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THE SELF-TORMENTOR.
119

modest establishment as this seems to have been, could each have entertained a young lady guest for some days (as seems to have been contemplated by Syrus) without each other's knowledge, is not so clear as it might be. But even on our modern stage we are continually obliged, if we go to be amused, to swallow glaring improbabilities; and to expect to criticise the Athenian or the Roman stage by the light of our modern ignorance, is an occupation, perhaps, more tempting than profitable.

The hospitable Chremes is somewhat astonished at the ways of the dashing lady to whom—all to oblige his son's friend—he has given shelter. He meets Menedemus the next morning, and warns him in a friendly way that Clinia's wife that is to be seems an extremely fast young person.

Chr. First, she's brought with her half a score of maids,
Tricked out, the jades, with gold and jewellery;
Why, if her lover were an Eastern prince,
He couldn't stand it—how on earth can you?
Men. (mildly). Oh! is she here, too?
Chr. Is she here, do you ask?
(Ironically). Oh yes!—she's here. There's no doubt as to that.
I know it to my cost. They've had one dinner,
She and her party. If I give another
Such as last night, why—I'm a ruined man.
She's very curious, mind you, as to her wines;
Knows the best brands,—and drinks them. "Ha!" she'd say,
"This wine's not dry enough, old gentleman—
"Get us some better, there's a dear old soul!"
I had to tap my oldest casks. My servants