[EXIT Parasite.] Now matters have come to the point where I don’t know how to advise my chum about his mistress, what with his getting angry and counting out all the gold to his father, and not a penny left to pay the Captain. (listening) But I’ll step aside here:  (does so) the door creaked.  Ah, there’s our woebegone Mnesilochus coming out.

IV. 3.

    Scene 3.

    ENTER Mnesilochus FROM Bacchis’s HOUSE.

Mnes.

Petulans, protervo iracundo animo, indomito incogitato, sine modo et modestia sum, sine bono iure atque honore, incredibilis imposque animi, inamabilis inlepidus vivo, malevolente ingenio natus. postremo id mi est quod volo ego esse aliis. credibile hoc est? nequior nemost neque indignior quoi di bene faciant neque quem quisquam homo aut amet aut adeat.

A hasty fool, a reckless, passionate, uncontrollable, unthinking fool without method and moderation, that’s what I am—­a creature without any sense of right and honour, distrustful, hotheaded, loveless, graceless, crabbed and born crabbed!  Yes, yes, I’m everything that I wish some one else was!  Is this credible?  There’s not a viler man alive, a man more unworthy of heaven’s kindness, of having a mortal soul love him or come near him!

inimicos quam amicos aequomst med habere, malos quam bonos par magis me iuvare. omnibus probris, quae improbis viris 620 digna sunt, dignior nullus est homo; qui patri reddidi omne aurum amans, mihi quod fuit prae manu. sumne ego homo miser? perdidi me simulque operam Chrysali.

Enemies are what I ought to have, not friends; rascals are the right people to help me, not honest men.  Not a man on earth has a better title to all the infamy of an infamous scoundrel!  I to give all that gold to my father, and I in love—­gold I had in hand!  If I’m not a poor, poor fool!  I’ve thrown away my own life together with all Chrysalus did for me.

Pistoc.

  Consolandus his mist, ibo ad eum. 
  Mnesiloche, quid fit?

      (aside) I must console him:  I’ll up to him. (aloud,
      approaching) How are things, Mnesilochus?

Mnes.

  Perii.

      I’m done for.

Pistoc.

  Di melius faciant.

      God forbid!

Mnes.

  Perii.

      (still more dejectedly) I’m done for.

Pistoc.

  Non taces, insipiens?

      Won’t you shut up, you silly fellow?

Mnes.

  Taceam?

      Shut up?

Pistoc.

  Sanus satis non est.

      You’ve lost your wits.

Mnes.

  Perii.
  multa mala mi in pectore nunc acria atque acerba eveniunt.
  criminin me habuisse fidem? immerito tibi iratus fui.