Mysis. You’re raving mad.
Was ’t not yourself!
Davus. I charge you not a word,
But what I ask you. (Apart to Mysis.)
Mysis. Do you threaten me?
Davus. Whence comes this child? (Loud.)
Mysis. From our house.
Davus. Ha! ha! ha!
No wonder that a harlot has assurance.
Chremes. This is the Andrian’s servant-maid, I take it.