Mic. (to Sostrata, within.) Every thing’s ready with us, as I told you, Sostrata, when you like.—Who, I wonder, is making my door fly open with such fury?
Enter Demea in haste, from the house of Micio.
Dem. Alas! what shall I do? How behave? In what terms exclaim, or how make my complaint? O heavens! O earth! O seas of Neptune!
Mic. (apart.) Here’s for you! he has discovered all about the affair; and of course is now raving about it; a quarrel is the consequence; I must assist him,[84] however. Dem. See, here comes the common corrupter of my children.
Mic. Pray moderate your passion, and recover yourself.
Dem. I have moderated it; I am myself; I forbear all reproaches; let us come to the point: was this agreed upon between us,—proposed by yourself, in fact,—that you were not to concern yourself about my son, nor I about yours? Answer me.
Mic. It is the fact,—I don’t deny it.
Dem. Why is he now carousing at your house? Why are you harboring my son? Why do you purchase a mistress for him, Micio? Is it at all fair, that I should have any less justice from you, than you from me? Since I do not concern myself about your son, don’t you concern yourself about mine.
Mic. You don’t reason fairly.
Dem. No?