Crito. And ye; how go ye on here?—pretty well?
Mysis. We?—as we can, as the old saying goes,
When as we would we can not.
Crito. And Glycerium,
Has she found out her parents?
Mysis. Would she had!
Crito. Not yet! an ill wind blew me hither then.
For truly, had I been appris’d of that,
I’d ne’er have set foot here: for this Glycerium
Was always call’d and thought to be her sister.