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ACT II, SCENE i
PERILUPUS in Magneticus’ rags.

He who serves Cupid serves a harsh servitude. See how he dresses his slaves in splendid garb! If they thirst, all they may drink is tears. If they hunger, he sends them packing, stuffed with griefs and cares, a sorrowful dinner! But this is what I would far prefer even to the banquets of Sicily, as long as in the end it would be permitted me to taste the delights of my Mirabella. Oh my Mirabella! But why are you calling her yours, unhappy man? Alas, I greatly fear she has turned her mind to the physician. And if this should be so, now I am feigning death, but then I shall truly die. That I may find out about this, I am going into the hospital, thus disguised. But it’s Father What should I do? (Old Ucalegon, having left his daughter in the hospital to be healed of her wound, returns homeward, but meets with his son, whom he takes for Magneticus, in whose rags he was.)

Act II, Scene ii
UCALEGON, PERILUPUS

UCAL. While I am striving to expel this trouble from mind, it plants itself deeper there, and clings the more.
PERIL. How my heart skips beats for fear! Shall I dare deceive Father with these tricks?
UCAL. Oh my dearest Perilupus, with these eyes I’ll never see you again.
PERIL. Oh my dearest father, am I to allow you, who wish so well for me, to be so abundantly tormented?
UCAL. If die he must, would that he had died another kind of death, so that with one kiss, at least, I had been permitted to bid him farewell. Woe is me! (Weeps.)
PERIL. Most cruel Perilupus, is this the duty of a son, to afflict a loving father with false sadness? But love bids me do it. Run away, run away from here, worthless Cupid. If you are winged god, as the poets have sung, ply your wings, swiftly run away. Yet where am I being borne, heedless of the present opportunity? This occasion gives me the chance to test Mirabella’s faith, and it would be the height of folly to hope for such again. So this is the route I’ll take. (Meets his father, begging.) Reverend old sir, may you look with a kindly eye upon a man whom blind fortune has made more unhappy than Unhappiness herself.
UCAL. You cheater most foul, don’t you think I’ve been mocked enough already?
PERIL. Cheater?
UCAL. Go get hanged, you slyboots, whom once I treated with affection, but now with the greatest hatred.
PERIL. [Aside.] What’s this? I fear that Father has recognized me.
UCAL. You uncouth man, brought up with the worst of morals, do you think to turn a profit by my losses?
PERIL. [Aside.] Surer than sure, Father has a scent of what I’m about to do.
UCAL. Have you no regard for this hoary head?
PERIL. I have always held those venerable snows in the highest honor.
UCAL. So why have you imposed on me today with your lies?
PERIL. Me. How can I, when I’ve not exchanged a word with you today?
UCAL. Didn’t you tell me you had seen my son (and would my sighs could recall him to this life)?
PERIL. I saw him, or I’m not looking at myself right now.
UCAL. You continue to tell falsehoods? Your tricks and schemes do not escape me. Your face, hair, carriage, scars, eyes, and dress, your groans and sighs, these are all false and feigned. Shun these manners and return to yourself. My mildness urges me to give you advice rather than exact revenge. (Exit Ucalegon.)
PERIL. Father — I cannot guess how these things found their way to Father. I’ve a my mind to follow him, embrace his knees, and beg forgiveness. Now I very much want to meet Magneticus, so he will give me back my clothes. And here he is, he has come at the most opportune moment.

ACT II, SCENE iii
PERILUPUS, MAGNETICUS

PERIL. How royally he makes his entrance! What’s the reason?
MAG. What honors I’ve put on to day, along with these clothes! All the individuals who have long held me in contempt when I was poor and ragged now greet me with the greatest honor, decked out in these plumes. Everywhere they greet me like a lord. They keep asking who I am, and call me by I know not what distinguished titles, as if I were “Maecenas, born of a line of kings.” Ha, ha, he. Among these Molossus, at whom today I cast novel, biting insults, paid me worship as I passed by, bare-headed and on bended knee. Straightway I used my foot to send him into the dry ditch. Immediately if he had committed some offence against me, with tears and sighs he prayed, begging and pleading, that I forgive the injury I had done him. Ha, ha, he. Observe the power of physical splendor and elegance.
PERIL. Opportunely indeed you come across me, Magneticus.
MAG. Whew! Who’s this little man who address me with such familiarity? Ha?
PERIL. Your patron, who today placed you amidst the ample good fortunes of which you were just now boasting.
MAG. Who is it? Ha. ha. he. My patron? Ha, ha, he. Trust me, you have need of a patron. My patron? Ha, ha, he. Most blessed are the men who have a beggar for a patron. Ha, ha, he. My patron? Greetings, my most worthy, most splendid, most ornate Maecenas, my fairest patron. If you abandon me, I am ruined utterly. Ha, ha, he.
PERIL. By welcoming me with a sneer you ill repay me, and just now with favors I —
MAG. You did me favors? Favors ought to be elegant and expensive. Ha, ha, he.
PERIL. You deny it? Are you so quickly forgetful of me, and of yourself? Everything you possess is mine.
MAG. May I die an ill death of these clothes don’t soon lodge a claim for themselves.
PERIL. But give me back my clothes.
MAG. Ha, ha, he. Yours? The audacity of the man!
PERIL. Mine, I say.
MAG. Impudent fellow!
PERIL. You continue to insult me? I’ll show you what it is to wax proud in another man’s plumage. (Strikes him.)
MAG. What’s your plan, Perilupus?
PERIL. Can you return me my clothes?
MAG. By Hercules, I never had it in mind to do anything else. Do you imagine I said these things in earnest?
PERIL. Why shouldn’t I think so, villain?
MAG. You’re too suspicious. And such are all of us to whom Fortune has not been indulgent. For trust me, Perilupus, there is nobody for whom I wish well more than yourself.
PERIL. If that comes from the heart, I thank you.
MAG. Indeed, from my heart’s heart. I know well enough your love-business is proceeding well, since you return so quickly.
PERIL. Alas, most unfortunately I met my father as I was approaching this house.
MAG. Ha, ha, he.
PERIL. You laugh?
MAG. Continue.
PERIL. No sooner did he see me —
MAG. Than he accused you of trickery and lying.
PERIL. Just so.
MAG. I thought so.
PERIL. I’m afraid that Father got an inkling of the schemes I am contriving.
MAG. You’ve no reason to fear. Rather, dismiss this base concern, and have an easy mind.
PERIL. But if Father gets wind of these things, he’ll throw all my plans into confusion.
MAG. Bah! In these matters your father has as much of an idea as do those who live in Spain. You should think that what your father spewed forth against you was said against me. For today I teased the old man in the costume you are wearing. That’s why you got these complaints and accusations.
PERIL. Is what you say true?
MAG. If not, then the Sibyl’s leaves are false.
PERIL. I believe your For there many things which raise my spirits.
MAG. So continue doing what you have begun.
PERIL. I’ll do so gladly.
MAG. You have good sense. Though your first assault went amiss, this will succeed, have no doubt. (Exit Perilupus.)

ACT II, SCENE iv
MAGNETICUS, PYTHIOLUS

MAG. What a great evil I have accomplished with so few words! I came close to losing these natty clothes. But when I ponder, I’m handsomely wretched. For within them there’s not even a groat of money. But now I have a way to fill my pockets with silver to the bursting-point. A certain heir from Suffolk has lately come down here to London from the university. Just now I left him in the tavern, but I’ll go back and put the touch on him for my profit. If I can artfully get the man on my hook, I shall eat, drink, squander, and spend to the hilt. And see, out he comes. Ha, he’s as proud as if he had captured a Greek shield. But I’ll approach the fellow. Oh, Pythiolus!
PYTH. Oh Magneticus!
MAG. May happiness be your companion.
PYTH. And may it attend you. How do you like this plume and sword? Aren’t I gotten up handsomely?
MAG. By Pollux, to me you seem to be the very Alexander.
PYTH. Alexander? Pish. Alexander? Pish. Alexander? Pish. I care naught for that youth of Pella. Alexander? Pish.
MAG. He was a very brave lad.
PYTH. He was a very great fool.
MAG. He accomplished many feats worthy of a Zeus.
PYTH. Worthy of a goose. What me to run through all his deeds? First, after my father Philip died, I shall yield myself to sorrow for a whole — woe is me — But enough of tears.
MAG. You aren’t shedding a one.
PYTH. Bah! That’s the way of a princely heirs. Greece long having been suppressed, I turn my army towards Thebes. (He flourisheth his sword as if he were fighting with the Grecians.) Ta, ra, ra, ra, ra. (Flourishes with his sword, as if he were at battle.) How red my sword grows with Theban blood! (He makes haste about the stage.)
MAG. What are you doing now?
PYTH. I hasten to the city of Gordis, and enter the temple of Jove. And behold the cart of Gordius. Am I to be a laughing-stock for the oracle? With this sword I’ll untie Gordian’s Knot. (Cuts it with his sword.)
MAG. What are you going to do? (Pythiolus moves his legs, as if he were going up a hill.)
PYTH. Oh, I’m climbing Mt. Taurus. (He makes a sour face.)
MAG. Why are you furrowing your brow?
PYTH. While striving too quickly to reach the summit I bumped my head against a star. Now I’m climbing down, and I’ll betake myself to Tarsus. Good, how I like the pleasantness of the River Cydnus! See, I’m naked and diving into its silvery bosom. (Swims up and down the stage.) How vigorously Alexander swims! Now I’ll declare war on the Persians. Ta, ra, ra, ra, ra. Woe to Darius! (Flourishes with his sword.). What more could Alexander do? Now, the world conquered, I can scarce refrain from tears. Heigh ho.
MAG. Why are you crying?
PYTH. Hoo, hoo, alas.
MAG. What’s the matter?
PYTH. Alas, there are no more worlds — alas, no more worlds —. Ha, ha, he. How vigorously Alexander cries!
MAG. You far surpass that Macedonian boy in virtue.
PYTH. Now I’ll go find some painter, so he may graphically depict my excellent beauty. For Alexander had his Apelles.
MAG. Abbreviate your journey, I have the ability to do that.
PYTH. Are your tools readied?
MAG. Enough for a painting.
PYTH. So come, and make sure you show yourself an artist.
MAG. Just compose your expression.
PYTH. I’m afraid I’ll laugh. (He stands demure a while, and then bursts out into laughter.) Ha, ha, he.
MAG. Don’t laugh.
PYTH. I won’t. Ha, ha, he. Now I must laugh. This is obviously a monkey.
MAG. It’s your portrait.
PYTH. Really, villain? I’ll depict you prettily.
MAG. Trust me, that’s what your face looks like when you laugh.
PYTH. Ha?
MAG. When you laugh.
PYTH. Try again. Now I’ve forbidden my face to smile, I’ll assume a severe expression. (He strives again to hold his countenance, but cannot.). Ha, ha, he. let me see. Gods damn you, this is the veriest likeness of a donkey.
MAG. By Jove, when you smile you are very like a donkey.
PYTH. Ha?
MAG. When you smile.
PYTH. Make another attempt. Ha, ha, he. I can’t keep my face under control. Get away, you incompetent painter. Among my other Alexander-fooleries this takes the prize, that I shall spend the remainder of my life at parties, so that you may me see me surpass your Alexander in vices. Amidst the cups, can you sacrifice some Barsine to my lust?
MAG. I know a girl in this city, far fairer than Barsine or Darius’ daughter Statira.
PYTH. Her name?
MAG. Winifreda.
PYTH. She’s enrolled among the saints.
MAG. And with justice. For she is wholly celestial, and breathes divinity. Her eyes are a pair of stars. Her locks shine golden, you’d say they’re hanging suns. Her cheeks are whiter than snow, but that they are stained with a rival red. As often as I look upon them, I seem to see Jupiter, clad in a purple garment, celebrating his triumph on the Milky Way. Her lips are Cupid’s couch, from them drips nectar and ambrosia.
PYTH. Lead me to her, I beg you. I have no doubt she’ll readily fall in love with me.
MAG. How could it be otherwise? A man in whom so exist so many elegancies and graces. But —
PYTH. What but?
MAG. She is expensive, headstrong, greedy and fickle. The road that leads to her must be paved with gold and precious stone. You want her door to be open to you? You must knock vigorously with presents and gifts.
PYTH. Nobody gives more lavishly, nor can, the gods be thanked. You hear? My pockets are speaking a hundred pounds. Furthermore, I have a servant to whom my departing dad entrusted a fat purse, from which I might help myself when need arises.
MAG. There’s need now.
PYTH. Now?
MAG. Now, I tell you. Let’s go see the man.
PYTH. On no account.
MAG. Nobody’s ever had a more evil servant. Whatever I do, he opposes me. If I drink or whore a trifle, immediately he lays into me: “Thus, you reprobate? Thus, you rascal? Thus — All this I’ll tell your father.”
MAG. You are describing a monstrosity of a servant But I’ll find a way by which I can put him in our power.
PYTH. That’s impossible. For he’s very pure, and a singular athlete of piety.
MAG. I’ll make him stay up with us of nights, whore, and yield to our whim.
PYTH. These are words. But if you prove this in fact, I’ll build altars to you and offer up fat sacrifices.
MAG. Let’s do it. Follow me. (Exeunt.)

ACT II, SCENE v
MIRABELLA, ARCHIATER

MIR. Are there witnesses to my sorrow even here? They’ve gone away. But alas! Another bother! To have no place granted me where I may mourn my Perilupus alone!
ARCH. Where are you fleeing, Mirabella?
MIR. Me flee? How could I in my unhappiness, I whom so many sorrows impede and weigh down?
ARCH. Put them on my shoulders.
MIR. Rather you make mine heavier, until their weight shall sink me down to the Underworld. Here at length the ability of seeing my Perilupus will be granted me, and also of hugging him.
ARCH. But think what a fearful, horrid place is the Underworld.
MIR. Ah, physician, don’t call that place unpleasant where lodges my Perilupus . Wherever he plants his foot, suddenly springs up a rose. Pretty violets seek after his footsteps, drooping their heads the easier to kiss them. Oh sweetest Perilupus! Upon your advent everything used to smile and put on happy faces. If you were present now, these clouds upon my brow, and my mind’s sad shades would quickly vanish.
ARCH. So do you want me to show you your Perilupus?
MIR. Can you show me Perilupus? There’s nobody in the world I’d rather see now. Where is he, pray?
ARCH. He is here, with fixed eyes he is gazing upon you.
MIR. Oh Perilupus, your return from the shades — (Turns herself about on the sudden.) Ah, I see nobody, I am nothing.
ARCH. Don’t you see your Perilupus?
MIR. Ah, would that I could, just once! Afterwards I would bear blindness with an easy mind.
ARCH. Then turn around, now do you see him?
MIR. Now I am seeing the same.
ARCH. But wipe your eyes. Perhaps this abundance of tears has affected the keenness of your sight.
MIR. Ah, there’s nobody. Why do you begin to deceive me with these tricks, so obvious?
ARCH. Me deceive you? By Galen’s ashes, Perilupus is just as much here as I am.
MIR. Lead me to him, I pray you. For I see nobody but yourself. (She gives him her hand.)
ARCH. Now, MIrabella, you’re holding your Perilupus in your hand?
MIR. Mine? How unlike him. Alas, how great the difference! Nor in Nature’s fair structure is there an equal copy of my Perilupus.
ARCH. Ah, Mirabella, I admit that on the outside I bear an appearance that is scarcely like his. But if with your eyes you could see what was concealed within, you would see his truest likeness, nay, Perilupus his very self: the same heart, the same love, the same emotions, the same cares for you, sorrows, and concerns. Inwardly I am wholly, wholly Perilupus.
MIR. I don’t understand the sense of your speech.
ARCH. So do you want me to speak openly these things which I have kept so long concealed? I solemnly swear by your eyes, which have the strength to give the world light without the sun’s assistance, and to make the day yet brighter, you were never so dear to your Perilupus as you are now to me.
MIR. You love me? Woe is me. (Mirabella breaks into tears.)
ARCH. What mean these tears, the prettiest of all tears?
MIR. They mean to quench your love’s fires.
ARCH. But in vain. Bellows-like, with these sighs I’ll blow them up again.
MIR. Uncouth man, do you think I have been brought up so illiberally that I should erase all my love for Perilupus, and transfer it to yourself?
ARCH. But he has fled.
MIR. All the more reason to pursue him.
ARCH. But to be desperately in love with absent men?
MIR. For me, absent things are always dearest, things present spoil their goodness with I know not what tedium. So you want to gain my love? Shun me as much as you can. Good-bye. How my head aches! Tears and great sorry have made me trunk. I’ll betake myself within and sleep off this most sad intoxication. (Exit.)
ARCH. “Shun me as much as you can.” How much lightning is within this word! Straightway it strikes my mind and nearly overthrows the fabric of my whole heart. This “shun” has pierced my breast like a storm, dragging and sweeping all along with itself. What should I do? I am resolved to seek out some high place. For since Mirabella has refused to requite my love, for me only death is welcome, and life unhappy. (Exit.)

ACT II, SCENE vi
MAGNETICUS, IPSWICHUS

MAG. Has the physician departed? Pythiolus has put money in my hand, he’s begged my greatest help, that I might keep a careful watch on his servant, whom he calls by the obscure name of Ipswichus, and bring him over to our side. And with care I shall devote my energies to this business. For I shall not be serving just his will, but also my own convenience, inasmuch as this Ipswichus is carrying a treasure with him. (Enter Ipswichus.) Jupiter! What’s this monstrosity? Does it come from Poland or Arabia? It’’s worth displaying to the crowd at the next St. Bartholomew’s Fair.
IPS. Look around, Ipswichus, look around.
MAG. What a stroke of luck! It’s him. I’ll withdraw here, so if I may learn from his words anything useful for the schemes I have in hand —
IPS. Look around again. Be cautious, Ipswichus, lest any of that gang of reprobates overhear the counsel thou tak’st with thyself. Verily, nobody is spying.
MAG. Nobody who wishes you good health.
IPS. Now’s the time, Ipswichus, to look out for thyself. Verily, up to now thou hast done a good job of looking out for thy reputation. “Only Ipswichus is virtuous,” they exclaim; “only Ipswich is upright, only Ipswichus is pure, only Ipswichus is innocent.” But verily, Ipswichus is in truth a reprobate, a scoundrel and a scofflaw. This cannot be long, unless artful pains are taken. For I have laid over-familiar hands on one of the holy Sisters, I have kissed her more deeply than is reasonable. Verily, I have made her pregnant. Away with that profane word. I haven’t made her pregnant, no, no, no. I have only given her a lesson, verily, I have only given her a lesson in obedience.
MAG. Ha, ha, he. You gave her a fine lesson!
IPS. If this should become public, the jig is up with my reputation.
MAG. This man is ours.
IPS. Verily, now I am thinking how I might counter this disease. What if I earnestly deny the deed? Verily, thou mayst lie, as long as thou guard against swearing.
MAG. Verily, no man has lied until now.
IPS. But rather I shall commit whatever she bears to the waters of the Thames. I shall not drown it, no, no, no. I’ll only give it a lesson in the art of swimming.
MAG. Gods damn you and your lessons.
IPS. By one and the same exertion I shall free the babe from the future troubles of this profane world, and preserve myself safe and sound from this threatening disgrace.
MAG. Oh the scoundrel! He conceals crime with atrocious, more unspeakable crime.
IPS. Good! I reject this. Something more pleasing comes opportunely to mind. By many arguments I’ll persuade this sister of mine that she travel to New England immediately. If I persuade her, all will be safe. And verily, here’s my Lynna.

Act II, Scene vii
IPSWICHUS, LYNNA, MAGNETICUS in hiding.

LYN. My Ipswichus.
IPS. My Lynna. (They kiss.)
MAG. How they kiss like a pair of limpets! She’s had her lessons.
IPS. I was looking for thee, my Lynna.
LYN. And I for thee, verily, my Ipswichus. Dost thou fare well, Brother mine?
IPS. Excellently, in verity, if thou art well, my Sanctity.
LYN. Verily, I have never been in poorer health.
IPS. I grieve, my Integrity.
LYN. But it is nothing to grieve, unless thou art my helper.
IPS. Just name the disease, and I shall find thee thy remedy.
LYN. But for me the very remedy is a disease.
IPS. But let me know it, whatever it is.
LYN. I do not want to.
IPS. Prithee.
LYN. In verity, a fancy possesses me wholly, and a burning desire. But I am ashamed to speak.
IPS. Ah, do not hold thy silence.
LYN. To bite thine ear.
IPS. Ah, don’t wish it, Sister mine. Rather, restrain thy lust.
LYN. As if a pregnant girl has the power to calm her appetite! I am undone, unless thou satisfy my desire.
IPS. Woe is me! What should I do? The pregnant must be gratified in whatever they desire, or they start their labor-pains before their day, and give birth on the spot. The thing itself advises me to suffer anything rather than let this happen.
MAG. Ha, ha, he.
IPS. Thou must be humored, Sister mine. But thou must give thy word beforehand that thou wilst take a tender nibble.
LYN. Verily thou hast it.
IPS. For its sake, verily, here is mine ear for thee, but give me a tender nibble. (She bites him. He roars.) Oh, my ear! Oh softer, pray, softer.
MAG. Ha, ha, he.
IPS. Remember thy promise.
LYN. I have enough.
IPS. Is it to thy taste?
LYN. In verity, more than a kingly banquet.
MAG. Ha, ha, he.
LYN. But there is another thing, Brother mine, that troubles my mind.
IPS. Poor me! I fear for my other ear. What it is, my dear?
LYN. Dost thou see? Dost thou see? (Shows her great belly.)
IPS. Hold thy tongue, my dear. I have a foretaste of what thou wilt say.
LYN. In verity, I shall do what thou wilst.
IPS. Then fly to New England as quick as thou canst.
LYN. Fie, fie, in verity, I do not want to. Am I to bid my homeland farewell forever? I do not want to, verily.
IPS. Thou dost not understand me aright. Do you believe that Ipswichus can be estranged from his Lynna forever? Ah, I do not wish this forever, but only that thou pass so much of thy life as thou must to relieve thyself of this nuisance you bear.
MAG. Ha, ha, he. You call it a nuisance?
LYN. Sound advice, by heaven! But when I land there, while I am a stranger, I shall find nobody for a helper.
IPS. Ah, do not say that. I wish thee to compose thy countenance in this manner. Hold thy hands thus. Always show the whites of thine eyes. Let “verily” and “in verity” always be in thy mouth, and have no doubt, every Brother will receive thee sumptuously and with kindness.
LYN. But if they ask about my husband, I know not what to answer.
IPS. There are many things — Thou art a widow —
MAG. The sly scoundrel!
IPS. Thou must soak this word with thy tears, or pour forth with a sigh, “Alas, dearest husband mine, would that it were allowed for thee to live with me, or me with thee!” Trust me, when they behold the grief which thou seem’st to feel for thy dead husband, henceforth they will not say one word about him to thee.
MAG. The sun never shone on a shrewder man.
LYN. Verily, thy advice pleases me.
IPS. Go straight home and prepare thy journey. I shall go to the harbor to hire a ship. (Exit Lynna.)

ACT II, SCENE viii
MAGNETICUS, IPSWICHUS

IPS. Ha, ha, he. How well this business at hand has sped! How I love and applaud myself for this advice! Hurrah, Ipswichus, I can scarcely refrain from patting thy head. Hurrah, goodman, thou hast dealt well with this. Thou hast a clever and subtle wit.
MAG. Why hesitate to approach the man? I shall glance at him as if unexpectedly. Foh, foh, what smell assaults my nostrils so strongly?
IPS. Do I stink?
MAG. It’s strange, what thing has such a foul odor?
IPS. Shut thy posterior door.
MAG. Good heavens, I smell a man, lying, false — snuff — profane, troublemaking, adulterous.
IPS. [Aside.] As far as I can hear, this hunting-dog has caught my scent.
MAG. [Crossing over.] And behold the beast! Is it you, you most sweet of things, who have issued this odor so hostile to my nostrils?
IPS. Verily I perceive nothing, save the foulness of thy breath.
MAG. Foh, it’s the very man. Ha, ha, he? Who twisted your ear? Why is its lobe so red?
IPS. Verily, it blushes to hear thee speak such profane stuff.
MAG. It shames thee to hear them, but not to do them.
IPS. Really, thou rascal? Thou are of that number, which calls me and the pious Brethren like me —
MAG. First-rate impostors.
IPS. Do they not cease to wound me with their insults?
MAG. Hey, you, do you know Lynna? (Aside.) I’ve thrown a scruple into the fellow.
IPS. Verily, I am hearing her name for the first time now.
MAG. You deny it? This man surpasses me in rascality and impudence.
IPS. I abominate thy raillery, verily, I abominate it.
MAG. You deny to know the girl you corrupted, you little child of Venus?
IPS. Me? (Claps his hands.)
MAG. Why are you clapping? As if this were well-acted?
IPS. Would that the earth would yawn and swallow me alive, if I ever laid eyes on this Lynna thou nam’st.
MAG. Most impudent of all the men I’ve seen! You haven’t corrupted her, Ipswichus mine. No, no, no. You’ve only given her lessons, you’ve only given her lessons in obedience. Ha?
IPS. [Aside.] I’m undone. I’m ruined. Who has overheard these things?
MAG. Hurray, Ipswichus, thou hast dealt well with this. Thou hast an honest and subtle wit.
IPS. I beg you, I pray you, I entreat you, don’t make this public. Alas, I’m ruined.
MAG. No worries, Ipswichus. I’m a scoundrel of your rank and order. Yet this is what particularly irritates me —
IPS. Ah, prithee.
MAG. To have met a man today who far outdoes me in clever, sly deceptions.
IPS. Verily, beneath this handsome grass —
MAG. — lurks many a snake, and very artful ones. Why stand here idly? Let’s go in to the tavern.
IPS. Verily, that is where my mind is. But I fear —
MAG. What?
IPS. — lest Pythiolus see me.
MAG. So you refuse? I’ll publish everything.
IPS. No, no, I’m entirely at your service. But we must beware lest Pythiolus surprise us carousing like Greeks.
MAG. Now I praise you. I shall offer you Caecuban wine, old Falernian, and a jar of the vintage of the consulship of Bibulus.
IPS. Canst thou get me a supply of girls?
MAG. Most elegant ones, a supply which will elegantly intoxicate you with the sweet nectar of their kisses.
IPS. A blessed drunkenness, verily!
MAG. You will be drunk, do not doubt it.
IPS. Get away, not drunk no, no. I shall be forgetful, verily, forgetful.
MAG. Good, you will be good and forgetful.
IPS. Oh how I itch to give her a lesson!
MAG. But we must beware of Pythiolus.
IPS. Verily, we must be very ware. (Exeunt.)

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