Geta. Just now, at the harbor—
Ant. What, my father—?
Geta. You’ve hit it.
Ant. Ruined outright!
Phæd. Pshaw!
Ant. What am I to do?
Phæd. (to Geta.) What is it you say?
Geta. That I have seen his father, your uncle.
Ant. How am I, wretch that I am, now to find a remedy for this sudden misfortune? But if it should be my fortune, Phanium, to be torn away from you, life would cease to be desirable.
Geta. Therefore, Antipho, since matters are thus, the more need have you to be on your guard; fortune helps the brave.