Your son was one, and a friend . . .
Chr.I know: Philolaches.
I see.
Men. It seems they had drawn from you, I know not how,
Somewhat too harsh a picture of me: so ’twas resolved
To put me to proof.
Chr.Menedemus, since ’twas my own son,
It does not matter; for now my account with him is closed.
Men. What say you?
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