Sostra. Nay indeed, husband, if you don’t take care,
You’ll bring some kind of mischief on your son:
I can’t imagine how a thought so idle
Could come into your head.
Chrem. Still, woman, still
D’ye contradict me? Did I ever wish
For any thing in all my life, but you
In that same thing oppos’d me, Sostrata?
Yet now if I should ask wherein I’m wrong,
Or wherefore I act thus, you do not know.