They are my master's due. (Bowing to Callipho.) My
second best,
Such as are left me, sir, I offer you.
Simo (gruffly). Good morning. Where may you be going, eh?
Pseud. I'm standing still, sir, as you might observe
(striking an attitude).
Si. Look at the fellow's posture, Callipho!
Stands like a lord there!
Callipho. Well, he's not afraid;
That's a good sign.
Pseud. I hold, sir, that the slave
Who has an honest conscience (lays his hand on his heart)
should feel proud,
Especially in the presence of his master.
Si. Hark to him! Now he'll so philosophise,
And choke you with a flood of clever words,
You'd think he was not Pseudolus, but Socrates.[1]
Pseud. You hold me in contempt, sir—that I know;
You do not trust me; ah! you'd have me be
A rascal; no, sir—I'll be honest still.
His master asks him whether he can answer honestly a few questions about his son: and Pseudolus assures him that his replies shall be "as the oracles of Delphi." His son has got into trouble? Yes. Owes money? Yes. He, Pseudolus, is trying to procure it for him? Yes. Probably intending, by some tricks or cajolery, to extract it out of his—the father's—pocket? Pseudolus confesses that he had such intention. And, after
- ↑ This reputation for "sophistry" seems to have followed Socrates from the pages of Aristophanes to those of his brother dramatist.
