Chrysale, occidi.

      Chrysalus, I’m a lost man.

Chrys.

  Fortassis tu auri dempsisti parum?

      You took too little of the gold, perhaps?

Mnes.

  Quam, malum, parum? immo vero nimio minus multo parum.

      Too little, eh, curse it!  No indeed,—­much too much less
      than too little!

Chrys.

Quid igitur, stulte? an tu, quoniam occasio ad eam rem fuit mea virtute parta, ut quantum velles tantum sumeres, sic hoc digitulis duobus sumebas primoribus? an nescibas quam eius modi homini raro tempus se daret?

Well, how’s that, you blockhead?  After my ability won you this opportunity to help yourself to just as much as you pleased, you surely didn’t pick it up this way (illustrating) with a couple of finger tips?  Didn’t you know how seldom a man is offered such a chance?

Mnes.

  Erras.

      You’re making a mistake.

Chrys.

  At quidem tute errasti, cum parum immersti ampliter.

      Well, you made another yourself, by not dipping into it deep
      enough.

Mnes.

  Pol tu quam nunc med accuses magis, si magis rem noveris.
  occidi.

      (moodily) Good Lord!  You’d lecture me more than you do
      now, if you knew more of the facts.  I’m a lost man!

Chrys.

  Animus iam istoc dicto plus praesagitur mali.

      Now I foresee more trouble coming, after that remark.

Mnes.

  Perii.

      I’m done for.

Chrys.

  Quid ita?

      Why so?

Mnes.

  Quia patri omne cum ramento reddidi. 680

      Because I’ve handed over every scrap of it to my father.

Chrys.

  Reddidisti?

      (dumbfounded) Handed it over?

Mnes.

  Reddidi.

      Handed it over.

Chrys.

  Omnene?

      Every bit?

Mnes.

  Oppido.

      Absolutely.

Chrys.

  Occisi sumus.
  qui in mentem venit tibi istuc facinus facere tam malum?

      We’re both lost men!  What made it enter your head to do such
      a thing, such an awful thing?

Mnes.

  Bacchidem atque hunc suspicabar propter crimen, Chrysale,
  mi male consuluisse:  ob eam rem omne aurum, iratus reddidi
  meo patri.

(awkwardly) I heard a charge made, Chrysalus, and suspected Bacchis and Pistoclerus here of plotting against me:  so I got angry and handed all the money over to my father.

Chrys.

  Quid, ubi reddebas aurum, dixisti patri?