I chanc’d on one of my day laborers,
Who had but newly left my farm, and told me
Ctesipho was not there. What shall I do?
Ctes. (peeping out.) Syrus? Syrus. What? | (Apart.) | |
Ctes. Does he seek me? Syrus. Yes. | ||
Ctes. Undone! Syrus. Courage! |
Dem. (to himself). Plague on it, what ill luck is this?
I can’t account for it: but I believe
That I was born for nothing but misfortunes.
I am the first who feels our woes; the first
Who knows of them; the first who tells the news:
And come what may, I bear the weight alone.