Just as, with gentlefolks, neglect of morals:
Indeed, in my poor sphere, I train my knavees
Exactly on your worship's principle. Look here,
I say, that dish 's too salt; this roast is burned—
That's not washed clean; that fricassee is good—
Just the right thing—be sure the next is like it.
The best advice that my poor wit affords
I strive to give (looking gravely at Demea, and copying
his manner). In short, I bid them study
As in a mirror, every dish I make,
Thus to draw lessons for their own instruction.
'Tis but a humble school, I feel, I train them in;
But we must do our best—man can't do more.—
(Bowing demurely). Can I oblige you, sir, in any way?
Dem. (angrily). Yes—mend your manners.[1]
The elder of the young men has in truth perplexities enough of his own to have justified him, if he had been less good-natured, in declining to involve himself in those of his brother. He has an unacknowledged wife, and just at this time the not very welcome addition of a baby. The news of his having been engaged in this brawl, and having carried off the singing-girl to his uncle's house, soon reaches the ears of Sostrata, his very respectable mother-in-law: who comes to the natural conclusion that Æschinus is faithless to his poor wife at this interesting crisis, and intends to repudiate her altogether, instead of presenting her to his uncle, as he had promised, and obtaining his sanction to their public union. By the advice of Geta, an old and trusty servant, who has remained with them in their reduced fortunes (for there are faithful slaves,
