that Syrus has been fooling him: for he meets Micio Just coming out of his own house. He attacks him with the story of this new escapade of his precious ward Æschinus; but his brother listens with a composure which is exceedingly irritating.
Demea. He's got a wife!
Micio. Well—better he than I.
Dem. She's got a baby!
Mic. Doing well, I hope?
Dem. The jade's an absolute beggar!
Mic. So I hear.
Dem. You mean you'll take her in without a sixpence?
Mic. I do.
Dem. What's to become of them?
Mic. Of course
They must come here.
Dem. (ironically). Why, you seem quite delighted!
Mic. No—not if I could alter it. Look ye, brother,
Man's life is as it were a game of tables;
If that the throw we want will not turn up,
Skill must correct such luck as fortune gives us.
It is the better side of the Epicurean philosophy, put into few and terse words; and we shall probably not be wrong in assuming the lines to be pretty closely translated from Menander, who may not improbably have had the idea from Epicurus himself.
Another precious example of his brother's domestic discipline meets Demea as he comes away from this unsatisfactory interview. It is Syrus, so drunk as to have lost even the semblance of respectful demeanour.
Syr. (staggering up against Demea). Oho! you're back
again, are you, Mr Wisdom?
