Chrem. What mean you?
Mene. Give me leave: that I may take
No respite from my toil.
Chrem. I’ll not allow it. (Taking away the rakes.)
Mene. Ah, you do wrong.
Chrem. What, and so heavy too! (Weighing them in his hand.)
Mene. Such my desert.
Chrem. Now speak. (Laying down the rakes.)
Mene. One only son
I have.—Have, did I say?—Had I mean, Chremes.