Syr. We will pretend that your mistress is his (pointing to Clinia).
Clit. Very fine! Tell me, what is he to do with his own? Is she, too, to be called his, as if one was not a sufficient discredit?
Syr. No—she shall be taken to your mother.
Clit. Why there?
Syr. It would be tedious, Clitipho, if I were to tell you why I do so; I have a good reason.
Clit. Stuff! I see no grounds sufficiently solid why it should be for my advantage to incur this risk.[43] (Turning as if going.)
Syr. Stay; if there is this risk, I have another project, which you must both confess to be free from danger.
Clit. Find out something of that description, I beseech you.
Syr. By all means; I’ll go meet her, and tell her to return home.
Clit. Ha! what was it you said?