up these new ones,

you will strike all your friends with a malady so direful, that they will turn sick at seeing and hearing you.

How comes it into your mind to utter these expressions?

Because it becomes all good men and all good women to have a care to keep suspicion and guilt away from themselves.

Both cannot be done.

Why so?

Do you ask? I am the keeper of my own heart so as not to admit guilt there; suspicion is centred in the heart of another. For if now I should suspect that you had stolen the crown from the head of Jupiter in the Capitol ,

the statue which stands on the highest summit of the temple; if you had not done so, and still it should please me to suspect you, how could you prevent me from suspecting you? But I am anxious to know what this matter is.

Have you any friend or intimate acquaintance

whose judgment is correct?

Troth, I’ll tell you without reserve. There are some whom I know to be friends; there are some whom I suspect to be so, but whose dispositions and feelings I am unable to discover, whether they incline to the side of a friend or an enemy; but of my assured friends, you are the most assured.

If you know that I have done anything unwittingly or wrongfully, and if you do not accuse me of it, then you yourself will be to blame.

I know it; and if I had come hither to you for any other purpose, you request what is right.

If you have anything to say, I am waiting for it.

Then, first of all, you are badly spoken of in general conversation by the public.

Your fellow-citizens are calling you greedy of grovelling gain ; and then, again, there are others who nickname you a vulture , and say that you care but little whether you devour enemies or fellow-citizens. Since I have heard these things said against you, I have, to my misery, been sadly agitated.

It is, and it is not, in my power, Megaronides:

as to their saying this, that is not in my power; as to their saying this deservedly, that is in my power.

Was this Charmides a friend of yours?

He both is and he was. That you may believe it to be so, I will tell you a circumstance as a proof. For after this son of his had squandered away his fortune, and he saw himself being reduced to poverty,

and that his daughter was grown up a young woman, and that she who was both her mother and his own wife was dead; as he himself was about to go hence to Seleueia he committed to my charge the maiden his daughter, and all his property, and that profligate son.

These, I think, he would not have entrusted to me if he had been unfriendly to me.

What say you as to the young man, who you see to be thus profligate, and who has been entrusted to your care and confidence? Why do you not reform him? Why do you not train him to frugal habits? It would have been somewhat more just for you to give attention to that matter,

if you could have somehow made him a better man, and not for you yourself to be a party to the same disreputable conduct, and share your dishonour with his disgrace?

What have I done?

That which a bad man would do.

That is no name of mine.

Have you not bought this house from that young man? (A pause.) Why are you silent?

This, where you yourself are now living.

I did buy it, and I gave the money for it,—forty minae , to the young man himself, into his own hand.

You gave the money, do you say?

’Twas done; and I am not sorry ’twas done.

I’ faith—a young man committed to untrusty keeping. Have you not by these means given him a sword with which to slay himself?

For, prithee, what else is it, your giving ready money to a young man who loves women, and weak in intellect, with which to complete his edifice of folly which he had already commenced?

Ought I not to have paid him the money?

You ought not to have paid him; nor ought you either to have bought anything of or sold anything to him;

nor should you have provided him with the means of becoming worse. Have you not taken in the person who was entrusted to you? Have you not driven out of his house the man who entrusted him to you? By my faith, a pretty trust, and a faithful guardianship! Leave him to take care of himself; he would manage his own affairs much better.

You overpower me, Megaronides, with your accusations, in a manner so strange, that what was privately entrusted to my secrecy, fidelity, and constancy, for me to tell it to no one, nor make it public, the same I am now compelled to entrust to you.

Whatever you shall entrust to me, you shall take up the same where you have laid it down.

Look round you, then, that no overlooker may be near us (MEGARONIDES looks on every side) ; and look around every now and then, I beg of you.

I am listening if you have aught to say.

If you will be silent, I will speak. At the time when Charmides set out hence for foreign parts,

he showed me a treasure in this house, here in a certain closet— (He starts as if he hears a noise.) But do look around.

There is no one.

Of Philippean pieces to the number of three thousand. Alone with myself, in tears, he entreated me, by our friendship and by my honour, not to entrust this to his son, nor yet to any one, from whom that might come to his knowledge.

Now, if he comes back hither safe, I will restore to him his own. But if anything should happen to him, at all events I have a stock from which to give a marriage-portion to his daughter, who has been entrusted to me, that I may settle her in a condition of life that befits her.

O ye immortal gods! how soon, in a few words, you have made another man of me; I came to you quite a different person. But, as you have begun, proceed further to inform me.

What shall I tell you? How that this worthless fellow had almost utterly ruined his caution and my own trustiness and all the secret.

How so?

Because, while I was in the country for only six days, in my absence and without my knowledge, without consulting me, he advertised with bills this house for sale.

The wolf hungered the more, and opened his mouth the wider;

he watched till the dog went to sleep; and intended to carry off the whole entire flock.

I’ faith, he would have done it, if the dogs had not perceived this in time. But now, in my turn, I wish to ask you this: let me know what it was my duty for me to do.

Whether was it right for me to discover the treasure to him, against which very thing his father had cautioned me, or should I have permitted another person to become the owner of this house? Ought that money to have belonged to him who bought the house? In preference, I myself bought the house; I gave the money

for the sake of the treasure, that I might deliver it safe to my friend. I have not, then, bought this house either for myself or for my own use; for Charmides have I bought it back again; from my own store have I paid the money. This, whether it has been done rightfully or wrongfully, I own, Megaronides, that I have done.

Here, then, are my misdeeds; here, then, is my avarice. Is it for these things that they spread false reports against me?

Stay—you have overcome your corrector. You have tied my tongue; there is nothing for me to say in answer.

Now I entreat you to aid me with your assistance and counsel,

and to share this duty of mine in common with me.

I promise you my assistance.

Where, then, will you be a short time hence?

At home.

Do you wish anything else?

Attend to the trust reposed in you.

That is being carefully done.

But how say you—?

What do you want?

Where is the young man living now?

This back part of the building he retained when he sold the house.

That I wanted to know. Now, then, go at once. But what say you, where is the damsel now? She is at your house, I suppose?

She is so; I take care of her almost as much as of my own daughter.

You act properly.

Before I go away, are you going to ask me anything else?

Farewell. (Exit CALLICLES.) Really, there is nothing more foolish or more stupid,

nothing more lying or indeed more tattling, more self-conceited or more forsworn, than those men of this city everlastingly gossiping about, whom they call Busybodies . And thus have I enlisted myself in their ranks together with them; who have been the swallower of the false tales

of those who pretend that they know everything, and yet know nothing. They know, forsooth, what each person either has in his mind, or is likely to have; they know what the king whispered in the ear of the queen; they know what Juno talked about in conversation with Jupiter; that which neither is nor is likely to be, do these fellows know.

Whether they praise or dispraise any one they please, falsely or truly, they care not a straw, so they know that which they choose to know. All people were in the habit of saying that this Callicles was unworthy of this state, and, himself, to exist, who had despoiled this young man of his property.

From the reports of these tale-bearers, in my ignorance I rushed forward to rebuke my guiltless friend. But if the authority was always required from the foundation, upon which they speak of anything they have heard, unless that clearly appeared, the matter ought to be to the peril and loss of the tale-bearer.

If this were so, it would be for the public benefit. I would cause those to be but few, who now that which they do not know , and I would make them have their silly chattering more restricted.

I am revolving many things in my mind at once, and much uneasiness do I find in thinking upon them.

I tease, and fret, and wear myself out; a mind that enjoins a hard task is now my master. But this thing is not clear to me, nor has it been enough studied by me, which pursuit of these two I should rather follow for myself; which of the two I should think of the greater stability for passing my life therein:

whether it were preferable for me to devote myself to love or to aggrandisement; in which alternative there is more enjoyment of life in passing one’s days. On this point I am not fully satisfied. But this I think I’ll do, that I may weigh both the points together, I must be both judge and culprit in this trial:

I’ll do so—I like it much. First of all, I will enlarge upon the pursuits of love, how they conduce to one’s welfare. Love never expects any but the willing man to throw himself in his toils; these he seeks for, these he follows up, and craftily counsels against their interests. He is a fawning flatterer, a rapacious grappler , a deceiver,

a sweet-tooth, a spoiler, a corrupter of men who court retirement, a pryer into secrets. For he that is in love, soon as ever he has been smitten with the kisses of the object that he loves, forthwith his substance vanishes out of doors and melts away. Give me this thing , my honey, if you love me, if you possibly can.

And then this gudgeon says: O apple of my eye, be it so: both that shall be given you, and still more, if you wish it to be given. Then does she strike while he is wavering ; and now she begs for more. Not enough is this evil, unless there is still something more—what to eat, what to drink. A thing that creates a further expense,

the favour of a night is granted; a whole family is then introduced for her—a wardrobe-woman a perfume-keeper , a cofferer, fan-bearers , sandal-bearers , singing-girls, casket-keepers , messengers, news-carriers, so many wasters of his bread and substance. The lover himself, while to them he is complaisant, becomes a beggar.

When I revolve these things in my mind, and when I reflect how little one is valued when he is in need; away with you, Love—I like you not—no converse do I hold with you. Although ’tis sweet to feast and to carouse, Love still gives bitters enough to be distasteful.

He avoids the Courts of justice, he drives away your relations, and drives yourself away from your own contemplation. Nor do men wish that he should be called their friend. In a thousand ways is Love to be held a stranger, to be kept at a distance, and to be wholly abstained from.

For he who plunges into love, perishes more dreadfully than if he leapt from a rock. Away with you, Love, if you please; keep your owns property to yourself. Love, never be you a friend of mine; some there are, however, whom, in their misery, you may keep miserable and wretched—

those whom you have easily rendered submissive to yourself. My fixed determination is to apply my mind to my advancement in life, although, in that, great labour is undergone by the mind. Good men wish these things for themselves, gain, credit, and honour, glory, and esteem; these are the rewards of the upright.

It delights me, then, the more, to live together with the upright rather than with the deceitful promulgators of lies.

Where has this man betaken himself out of doors from the house?

I am here, father; command me what you will, and I shall cause no delay to you, nor will I hide myself in any skulking-place out of your sight.

You will be doing what is consonant to the rest of your conduct if you reverence your father. By your duty to me, my son, I wish you, for my sake, not to hold any converse with profligate men, either in the street or in the Forum. I know this age—what its manners are.

The bad man wishes the good man to be bad, that he may be like himself. The wicked, the rapacious, the covetous, and the envious, disorder and confound the morals of the age: a crew gaping for gain, they hold the sacred thing as profane—the public advantage as the private emolument. At these things do I grieve, these are the matters that torment me. These things am I constantly repeating both day and night, that you may use due precaution against them.

They only deem it right to keep their hands off that which they cannot touch with their hands; as to the rest, seize it, carry it off, keep it, be off and go hide, that is the word with them. These things, when I behold them, draw tears from me, because I have survived to see such a race of men. Why have I not rather descended to the dead ere this?

For these men praise the manners of our ancestors, and defile those same persons whom they commend. With regard, then, to these pursuits, I enjoin you not to taint your disposition with them. Live after my fashion, and according to the ancient manners; what I am prescribing to you, the same do you remember and practise. I have no patience with these fashionable manners, upsetting preconceived notions, with which good men are now disgracing themselves.

If you follow these my injunctions to you, many a good maxim will take root in your breast.

From my earliest youth, even up to this present age, I have always, father, paid all submission to the injunctions you have given. So far as my nature was concerned, I considered that I was free; so far as your injunctions were concerned, I deemed it proper that my mind should pay all submission to you.

The man who is struggling with his inclination from his earliest age, whether he ought to prefer to be so, as his inclination thinks it proper that he should be, or whether, rather so as his parents and his relations wish him to be—if his inclination conquers that man, it is all over with him; he is the slave of his inclination and not of himself. But if he conquers his inclination, he truly lives and shall be famed as a conqueror of conquerors.

If you have conquered your inclination rather than your inclination you, you have reason to rejoice. ’Tis better by far that you should be such as you ought to be, than such as pleases your inclination. Those who conquer the inclination will ever be esteemed better men than those whom the inclination subdues.

I have ever esteemed these maxims as the shield of my youthful age; never to betake myself to any place where vice was the order of the day ,

never to go to stroll about at night, nor to take from another that which is his. I have taken all precautions, my father, that I might not cause you uneasiness; I have ever kept your precepts in due preservation by my own rule of conduct.

And do you reproach me, because you have acted aright? For yourself have you done so, not for me: my life, indeed, is nearly past ; this matter principally concerns your own.

Keep on overlaying good deeds with other good deeds, that the rain may not come through. He is the upright man who is not content with it, however upright and however honest he may chance to be. He who readily gives satisfaction to himself, is not the upright man, nor is he really honest: he who thinks but meanly of himself, in him is there a tendency to well-doing.

For this reason, father, I have thought that since there is a certain thing that I wish for,

I would request it of you.

What is it? I am already longing to give assent.

A young man here, of noble family, my friend and years’ mate, who has managed his own affairs but heedlessly and unthinkingly—I wish, father, to do him a service, if you are not unwilling.

From your own means, I suppose?

From my own means—for what is yours is mine, and all mine is yours.

What is he doing? Is he in want?

He is in want.

Had he property?

He had.

How did he lose it? Was he connected with public business , or with commercial matters? Had he merchandise or wares to sell, when he lost his property?

None of these.

What then?

I’ faith, my father, by his good-nature. Besides, to indulge his tastes, he wasted some part of it in luxury.

By my troth now! a fellow spoken of boldly, and as on familiar terms;—one, indeed, who has never dissipated his fortune by any good means, and is now in want. I cannot brook that, with qualities of that description, he should be your friend.

’Tis because he is without any bad disposition that I wish to relieve his wants.

He deserves ill of a beggar who gives him what to eat or to drink;

for he both loses that which he gives and prolongs for the other a life of misery. I do not say this because I am unwilling and would not readily do what you desire; but when I apply these expressions to that same person, I am warning you beforehand, so to have compassion on others, that others may not have to pity you.

I am ashamed to desert him, and to deny him aid in his adversity.

I’ troth, shame is preferable to repentance by just as many letters as it consists of.

In good sooth, father, by the care of the Gods, and of my forefathers, and your own, I may say that we possess much property, honestly obtained. If you do a service to a friend, it ought not to make you repent that you have done so; it ought rather to cause you shame if you do not do it.

If from great wealth you subtract something, does it become more or less?

Less, father. But do you know what is wont to be repeated to the niggardly citizen ? That which thou hast mayst thou not have, and mayst thou have that misfortune which thou hast not; since thou canst neither endure it to be enjoyed by thyself nor by another.

I know, indeed, that so it usually is: but, my son, he is the truly niggardly man that has nought with which to pay his dues.

By the care of the Gods, we have, father, both enough for us to enjoy ourselves, and with which to do kind offices to kind-hearted men.

Troth, I am not able to refuse you anything that you; ask of me. Whose poverty do you wish to relieve? Speak out boldly to your father.

That of this young man Lesbonicus, the son of Charmides, who lives there.

Why, hasn’t he devoured both what he had, and what he had not ?

Censure him not, my father: many things happen to a man which he likes, many, too, which he does not like.

Troth, you say falsely, son; and you are doing so now not according to your usual wont. For the prudent man, i’ faith, really frames his own fortunes for himself: many things, therefore, do not happen which he does not like, unless he is a bungling workman.

Much labour is requisite for this workmanship in him who seeks to be a clever workman in fashioning his life—but he is still very young.

Not by years but by disposition is wisdom acquired. Age is the relish of wisdom—wisdom is the nutriment of old age. However, come, say what you wish now to give him.

Nothing at all, father.

Do you only not hinder me from accepting it if he should give anything to me.

And will you be relieving his poverty by that, if you shall accept anything of him?

By that very means, my father.

Faith, I wish that you would instruct me in that method.

Certainly. Do you know of what family he is born?

I know—of an extremely honourable one.

He has a sister—a fine young woman now grown up: I wish, father,

to take her without a portion for my wife.

A wife without a portion?

Just so—your riches saved as well. By these means you will be conferring an extreme favour on him, and in no way could you help him to greater advantage.

Am I to suffer you to take a wife without a portion?

You must suffer it, father; and by these means you will be giving an estimable character to our family.

I could give utterance to many a learned saying, and very fluently too: this old age of mine retains stories of old and ancient times. But, since I see that you are courting friendship and esteem for our family, although I have been opposed to you, I thus give my decision—I will permit you; ask for the girl, and marry her.

May the Gods preserve you to me.

But, to this favour add one thing.

But what is this one thing?

I will tell you. Do you go to him, do you solicit him, and do you ask for her yourself.

Think of that now.

You will transact it much more speedily: all will be made sure of that you do. One word of yours in this matter will be of more consequence than a hundred of mine.

See, now, how, in my kindness, I have undertaken this matter.

My assistance shall be given.

You really are a kind father. This is the house here he dwells. (He points to the house of CHARMIDES.) Lesbonicus is his name. Mind and attend to the business; I will await you at home.

These things are not for the best, nor as I think they ought to be; but still, they are better than that which is downright bad. But this one circumstance consoles myself and my thoughts-namely,

that he who counsels in respect to a son nothing else but that which pleases himself alone, only plays the fool; he becomes wretched in mind, and yet he is no nearer bringing it about. He is preparing a very inclement winter for his own old age when he arouses that unseasonable storm.

(The door of the house of CHARMIDES opens.) But the house is opened to which I was going; most conveniently, Lesbonicus himself is coming out of doors with his servant.

’Tis less than fifteen days since you received from Callicles forty minae for this house; is it not as I say, Stasimus?

When I consider,

I think I remember that it was so.

What has been done with it?

It has been eaten and drunk up—spent away in unguents, washed away in baths . The fishmonger and the baker have carried it off: butchers, too, and cooks, green-grocers, perfumers, and poulterers; ’twas quickly consumed. I’ faith! that money was made away with not less speedily

than if you were to throw a poppy among the ants.

By my troth, less has been spent on those items than six minae?

Besides, what have you given to your mistresses?

That I am including as well in it.

Besides, what have I pilfered of it?

Aye, that item is a very heavy one.

That cannot so appear to you, if you make all due deductions ,

unless you think that your money is everlasting.

(Aside.) Too late and unwisely,—a caution that should have been used before,—after he has devoured his substance, he reckons up the account too late.

The account, however, of this money is by no means clear.

I’ faith, the account is very clear: the money’s gone .

Did you not receive forty minae from Callicles, and did he not receive from you the house in possession?

Very good.

Troth, I think our neighbour has sold his house . When his father shall come from abroad, his place is in the beggar’s gate , unless, perchance, he should creep into his son’s stomach .

There were a thousand Olympic drachmae paid to the banker , which you were owing upon account.

Those, I suppose, that I was security for ?

Say, rather , Those that I paid down —for that young man whom you used to say was so rich.

It was so done.

Yes, just to be squandered away.

That was done as well.

But I saw him in a pitiable state, and I did have pity on him.

You have pity on others, and you have neither pity nor shame for yourself.

’Tis time to accost him.

Is this Philto that is coming here? Troth, ’tis he himself.

I’ faith, I could wish he was my slave, together with his savings .

Philto right heartily wishes health to both master and servant, Lesbonicus and Stasimus.

May the Gods give you, Philto, whatever you may wish for. How is your son?

He wishes well to you.

In good sooth, he does for me what I do for him in return!

That phrase, He wishes well, is worthless, unless a person does well too.

I, too, wish to be a free man; I wish in vain. He, perhaps, might wish to become frugal; he would wish to no purpose.

My son has sent me to you to propose an alliance and bond of friendship between himself and your family. He wishes to take your sister for his wife; and I

have the same feelings, and I desire it.

I really don’t understand your ways; amid your prosperity you are laughing at my adversity.

I am a man : you are a man. So may Jupiter love me, I have neither come to laugh at you, nor do I think you deserving of it! But as to what I said, my son begged me

to ask for your sister as his wife.

It is right that I should know the state of my own circumstances. My position is not on an equal footing with yours; seek some other alliance for yourselves.

Are you really sound in mind or intellect

to refuse this proposal? For I perceive that he has been found for you a very friend in need .

Get away hence, and go hang yourself .

Faith, if I should commence to go, you would be forbidding me .

Unless you want me, Philto, for anything else, I have given you my answer.

I trust, Lesbonicus, that you

will one day be more obliging to me than I now find you to be. For both to act unwisely and to talk unwisely, Lesbonicus, are sometimes neither of them profitable.

Troth, he says what’s true.

I will tear out your eye if you add one word.

Troth, but I will talk;

for if I may not be allowed to do so as I am, then I will submit to be called the one-eyed man .

Do you now say this, that your position and means are not on an equal footing with ours?

I do say so.

Well, suppose, now, you were to come to a building to a public banquet, and a wealthy man by chance were to come there as your neighbour .

The banquet is set on table, one that they style a public one . Suppose that dainties were heaped up before him by his dependents, and suppose any-thing pleased you that was so heaped up before him, would you eat, or would you keep your place next to this wealthy man, going without your dinner?

I should eat, unless he were to forbid me doing so.

But I, by my faith, even if he were to forbid me,

would eat and cram with both cheeks stuffed out; and what pleased him, that, in especial, would I lay hold of beforehand; nor would I yield to him one jot of my very existence. At table it befits no one to be bashful; for there the decision is about things both divine and human.

You say what is the fact.

I will tell you without any subterfuge: I would make place for him on the highway, on the footpath, in the canvass for public honors; but as to what concerns the stomach—by my troth, not this much (shows the breadth of his finger-nail) , unless he should first have thrashed me with his fists. With provisions at the present prices, a feast is a fortune without incumbrances .

Always, Lesbonicus, do you take care and think this, that that is the best, according as you yourself are the most deserving: if that you cannot attain to, at least be as near as possible to the most deserving. And now, Lesbonicus, I wish you to grant and accept these terms which I propose, and which I ask of you.

The Gods are rich; wealth and station befit the Gods: but we poor mortal beings are, as it were, the salt-cellar for the salt of life. The moment that we have breathed forth this, the beggar is held of equal value at Acheron with the most wealthy man when dead.

It will be a wonder if you don’t carry your riches there with you. When you are dead, you may, perhaps, be as good as your name imports .

Now, that you may understand that position and means have no place here, and that we do not undervalue your alliance; I ask for your sister without a marriage-portion.

May the matter turn out happily. Do I understand her to be promised? Why are you silent?

O immortal Gods, what a proposal!

Why don’t you say, May the Gods prosper it, I agree ?

Alas! when there was no advantage in the expression, he used to say, I agree; now, when there is advantage in it, he is not able to say so.

Since you think me, Philto, worthy of an alliance with you, I return you many thanks. But though this fortune of mine has sadly diminished through my folly, I have, Philto, a piece of land near the city here; that I will give as a portion to my sister: for, after all my follies,

that alone, besides my existence, is left me.

Really I care nothing at all about a portion.

I am determined to give her one.

And are you ready, master, to sever that nurse from us which is supporting us? Take care how you do it. What are we ourselves to eat in future?

Once more, will you hold your tongue?

Am I to be rendered accountable to you?

We are evidently done for, unless I devise something or other. Philto, I want you.

If you wish aught, Stasimus.

Step a little this way.

By all means.

I tell you this in secrecy, that neither he nor any one else may learn it of you.

Trust me boldly with anything you please.

By Gods and men I warn you, not to allow that piece of land ever to become yours or your son’s. I’ll tell you my reasons for this matter.

Troth, I should like to hear them.

First of all then, when at any time the ground is being ploughed, in every fifth furrow the oxen die.

Preserve me from it.

The gate of Acheron is in that land of ours.

Then the grapes, before they are ripe, hang in a putrid state.

He is persuading the man to something, I think. Although he is a rogue, still he is not unfaithful to me.

Hear the rest. Besides that, when elsewhere the harvest of wheat is most abundant,

there it comes up less by one-fourth than what you have sowed.

Ah! bad habits ought to be sown on that spot, if in the sowing they can be killed.

And never is there any person to whom that piece of land belongs, but that his affairs turn out most unfortunate. Of those to whom it has belonged,

some have gone away in banishment; some are dead outright; some, again, have hanged themselves. See this man, now, to whom it belongs, how he has been brought to a regular backgammoned state .

Preserve me from this piece of land.

Preserve me from it, you would say still more, if you were to hear everything from me. For there every other tree has been blasted with lightning;

the hogs die there most shockingly of inflammation in the throat; the sheep are scabby, as bare of all wool, see, as is this hand of mine. And then, besides, there is not one of the Syrian natives , a race which is the most hardy of men, who could exist there for six months; so surely do all die there of the solstitial fever .

I believe, Stasimus , that it is so; but the Campanian race much outdoes that of the Syrians in hardiness. But, really, that piece of land, as I have heard you describe it, is one to which it were proper for all wicked men to be sent for the public good. Just as they tell of the Islands of the Blest,

where all meet together who have passed their lives uprightly: on the other hand, it seems proper that all evildoers should be packed off there, since it is a place of such a character.

’Tis a very receptacle of calamity. What need is there of many words? Look for any bad thing whatsoever, there you may find it.

But, i’ faith, you may find it there and elsewhere too.

Please, take care not to say that I told you of this.

You have told it me in perfect secrecy.

For he, indeed (pointing at LESBONICUS) , wishes it to be got rid of from himself, if he can find any one to impose upon about it.

I’ faith, this land shall never become my property.

Aye, if you keep in your senses.

(Aside.) I’ faith, I have cleverly frightened the old fellow away from this land; for, if my master had parted with it, there is nothing for us to live upon.

Lesbonicus, I now return to you.

Tell me, if you please, what has he been saying to you?

What do you suppose? He is a man ; he wishes to become a free man, but he has not the money to give.

And I wish to be rich, but all in vain.

You might have been, if you had chosen; now, since you have nothing, you cannot be.

What are you talking about to yourself, Stasimus?

About that which you were saying just now: if you had chosen formerly, you might have been rich; now you are wishing too late.

No terms can be come to with me about the marriage-portion;

whatever pleases you, do you transact it yourself with my son. Now, I ask for your sister for my son; and may the matter turn out well. What now? are you still considering?

What—about that matter? Since you will have it so—may the Gods prosper it—I promise her.

Never, by my troth, was a son

born so ardently longed for by any one, as was that expression I promise her, when born for me.

The Gods will prosper all your plans.

So I wish.

Come this way with me, Lesbonicus, that a day may be agreed on for the nuptials, in the presence of Lysiteles: this agreement we will ratify on that same day.

Now, Stasimus, go you there (points to the house which he has sold to CALLICLES) to the house of Callicles, to my sister; tell her how this matter has been arranged.

I will go.

And congratulate my sister.

Very well.

Tell Callicles to meet me—

But rather do you go now—

That he may see what is necessary to be done about the portion.

Do go now.

For I have determined not to give her without a portion.

But rather do you go now.

And I will never allow it to be a detriment to her by reason of—

Do be off now.

My recklessness—

Do go now .

It seems by no means just, but that, since I have done wrong—

Do go now.

It should be chiefly a detriment to myself.

Do go now.

O my father!

and shall I ever see you again?

Do go now. Go—go now.

I am going.

Do you take care of that which I have asked you. I shall be here directly. (Exit LESBONICUS.)

At length I have prevailed on him to go. In the name of the immortal Gods, i’ faith, ’tis a matter well managed by wrongful means of performance, inasmuch as our piece of land is safe; although even now ’tis still a very doubtful matter what may be the result of this affair.

But, if the land is parted with, ’tis all over with my neck; I must carry a buckler in foreign lands, a helmet too, and my baggage. He will be running away from the city when the nuptials have been celebrated; he will be going hence to extreme and utter ruin, somewhere or other, to serve as a soldier, either to Asia or to Cilicia .

I will go there (looking at the door of the house bouight by CALLICLES) , where he has ordered me to go, although I detest this house ever since he has driven us out of our abode.

To what effect were you speaking about this, Stasimus?

That Lesbonicus, the son of my master, has betrothed his sister; in those terms.

To what person has he betrothed her?

To Lysiteles, the son of Philto; without a portion, too.

Without a portion, will he marry her into a family so rich ? You are telling me a thing not to be credited.

Why, faith, you would be for never believing. If you don’t believe this, at all events I shall be believing—

What?

That I don’t care a fig for your belief.

How long since, or where, was this matter agreed to?

On this very spot—here, before his door (pointing to PHILTO’S house) . This moment-like , as the man of Praeneste says.

And has Lesbonicus, amid his ruined fortunes, become so much more frugal than in his prosperous circumstances?

Why, in fact, Philto himself came of his own accord to make the offer for his son.

By my troth, it really will be a disgrace, if a portion is not given to the maiden. In fine, I think, i’ faith, that that matter concerns myself. I will go to my corrector, and will ask advice of him.

I pretty nearly guess, and I have a strong suspicion, why he makes such speed on this: namely, that he may turn Lesbonicus out of his bit of land, after he has turned him out of his house. O Charmides, my master! since your property here is being torn to pieces in your absence, I wish I could see you return safe, that you might both take vengeance on your enemies, and give the reward to me according as I have behaved, and do behave towards you.

’Tis an extremely difficult thing for a friend to be found really such as the name imports, to whom, when you have entrusted your interests, you may sleep without any care. But lo! I perceive our son-in-law coming, together with his neighbour. Something—what, I know not—is wrong between them. They are walking, each with a hasty step; the one is catching the other that is before him by the cloak.

They have come to a stop in no very courteous fashion. I’ll step aside here a little distance. I have a wish to hear the conversation of these two that are to be connected by marriage.

Stay, this moment; don’t turn away, and don’t hide yourself from me.

Can’t you allow me to go whither I was proceeding?

If, Lesbonicus, it seems to be to your interest, either for your glory or for your honour, I will let you go.

You are doing a thing that it is very easy to do.

What is that?

An injury to a friend.

It is no way of mine, and I have not learned so to do.

Untaught as you are, how cleverly you do it. What would you have done, if any one had taught you to be thus annoying to me? You, who, when you pretend to be acting kindly to me, use me ill, and are intending evil.

What!—I?

Yes—you.

How do I use you ill?

Inasmuch as you do that which I do not wish.

I wish to consult your advantage.

Are you kinder to me than I am to myself? I have sense enough; I see sufficiently well those things that are for my own advantage.

And is it having sense enough to refuse a kindness from a well-wisher?

I reckon it to be no kindness, when it does not please him on whom you are conferring it. I know, and I understand myself what I am doing, and my mind forsakes not its duty;

nor will I be driven by your speeches from paying due regard to my own character.

What do you say? For now I cannot be restrained from saying to you the things which you deserve. Have your forefathers, I pray, so handed down this reputation to you, that you, by your excesses, might lose what before was gained by their merit, and that you might become a bar to the honour of your own posterity?

Your father and your grandfather made an easy and a level path for you to attain to honour; whereas you have made it to become a difficult one, by your extreme recklessness and sloth, and your besotted ways. You have made your election, to prefer your passions to virtue. Now, do you suppose that you can cover over your faults by these means? Alas! ’tis impossible.

Welcome virtue to your mind, if you please, and expel slothfulness from your heart. Give your attention to your he-friends in the Courts of justice , and not to the couch of your she-friend, as you are wont to do. And earnestly do I now wish this piece of land to be left to you for this reason, that you may have wherewithal to reform yourself; so that those citizens, whom you have for enemies, may not be able altogether to throw your poverty in your teeth.

All these things which you have been saying, I know—could even set my seal to them: how I have spoiled my patrimonial estate and the fair fame of my forefathers. I knew how it became me to live; to my misfortune I was not able to act accordingly. Thus, overpowered by the force of passion, inclined to ease, I fell into the snare; and now to you, quite as you deserve, I do return most hearty thanks.

Still, I cannot suffer my labour to be thus lost, and yourself to despise these words; at the same time, it grieves me that you have so little shame. And, in fine, unless you listen to me, and do this that I mention, you yourself will easily lie concealed behind your own self, so that honour cannot find you; when you will wish yourself to be especially distinguished, you will be lying in obscurity.

I know right well, for my part, Lesbonicus, your highly ingenuous disposition; I know that of your own accord you have not done wrong, but that it is Love that has blinded your heart; and I myself comprehend all the ways of Love. As the charge of the balista is hurled, so is Love; nothing is there so swift, or that so swiftly flies; he, too, makes the manners of men both foolish and froward .

That which is the most commended pleases him the least ; that from which he is dissuaded pleases him. When there is a scarcity, then you long for a thing; when there is an abundance of it, then you don’t care for it. The person that warns him off from a thing, the same invites him; he that persuades him to it interdicts him. ’Tis a misfortune of insanity for you to fly to Cupid for refuge. But I advise you again and again to think of this, how you should seek to act.

If you attempt to do according as you are now showing signs , you will cause the conflagration of your family; and then, in consequence, you will have a desire for water with which to quench this conflagration of your family. And if you should obtain it, just as lovers are subtle in their devices, you will not leave even one spark with which your family may brighten up.

’Tis easy to be found: fire is granted, even though you should ask it of a foe.

But you, by your reproof, are urging me from my faults to a viler course. You are persuading me to give you my sister without a portion. But it does not become me, who have misused so great a patrimony, to be still in affluent circumstances, and to be possessing land, but her to be in want, so as with good reason to detest me. Never will he be respected by others who makes himself despised by his own relatives.

As I said, I will do; I do not wish you to be in doubt any longer.

And is it so much preferable that for your sister’s sake you should incur poverty, and that I should possess that piece of land rather than yourself, who ought to be upholding your own walls?

I do not wish you so much to have regard to myself, in order that you may relieve my poverty, as that in my neediness I may not become disgraced: that people may not spread about this report of me,

that I gave my own sister without a portion to you, rather in concubinage than in marriage. Who would be said to be more dishonorable than I? The spreading of this report might do credit to you, but it would defile me, if you were to marry her without a portion. For you it would be a gain of reputation, for me it would be something for people to throw in my teeth.

Why so? Do you suppose that you will become Dictator if I accept the land of you?

I neither wish, nor require, nor do I think so; but still, to be mindful of his duty, is true honour to an upright man.

For my part, I know you, how you are disposed in mind; I see it, I discover it, I apprehend. You are doing this, that when you have formed an alliance between us,

and when you have given up this piece of land, and have nothing here with which to support life, in beggary you may fly from the city, in exile you may desert your country, your kindred, your connexions, your friends,—the nuptials once over. People would suppose that you were frightened hence by my means, and through my cupidity. Do not fancy in your mind that I will act so as to allow that to happen.

Well, I cannot but exclaim, Well done, well done, Lysiteles, encore . Easily do you win the victory; the other is conquered: your performance is superior. This one (pointing to LYSITELES) acts better in character, and composes better lines . By reason of your folly do you still dispute it? Stand in awe of the fine.

What means this interruption of yours, or your intrusion here upon our conversation?

The same way that I came here I’ll get me gone.

Step this way home with me, Lysiteles; there we will talk at length about these matters.

I am not in the habit of doing anything in secret. Just as my feelings are I will speak out. If your sister, as I think it right, is thus given to me in marriage without a portion, and if you are not about to go away hence, that which shall be mine, the same shall be yours.

But if you are minded otherwise, may that which you do turn out for you for the best. I will never be your friend on any other terms; such is my determination.

Faith, he’s off. D’ye hear—Lysiteles? I want you. He’s off as well. Stasimus, you remain alone. What am I now to do, but to buckle up my baggage and sling my buckler on my back ,

and order soles to be fastened beneath my shoes? There is no staying now. I see that no long time hence I shall be a soldier’s drudge. And when my master has thrown himself into the pay of some potentate, I guess that among the greatest warriors he will prove a brave —hand at running away, and that there he will capture the spoil, who-shall come to attack my master.

I myself, the moment that I shall have assumed my bow and quiver and arrows, and the helmet on my head, shall-go to sleep very quietly in my tent. I’ll be off to the Forum; I’ll ask that talent back of the person to whom I lent it six days since, that I may have some provision for the journey to carry with me.

According as you relate the matter to me, Callicles, it really can by no means

be but that a portion must be given to the girl.

Why, troth, it would hardly be honestly done on my part, if I were to allow her to contract a marriage without a portion, when I have her property in my possession at home.

A portion is ready at your house; unless you like to wait

until her brother has disposed of her in marriage without a portion. After that, you might go to Philto yourself, and might say that you present her with a portion, and that you do it on account of your intimacy with her father. But I dread this, lest that offer might bring you into crimination and disgrace with the public.

They would say that you were so kind to the girl not without some good reason; that the dowry which you presented her was given you by her father; they would think that you were portioning her out of that, and that you had not kept it safe for her just as it was given, and that you had withheld some part. Now, if you wish to await the return of Charmides,

the time is very long; meanwhile, the inclination to marry her may leave this Lysiteles; this proposal, too, is quite a first-rate one for her.

All these very same things suggest themselves to my mind.

Consider if you think this more feasible and more to the purpose: go to the young man himself, and tell him how the matter really stands.

Should I now discover the treasure to a young man, ill-regulated, and brimful of passion and of wantonness? No, faith, most assuredly, by no means. For I know, beyond a doubt, that he would devour even all that spot where it is buried. I fear to dig for it, lest he should hear the noise;

lest, too, he might trace out the matter itself, if I should say I will give her a portion.

By what method, then, can the portion be secretly taken out?

Until an opportunity can be found for that business, I would, in the meanwhile, ask for a loan of the money from some friend or other.

Can it be obtained from some friend or other?

It can.

Nonsense; you’ll certainly meet with this answer at once: O, upon my faith, I really have not anything that I can lend you.

Troth, I would rather they would tell me the truth than lend me the money with a bad grace.

But consider this plan, if it pleases you.

What is the plan?

I have found out a clever plan, as I think.

What is it?

Let some person, now, be hired,

of an appearance as much unknown as possible, such as has not been often seen.

Let this person be dressed up to the life after a foreign fashion, just as though he were a foreigner.

What is he to understand that he must do after that?

It is necessary for him to be some lying,

deceiving, impudent fellow—a lounger from the Forum.

And what then, after that?

Let him come to the young man as though from Seleucia, from his father; let him pronounce his salutation to him in the words of his father, say that he is prospering in business, and is alive and well, and that he will be shortly coming back again. Let him bring two letters;

let us seal these, as though they are from his father. Let him give the one to him, and let him say that he wishes to give the other to yourself.

Go on, and tell me still further.

Let him say that he is bringing some gold as a marriage-portion from her father for the girl, and that his father has requested him to deliver it to you.

Do you understand me now?

Pretty nearly; and I listen with great satisfaction.

Then, in consequence, you will finally give the gold to the young man when the girl shall be given in marriage.

Troth, ’tis very cleverly contrived.

By this means, when you have dug up the treasure, you will have removed all cause for suspicion from the young man.

He will think that the gold has been brought to you from his father; whereas, you will be taking it from the treasure.

Very cleverly and fairly contrived; although I am ashamed, at this time of life, for me to be playing a double part. But when he shall bring the letters sealed, don’t you suppose that the young man will then

recollect the impression of his father’s signet ?

Will you be silent now? Reasons innumerable may be found for that circumstance. That which he used to have he has lost, and he has since had another new one made. Then, if he should bring them not sealed at all, this might be said,—that they had been unsealed for him by the custom-house officers ,

and had been examined. On matters of this kind, however, ’tis mere idleness to spend the day in talk; although a long discussion might be spun out. Go now, at once, privately to the treasure; send to a distance the men-servants and the maids; and—do you hear?

What is it?

Take care that you conceal this matter from that same wife of yours as well; for, i’ faith, there is never any subject which they can be silent upon. Why are you standing now? Why don’t you take yourself off hence, and bestir yourself? Open the treasure, take thence as much gold as is requisite for this purpose; at once close it up again, but secretly,

as I have enjoined you; turn all out of the house.

I will do so.

But, really, we are continuing too long a discourse; we are wasting the day, whereas there is need now of all expedition. There is nothing for you to fear about the seal; trust me for that. This is a clever excuse to give, as I mentioned,

that they have been looked at by the officers. In fine, don’t you see the time of day? What do you think of him being of such a nature and disposition? He is drunk already; anything you like may be proved for him. Besides, what is the greatest point of all, this person will say that he brings, and not that he applies for, money.

Now, that’s enough.

I am now going to hire a sharper from the Forum, and then I will seal the two letters; and I’ll send him thither (pointing to the house of CHARMIDES) , well tutored in his part, to this young man.

I am going in-doors then to my duty in consequence. Do you see about this matter.

I’ll take care it’s done in the very cleverest style.

To Neptune, potent o’er the deep and most powerful, the brother of aethereal Jove, joyously and sincerely do I proffer praise, and return my grateful thanks; to the salt waves, too, with whom lay supreme power over myself,—one, too, that existed over my property and my life, —inasmuch as from their realms they have returned me safe and sound even to my own native city. And, Neptune, before the other Deities, do I both give and return to you extreme thanks.

For all people talk of you as being cruel and severe, of voracious habits, filthy, unsightly, unendurable, and outrageous; on the other hand, I have experienced your kindly aid. For, in good sooth, I have found you mild and merciful upon the deep, even to that degree that I wished. This commendation, too, I had already heard with these ears before of you among men,—that you were accustomed to spare the poor, and to depress and overawe the rich.

Adieu! I commend you; you know how to treat men properly, according as is just. This is worthy of the Gods; they should ever prove benignant to the needy; to men of high station, quite otherwise. Trusty have you proved, though they are in the habit of saying that you cannot be trusted. For, without you, it would have happened, I am very sure, that on the deep your attendants would have shockingly torn in pieces and rent asunder wretched me, and, together with me, my property as well, in every direction throughout the azure surface of ocean.

But just now, like raging dogs, and no otherwise, did the winds in hurricane beset the ship; storms and waves, and raging squalls were about to roar, to break the mast, to bear down the yards, to split the sails; had not your favouring kindness been nigh at hand. Have done with me, if you please; henceforth have I now determined to give myself up to ease; enough have I got. With what pains have I struggled, while I was acquiring riches for my son.

But who is this that is coming up the street with his new-fangled garb and appearance? I’ faith, though I wish to be at home, I’ll wait awhile; at the same time, I will give my attention to see what business this fellow is about.

To this day I give the name of The Festival of the Three Pieces (Trinummus); for, on this day, have I let out my services in a cheating scheme for three pieces of money.

I am just arrived from Seleucia, Macedonia, Asia, and Arabia,—places which I never visited either with my eye or with my foot. See now, what business poverty brings upon the man that is wretchedly destitute; inasmuch as I am now obliged, for the sake of three pieces of money, to say that I received these letters from a certain person, about whom I don’t know,

nor have I ever known, who the man is, nor do I know this for certain, whether he was ever born or not.

Faith, this fellow’s surely of the mushroom genus; he covers himself entirely with his top. The countenance of the fellow appears to be Illyrian; he comes, too, in that garb.

He who hired me, when he had hired me, took me to his house; he told me what he wanted to be done; he taught and showed me beforehand

how I was to do everything. If, then, I should add anything more, my employer will on that account the better forward his plan through me. As he dressed me out, so am I now equipped; his money did that. He himself borrowed my costume, at his own risk, from the theatrical wardrobe ; if I shall be able, now, to impose on this man through my garb,

I will give him occasion clearly to find that I am a very trickster.

The more I look at him, the less does the appearance of the fellow please me. ’Tis a wonder if that fellow there is not either a night-robber or a cutpurse. He is viewing the locality; he is looking around him and surveying the houses; troth, I think he is reconnoitring the spot for him to come and rob bye and bye.

I have a still greater desire to watch what he is about: I’ll give attention to this matter.

This employer of mine pointed out these localities to me; at this house are my devices to be put in practice. I’ll knock at the door.

Surely this fellow is making in a straight line for my house; i’ faith, I think I shall have to keep watch this night of my arrival.

Open this door!—open it! Hallo, there! who now has the care of this door ?

Young man, what do you want? hat is it you wish? Why are you knocking at this door?

Eh! old gentleman;

I am inquiring here for a young man named Lesbonicus, where in this quarter he lives —and likewise for another person, with such white hairs on his head as yours;

he that gave me these letters said his name was Callicles.

In fact, this fellow is looking for my own son Lesbonicus and my friend Callicles, to whom I entrusted both my children and my property.

Let me know, respected sir , if you are acquainted with it, where these persons live.

Why are you inquiring for them? Or who are you?—Or whence are you?—Or whence do you cone?

I gave the return correctly to the Censor , when I was questioned by him—



You ask a number of things in the same breath; I know not which in especial to inform you upon. If you will ask each thing singly, and in a quiet manner, I’ll both let you know my name, and my business, and my travels.

I’ll do as you desire. Come then; in the first place, tell me your name.

You begin by demanding an arduous task.

How so?

Because, respected sir,

if you were to begin before daylight, i’ faith, to commence at the first part of my name , ’twould be the dead of the night before you could get to the end of it.

According to your story, a person should have a long journey’s provision crammed tightly in for your name.

I have another name somewhat less,—about the size of a wine-casks .

What is this name of yours, young man?

Hush, that’s my name ;

that’s my every-day one.

I’ faith, ’tis a scampish name; just as though you were to say, Hush, if I were confiding anything to you, and then it is at an end forthwith. (Aside.) This fellow is evidently a sharper. What say you, young man—?

What is it now?

Speak out; what do these persons owe you whom you are seeking?

The father of this young man, Lesbonicus, delivered to me these two letters;

he is a friend of mine.

I have now caught him in the fact; he says that I gave him the letters. I will have some fine sport with the fellow.

As I have begun, if you will give attention, I will say on.

I’ll give you my attention.

He bade me give this letter to his son, Lesbonicus, and this other one, as well, he bade me give to his friend Callicles.

Troth, but since he is acting the impostor, I, on the other hand, have an inclination to act the cheat as well. Where was he himself?

He was carrying on his business prosperously.

But where?

At Seleucia.

And did you receive these from himself?

With his own hands he himself delivered them into my hands.

Of what appearance is this person?

He is a person somewhere about half a foot taller than you.

This is an odd matter, if in fact I am taller when absent than when present.

Do you know this person?

You are asking me a ridiculous question; together with him I was in the habit of taking my meals.

What is his name?

One, i’ faith, that belongs to an honorable man.

I would like to hear it.

Troth, his name (hesitating) —his—his— (Aside.) Woe to unfortunate me.

What’s the matter?

Unguardedly, I this moment swallowed the name.

I like not the man that has his friends shut up within his teeth.

And yet this moment ’twas dwelling on the very edge of my lips.

I’ve come to-day in good time before this fellow.

To my sorrow I’m caught in the fact.

Have you now recollected the name?

’Fore Gods and men, i’ faith, I’m ashamed of myself

See, now, how well you know this man.

As well as my own self. This is in the habit of happening: the thing you are holding in your hand, and seeing with your eyes, that same you are looking for as lost. I’ll recollect it letter by letter. C is the beginning of the name.

Is it Callias?

No: it isn’t that.

Callippus?

It isn’t that.

Callidemides?

It isn’t that.

Callinicus?

No: it isn’t that.

Or is it Callimachus?

’Tis in vain you suggest; and, i’ faith, I really don’t care one fillip about it, since I recollect enough myself for my own purpose.

But there are many people here of the name of Lesbonicus; unless you tell me the name of his father,

I cannot show you these persons whom you are looking for. What is it like? Perhaps we can find it out by guessing.

It is something like this: Char—

Chares? Or Charicles? Or is it Charmides?

Ah! that’s he; may the Deities confound him.

I have said to you once before already that it is proper for you rather to speak well of a man that is your friend, than to curse him.

Isn’t it the fact that this most worthless fellow has lain perdu between my lips and my teeth?

Don’t you be cursing an absent friend.

Why, then, did this most rascally fellow hide himself away from me?

If you had only called him, he would have answered to his name. But where is he himself now?

Troth, I left him at Rhadama , in the isle of Apeland.



(aside.) What person is there a greater simpleton than I, who myself am making inquiries where I am?

But it is by no means unimportant to this present purpose. What do you say as—?

What now?

I ask you this. What places have you visited?

Places exceedingly wonderful in astonishing ways.

I should like to hear about them, unless it is inconvenient.

Really I quite long to tell you. First of all we were conveyed to Pontus, to the land of Arabia .

How now; is Arabia then in Pontus?

It is. Not that Arabia where frankincense is produced,

but where the wormwood grows , and the wild marjoram which the poultry love.

An extremely ingenious knave this. But the greater simpleton I, to be asking of this fellow from what place I have come back, a thing which I know, and he does not know; except that I have a mind to try how he will get out of it at last. But what say you further? Whither did you go next from thence?

If you give me your attention, I will tell you.

To the source of the river which arises out of the heavens, from beneath the throne of Jupiter.

Beneath the throne of Jupiter?

Yes: I say so.

Out of the heavens?

Aye, out of the very middle.

How now; and did you ascend even to the heavens?

Yes: we were carried in a little skiff right on, up the river, against the tide.

And did you see Jupiter as well?

The other Gods said that he had gone to his country-house, to dole out the victuals for his slaves.

Then, after that—

Then after that—I don’t want you to relate anything more.

Troth, I’m silent, if it’s troublesome.

Why, no decent person ought to tell it, who has gone from the earth to heaven.

I’ll leave you, as I see you wish it. But point me out these persons whom I am looking for, and to whom I must deliver these letters.

What say you? If now perchance you were to see Charmides himself, him, I mean, who you say gave you these letters, would you know the man?

By my troth now, do you take me to be a brute beast, who really am not able to recognise the person with whom I have been spending my life? And would he have been such a fool as to entrust to me a thousand

Philippean pieces, which gold he bade me carry to his son, and to his friend Callicles, to whom he said that he had entrusted his affairs? Would he have entrusted them to me if he had not known me, and I him, very intimately?

I really have a longing now to swindle this swindler, if I can cozen him out of these thousand Philippean pieces

which he has said that I have given to him. A person, that I know not who he is, and have never beheld him with my eyes before this day, should I be entrusting gold to him? A man, to whom, if his life were at stake, I would not entrust a dump of lead. This fellow must be adroitly dealt with by me. Hallo! Mister Hush, I want three words with you.

Even three hundred, if you like.

Have you that gold which you received from Charmides?

Yes, and Philippeans, too, counted out on the table with his own hand, a thousand pieces.

You received it, you mean, from Charmides himself?

’Twere a wonder if I had received it of his father, or of his grandfather, who are dead.

Then, young man, hand me over this gold.

What gold am I to give you?

That which you have owned you received from me.

Received from you?

Yes, I say so.

Who are you?

I am Charmides, who gave you the thousand pieces of money.

I’ faith, you are not he; and this day, you never shall be he, for this gold, at any rate. Away with you, if you please, you impostor! (Aside.) You are trying to cheat the cheater.

I am Charmides.

I’ faith, you are so to no purpose, for I carry no gold. Right cleverly were you down upon me, at the very nick of time.

After I said that I was bringing the gold, that instant you became Charmides. Before I made mention of the gold, you were not he. It won’t do. Just, therefore, in such manner as you Charmidised yourself, do you again un-Charmidise yourself.

Who am I, then, if in fact I am not he who I really am?

What matters that to me? So long as you are not he whom I do not choose you to be, you may be who you like, for what I care.

Just now, you were not he who you were, now you are become he who then you were not.

Come, despatch, if you are going to do it.

What am I to do?

Give me back the gold.

You are dreaming, old gentleman.

Did you own that Charmides delivered the gold to you?

Yes—in writing .

Are you making haste or not, you night-robber, to be off with all speed this very instant from this neighbourhood, before I order you to be soundly cudgelled on the spot?

For what reason?

Because I am that self-same Charmides about whom you have been thus lying, and who you said gave the letters to you.

How now; prithee, are you really he?

I really am he.

Say you so, pray? Are you really he himself?

I do say so.

Are you his own self?

His own self, I say. I am Charmides.

And are you then his own self?

His own very self. Begone hence out of my sight.

Since you really have made your appearance here thus late,

you shall be beaten both at my own award and that of the new Aediles.

And are you abusing me as well?

Yes; seeing that you have arrived in safety , may the Gods confound me, if I care a straw for you, had you perished first. I have received the money for this job; you, I devote to bad luck. But who you are, or who you are not, I care not one jot.

I’ll go and carry word to him who gave me the three pieces, that he may know that he has thrown them away. I’m off. Live with a curse, and fare you ill; may all the Gods confound you, Charmides, for coming from abroad .

Since this fellow has gone, at last a time and opportunity seem to have arrived for speaking out without restraint.

Already does this sting pierce my breast—what business he could have before my house? For these letters summon apprehensions into my heart; those thousand pieces, too—what purpose they were to serve. I’ faith, a bell is never rung for no purpose;

unless some one handles it or moves it, ’tis mute, ’tis dumb. But who is this, that is beginning to run this way along the street? I should like to observe what he is about. I’ll step aside this way.

Stasimus, make you haste with all speed; away with you to your master’s house, lest on a sudden, through your folly, fears should arise for your shoulder-blades .

Quicken your pace, make haste; ’tis now a long while since you left the house. If you shall be absent when inquired after by your master, take you care, please, that the smacks of the bull’s-hide don’t clatter thick upon you. Don’t you cease running. See now, Stasimus, what a worthless fellow you are; and isn’t it the fact that you have forgotten your ring at the liquor- shop after you have been washing your throat with warm drink?

Turn about, and run back now, to seek it, while the thing has but just happened.

Whoever he is, his throat is his taskmaster ; that teaches this fellow the art of running.

What, good-for-nothing fellow, are you not ashamed of yourself? having lost your memory after only three cups? And really, because you were there drinking together with such honest fellows, who could keep their hands off the property of another without difficulty;

—is it among such men that you expect you may recover your ring?

Chiruchus was there, Cerconicus, Crimnus, Cricolabus, Collabus , whipped-necks , whipped-legs, iron-rubbers, whipped-knaves.

By my faith, any one of these could steal the sole of his shoe from a running footman .

So may the Gods love me, a finished thief.

Why should I go seek what is gone for ever?

Unless I would bestow my pains, too, by way of addition over and above to my loss. Why, then, don’t you consider that what is gone is gone? Tack about, then . Betake yourself back to your master.

This fellow is no runaway; he remembers his home.

I wish that the old-fashioned ways of old-fashioned days, and the old-fashioned thriftiness, were in greater esteem here, rather than these bad ways.

Immortal Gods! this man really is beginning to talk of noble doings! He longs for the old-fashioned ways; know that he loves the old-fashioned ways, after the fashion of our forefathers.

For, now-a-days, men’s manners reckon of no value what is proper, except what is agreable. Ambition now is sanctioned by usage, and is free from the laws. By usage, people have the license to throw away their shields, and to run away from the enemy.

To seek honor thereby in place of disgrace is the usage.

A shameless usage.

Now-a-days, ’tis the usage to neglect the brave.

Aye, ’tis really shocking.

The public manners have now got the laws in their power; to them they are more submissive than are parents to their children . In their misery, these laws are even hung up against the wall with iron nails,

where it had been much more becoming for bad ways to be fixed up.

I’d like to go up and accost this person; but I listen to him with much pleasure, and I’m afraid, if I address him, that he may begin to talk on some other subject.

And, for these ways, there is nothing rendered sacred by the law. The laws are subservient to usage; but these habits are hastening to sweep away both what is sacred and what is public property.

By my troth, ’twere right for some great calamity to befal these bad customs.

Ought not this state of things to be publicly censured? For this kind of men are the enemies of all persons, and do an injury to the entire people. By a non-observance of their own honour, they likewise destroy all trust even in those who merit it not; inasmuch as people form an estimate of the disposition of these from the disposition of those fellows.

If you lend a person any money, it becomes lost for any purpose as one’s own. When you ask for it back again, you may find a friend made an enemy by your kindness. If you begin to press still further, the option of two things ensues—either you must part with that which you have entrusted, or else you must lose that friend.

As to how this suggests itself to me, I have by actual experience been lately put in mind of it.

Surely this is my servant Stasimus?

For as to him to whom I lent the talent, I bought myself an enemy with my talent, and sold my friend. But I am too great a simpleton to be attending to public matters rather than (what’s my immediate interest) obtain safety for my back. I’ll go home.

Hallo, you! Stop, this instant! Harkye; hallo, you!

I’ll not stop.

I want you.

What if I myself don’t want you to want me.

Why, Stasimus, you are behaving very rudely.

’Twere better for you to buy some one to give your commands to.

I’ faith, I have bought one, and paid the money, too. But if he is not obedient to my orders, what ani I to do?

Give him a severe punishment.

You give good advice; I am resolved to do so.

Unless, indeed, you are under obligations to him.

If he is a deserving person, I am under obligations to him; but if he is otherwise, I’ll do as you advise me.

What matters it to me whether you have good or bad slaves?

Because you have a share in this matter both of the good and of the bad.

The one share I leave to yourself; the other share, that in the good, do you set down to my account.

If you shall prove deserving, it shall be so. Look back at me—I am Charmides.

Ha! what person is it that has made mention of that most worthy man?

’Tis that most worthy man himself.

O seas, earth, heavens, by my trust in you—do I see quite clearly with my eyes? Is this he, or is it not? ’Tis he! ’Tis certainly he; ’tis he beyond a doubt! O my most earnestly wished-for master, health to you!

Health to you, too, Stasimus!

That you are safe and sound, I—

I know it, and I believe you. But wave the rest; answer me this; how are my children,

my son and daughter, whom I left here?

They are alive, and well.

Both of them, say you?

Both of them.

The Gods willed me to be safe and preserved from dangners. The rest that I want to know I will inquire about in-doors at my leisure. Let us go in-doors; follow me.

Where are you going now?

Where else but to my house?

Do you suppose that we are living here?

Why, where else should I suppose?

Now—

What about now?

This house is not our own.

What is it I hear from you?

Your son has sold this house.

I’m ruined.

For silver minae; ready money counted out.

How many?

Forty.

I’m undone. Who has purchased it?

Callicles, to whom you entrusted your affairs; he has removed here to live, and has turned us out of doors.

Where is my son now living?

Here, in these back buildings.

I’m utterly undone.

I thought that this would be distressing to you when you heard of it.

To my sorrow, amid extreme dangers I have been borne over vast oceans, with the peril of my life I have preserved myself among robbers full many in number, and I have returned safe. Now, to my misery, I am here undone

by reason of those same persons for whose sake I have been struggling at this time of life Grief is depriving me of my senses. Support me, Stasimus.

Do you wish me to fetch you some water?

When my fortunes were in their mortal struggle, then was it befitting that water should be sprinkled upon them.

What noise is this that I hear before my house?

O Callicles! O Callicles! O Callicles!

to what sort of friend have I entrusted my property?

To one good, and faithful, and trusty, and of strict integrity. Health to you, and I rejoice that you have arrived safe and sound .

How, health to me? Troth, I have no patience with such health. This I wish to know; how have you kept your trust, who, without my knowledge, have utterly destroyed my property and my children that I entrusted to you and committed to your charge when going hence abroad?

I don’t think that it is fair, when you don’t understand the matter, to censure your old friend with harsh words. For you are both mistaken and you are doing me a very great injustice.

Have you not bought this house which you came out of just now, and driven thence my son Lesbonicus? Is this so as I say, or is it not? Answer me.

I myself did buy the house; I bought it that I might keep it for you. And without that it would have happened that your son would have sold it to another person; and then you would have lost both it and that treasure together, which, concealed there, you had entrusted to my charge. See, I restore it safe to you; for you did I buy it, not for myself.

Prithee, what do you say? By my trust in Gods and men, you make me suddenly to be quite ashamed of my error in speaking unkindly to my friend in return for his services.

How, then; do you now think that I am trusty and faithful?

I do think so, if all these matters are so as you relate them. But what means this garb of yours?

I’ll tell you.

I was digging up the treasure indoors, as a marriage-portion to be given to your daughter. But I will relate to you both this and the rest in the house. Follow me.

Stasimus.

Well!

Run with all haste to the Piraeus , and make but one run of it. There you will at once see the ship, on board of which I was carried hither.

Bid Sagario take care that the things are brought which I enjoined him, and do you go together with them. The duty has been already paid to the custom-house officer.

I make no delay.

Get you gone with all speed; and be back directly.

I am both there and here in an instant.

Do you follow me this way indoors.

I follow.

This man alone has remained a firm friend to my master; nor has he allowed his mind to swerve from unshaken fidelity, although I believe that he has undergone many troubles, by reason of the property and the children of my master. Still, this person, as I suspect, alone has maintained his fidelity.

This individual is the very first of all men; excelling all in pleasures and delights. So truly do the blessings which I desire befal me, that whatever I undertake is brought about, and constantly succeeds: so does one delight succeed other delights.

Just now, Stasimus, the servant of Lesbonicus, came to me at home. He told me that his master, Charmides, had arrived here from abroad. Now he must be forthwith waited upon by me, that the father may prove a more sure foundation in that matter on which I have treated with his son. I’ll go. But this door, with its creaking, inopportunely causes me delay.

There never was, nor will there be, nor yet do I think that there is a person upon the earth, whose fidelity and constancy towards his friend equals yours. For without you, it would have been that he would have ousted me out of this house.

If I have in any way acted well towards my friend, or have faithfully consulted his advantage, I seem not to be deserving of praise, but I think I am free from fault.

For a benefit which is conferred on a man for his own, at once is lost to the giver; what is given only as a loan, the same there is a right to ask back, whenever you please.

’Tis so as you say. But I cannot sufficiently-wonder at this, that he has betrothed his sister into a family so influential.

Aye; to Lysiteles, the son of Philto.

Why, he is mentioning my name.

He has got into a most worthy family.

Why do I hesitate to address these persons? But still, I think, I may wait awhile; for something is going to be said to the purpose about this matter.

O—

What’s the matter?

I forgot just now to tell you of it in-doors. As I was coming hither, a while ago, a certain swindling fellow met me—a very finished sharper. He told me that he was carrying a thousand gold pieces,

of my giving, to you and my son Lesbonicus; a fellow, that I know not who he was, nor have I ever seen him anywhere before. But why do you laugh?

He came by my directions, as though he was one bringing the gold from you to me, to give as a portion to your daughter; that your son, when I should give it to her from my own hands, might suppose that it had been brought from you,

and that he might not anyhow be enabled to discover the fact itself—that your treasure was in my possession, and demand it of me , as having belonged to his father, by the public laws.

Cleverly contrived, i’ troth.

Megaronides, a common well-wisher of yours and mine, planned this.

Well, I applaud his device, and approve of it.

Why, in my foolishness, while I fear to interrupt their discourse,

am I standing here alone, and am not forwarding the business that I was intending to transact? I will accost these persons.

Who is this person that is coming this way towards us?

Lysiteles salutes his father-in-law Charmides.

May the Gods grant you, Lysiteles, whatever you may desire.

Am I not worthy of a salutation?

Yes; health to you, Callicles. It is right that I should give him the preference: the tunic is nearer the skin than the cloak.

I trust that the Gods may direct your plans aright.

I hear that my daughter has been betrothed to you?

Unless you are unwilling.

Nay, I am not unwilling.

Do you, then, promise your daughter for my wife?

I promise a thousand gold Philippean pieces, as well, for a portion.

I care nothing about a portion.

If she pleases you, the portion which she presents to you must be pleased as well.

In fine, the object which you desire you shall not have, unless you shall take that which you do not desire.

He asks but justice.

He shall obtain it, you the advocate and the judge. On these conditions, do you engage that your daughter shall be given to me as my wife?

I do promise her.

And I promise her likewise.

O save you, my connexions by marriage.

But, in good sooth, there are some matters on account of which I still am angry with you.

What have I done?

Because you have allowed my son to become dissolute.

Had that been done by my consent, there would have been cause for you to blame me. But allow me to obtain of you this one thing which I entreat?

What is it?

You shall know. If he has done anything imprudently, that you will dismiss it all from your mind. Why do you shake your head?

My heart is tortured, and I fear—

What is it now?

Because he is such as I would that he was not,—by that am I tortured. I fear that if I refuse you what you ask of me, you may suppose that I am indifferent towards you. I won’t make difficulties, however; I will do as you wish.

You are a worthy man. I am going to call him out. (He goes to the door of the house of CHARMIDES) .

’Tis a shocking thing if one is not allowed to punish bad deserts just as they merit.

Open the door, open quickly, and call Lesbonicus out of doors, if he is at home.

The occasion is very sudden, therefore I wish him to come to me with all haste.

What person has been calling me out of doors with so loud a knocking?

’Tis your well.wisher and friend

Is all quite right?—tell me.

All’s well. I am glad to say that your father has returned from abroad.

Who says so?

I.

Have you seen him?

Aye, and you yourself may see him too.

O my father, my father, blessings on you.

Many blessings on you, my son.

If, father, any trouble —

Have no fear, nothing has happened. My affairs prosperously managed, I have returned safe. If you are only wishful to be steady, that daughter of Callicles has been promised you.

I will marry both her, father, and any one else besides that you shall bid me.

Although I have been angry with you,

one misery , in fact, is more than enough for one man.

Nay, rather, ’twere too little for him; for if he were to marry a hundred wives for his sins, it were too little.

But henceforth, in future, I will be steady.

So you say; if you will only do it.

Is there any reason why I should not bring my wife home to-morrow?

’Tis very good. And you, Lysiteles, be ready to be married the day after to-morrow.

Give your applause .