The Comedies of Terence

by Terence

There was I sitting, gaping like a fool,

And running up, if any one appear’d,

—“Are you, Sir, a Myconian?”—“No, not I.”——

—“But your name’s Callidemides?”—“Not it.”——

“And have not you a guest here of the name

Of Pamphilus?”—No—no—All No.

“And have not you a guest here of the name

Of Pamphilus?”—All answer’d, No.

In short, I don’t believe there’s such a man.

At last I grew asham’d, and so sneak’d off.