’Tis laudable to spoil his son? Alas!
I think I see the day when Æschinus
Shall fly for want, and list himself a soldier.
Syrus. O Demea! that is to be wise: to see,
Not that alone which lies before your feet,
But ev’n to pry into futurity.
Dem. What! is the Music-Girl at your house?
Syrus. Aye,
Madam’s within.
Dem. What! and is Æschinus