’Tis wonderful how much a wiser man
I am than my old master. My misfortunes
I have consider’d well.—At his return
Doom’d to grind ever in the mill, beat, chain’d,
Or set to labor in the fields; of these
Nothing will happen new. If aught falls out
Beyond my hopes, all that I’ll count clear gain.
—But why delay t’accost th’ old gentleman,
And speak him fair at first? (Phædria goes forward.)
Dem. Methinks I see