Dor. Yes.
Phæd. Great Jupiter! (Pretending to be in a passion with him.)
What a most wicked scoundrel’s this?
Pyth. Alas!
Don’t you believe, then, we’ve been vilely us’d?
Phæd. No wonder if you credit what he says.
I don’t know what to do. (Aside.)—Here, harkye, Sirrah!
Deny it all again. (Apart to Dorus.)—What! can’t I beat
The truth out of you, rascal?—have you seen
My brother Chærea? (Aloud, and beating him.)