Sim. Doth he seek me?
Do you affirm that this Glycerium is
A free-born Attican?
Cri. Do you deny it?
Sim. Do you come hither thus prepared?
Cri. Prepared!
Sim. Prepared: to play the rogue, delude our youth,
And with impunity to spread your nets
And lures for generous youth; with promises
And vile solicitations, snaring them.
Cri. Are you insane?
Sim. From meretricious loves
To bind a marriage?
Pam. The stranger is upset
By these reproaches.
Chr. Simo, you know him not.
He is not what you say; he worthy is.
Sim. Or worthy or unworthy, how comes it
That he arrives at this unlooked for hour,
When I would wed my son unto another,
And heretofore unknown. Is that a tale
To be believed? say, Chremes.
Pam. If I did not fear
My father's wrath—ah! I could prompt a word.
Sim. A sycophant!
Cri. Ah!
Chr. Ah! pardon, Crito, pray,
He is angry.
Cri. Be it so—but he
Must curb his tongue, or I shall say in turn
What may displease him. What have I to do
