Da. Indeed I would.
Si. Then, if I catch you scheming
To disappoint this match of ours to-day,
By way of showing your own curst cleverness,
I'll have you flogged within an inch of life,
And sent to the mill—on this condition, look you—
When I let you out, I'll go and grind myself.
Now, sir, d'ye understand me? Is that plain?
Da. Oh, perfectly! (bowing). You state the case so clearly.
With such entire correctness of expression,
So free from ambiguity—it's quite charming!
But Davus is not deterred by these threats. He meets Chremes going about with a very gloomy face, not at all like a happy father-in-law: he meets his footboy coming home from market with a penny bundle of pot-herbs and a dish of sprats—very unlike provisions for a wedding-supper. He peeps into their kitchen; no culinary preparations whatever. Moreover, there is no music, as there should be, before the door of the bride's house. He is satisfied that his suspicions are correct; that there is really no wedding on foot, at least for the present; that Chremes still firmly refuses to allow his daughter to marry a young man whom lie believes to be married already; and that Simo is only using this pretended renewal of the engagement as a test for ascertaining how matters really stand between his son and the fair Andrian. He goes in search of his young master to acquaint him with this discovery, and to advise him to checkmate his father by consenting at once to the proposed marriage; which, as there is no bride forthcoming, will
