Dem. What’s the matter, Phædria?
You’ve clapp’d up a fine marriage in my absence.
Phæd. What! are you angry with him about that?
Geta. Well counterfeited!
Dem. Should I not be angry?
Let me but set eyes on him, he shall know
That his offenses have converted me
From a mild father to a most severe one.
Phæd. He has done nothing, Uncle, to offend you.
Dem. See, all alike! the whole gang hangs together: