Pam.I am.
Ph.Throw all the blame on me.
Pam. I hear him.
Re-enter Chremes, speaking as he comes out to Sostrata within.
Chr.It’s high time, wife, you stopped this precious noise,
Deafening the gods with singing all your confounded praises
For finding your daughter. You judge them by yourself perhaps,
And think they can’t understand a simple thing, unless
It’s told them a hundred times.
(To Pam.) Now, sir, ’tis you I want.1230