Shake his weak mind, and melt it to compassion.
Give him a wife: by intercourse with her,
Knit by the bonds of wedlock, soon I hope,
He’ll rise above the guilt that sinks him now.
Chremes. So you believe: for me, I can not think
That he’ll be constant, or that I can bear it.
Simo. How can you know, unless you make the trial?
Chremes. Aye, but to make that trial on a daughter
Is hard indeed.
Simo. The mischief, should he fail,