Crito. She had another, when a child.
Chremes. What, Crito?
Can you remember?
Crito. I am hunting for it.
Pam. Shall then his memory oppose my bliss,
When I can minister the cure myself?
No, I will not permit it—Hark you, Chremes,
The name is Pasibula.
Crito. True.
Chremes. The same.