Par. Such is so, I tell you.
Pam. Who is there happier than I, and, in fact, more full of joyousness? What am I to present you for these tidings? What?—what? I know not.
Par. But I know.
Pam. What?
Par. Why, nothing; for neither in the tidings nor in myself do I know of there being any advantage to you.
Pam. What! am I to suffer you, who have caused me, when dead, to be restored from the shades to life—to leave me unrewarded? Oh, you deem me too thankless! But look—I see Bacchis standing before the door; she’s waiting for me, I suppose; I’ll accost her.
Bacch. Save you, Pamphilus!
Pam. Oh Bacchis! Oh my Bacchis—my preserver!
Bacch. It is a fortunate thing, and gives me great delight.
Pam. By your actions, you give me reason to believe you, and so much do you retain your former charming qualities, that wherever you go, the meeting with you, your company, your conversation, always give pleasure.