And he with yours: sad life, where things are so!
You ne’er betray’d your tenderness to him;
Nor durst he place that confidence in you,
Which well becomes the bosom of a father.
Had that been done, this had not happen’d to you.
Mene. True, I confess; but I was most in fault.
Chrem. All, Menedemus, will, I hope, be well,
And trust, your son will soon return in safety.
Mene. Grant it, good Gods!
Chrem. They will. Now, therefore, since