Geta. He has attached himself to another woman.
Sos. Woe unto wretched me!
Geta. And he makes no secret of it; he himself has carried her off openly from a procurer.
Sos. Are you quite sure of this?
Geta. Quite sure; I saw it myself, Sostrata, with these same eyes.
Sos. Ah wretched me! What is one now to believe, or whom believe? Our own Æschinus, the very life of us all, in whom all our hopes and comforts were centred! Who used to swear he could never live a single day without her! Who used to say, that he would place the infant on his father’s knees,[48] and thus entreat that he might be allowed to make her his wife!
Geta. Dear mistress, forbear weeping, and rather consider what must be done for the future in this matter. Shall we submit to it, or shall we tell it to any person?
Can. Pooh, pooh! are you in your senses, my good man? Does this seem to you a business to be made known to any one?
Geta. I, indeed, have no wish for it. In the first place, then, that his feelings are estranged from us, the thing itself declares. Now, if we make this known, he’ll deny it, I’m quite sure; your reputation and your daughter’s character will then be in danger. On the other hand, if he were fully to confess it, as he is in love with another woman, it would not be to her advantage to be given to him. Therefore, under either circumstance, there is need of silence.
Sos. Oh! by no means in the world! I’ll not do it.