That you should neither want, nor waste my substance.
When you, whom fair succession first made heir,
Stood self-degraded by unworthiness,
I went to those the next in blood to you,
Committing and consigning all to them.
There shall your weakness, Clitipho, be sure
Ever to find a refuge; food, and raiment,
And roof to fly to.
Clit. Ah me!
Chrem. Better thus,