Egomet, apud me si quid stulte facere cupias, prohibeam. sed ego apud me te esse ob eam rem, miles cum veniat, volo, quia, cum tu aderis, huic mihique haud faciet quisquam iniuriam:  tu prohibebis, et eadem opera tuo sodali operam dabis; 60 et ille adveniens tuam med esse amicam suspicabitur. quid, amabo, opticuisti?

(quite artless) If you felt like doing anything silly there with me, I’d stop you my own self.  But this is why I want you to be at my house when the Captain comes—­because no one will do her (pointing to sister) or me any harm when you’re by.  You’ll prevent it, and be helping along your chum at the same time; and when that military man arrives, he’ll take me for your sweetheart.  Now, now, my dearie,—­ why so silent?

Pistoc.

  Quia istaec lepida sunt memoratui: 
  eadem in usu atque ubi periclum facias, aculeata sunt,
  animum fodicant, bona distimulant, facta et famam sauciant.

Because those words of yours have a pretty sound:  but when a fellow takes ’em up and tries ’em they’re barbed—­they pink a heart, run a fortune through, disable a character and reputation.

Soror

  Quid ab hac metuis?

      Why are you afraid of her?

Pistoc.

  Quid ego metuam rogitas? adulescens homo
  penetrem me huius modi in palaestram,
        ubi damnis desudascitur?[4] (66)

Why am I afraid of her, eh?  A young fellow like me to enter a physical training school of this sort (pointing to Bacchis’s house) where a man only sweats himself to insolvency?

Bacch.

  Lepide memoras.

      (with pretended admiration) You do say such clever things!

Pistoc.

Ubi ego capiam pro machaera turturem,[5] (68) pro galea scaphium, pro insigni sit corolla plectilis, 70 pro hasta talos, pro lorica malacum capiam pallium, ubi mihi pro equo lectus detur, scortum pro scuto accubet? apage a me, apage.

Where my sword would be a turtle dove, my helmet a wine bowl, my plume a woven chaplet, my spear a dice box, my corselet a downy robe; where I’d be given a couch for a horse, with a bad, bad girl beside me for a buckler?  Hence!  Avaunt!

Bacch.

  Ah, nimium ferus es.

      Ah, you’re too hard on us!

Pistoc.

  Mihi sum.

      I am hard on myself.

Bacch.

  Malacissandus es.
  equidem tibi do hanc operam.

      We’ll have to soften you.  Yes indeed, I’ll take you in hand
      myself—­(fondling him) this way.

Pistoc.

  Ah, nimium pretiosa es operaria.

      (submitting reluctantly) Ah, your handiwork is too
      expensive.