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Rh

Under the clothes, and try to get a snooze.—

I can't—I can't get to sleep! There are things biting me—

I mean the bills, the stable expenses, and the debts

Run lip for me by that precious son of mine.

And he—oh, he lives like a gentleman,

Keeps his fine horses, drives his curricle—

Is dreaming of them now, no doubt—while I lie vexing,

Knowing next month those notes of hand come due,

With interest mounting up.(Calls to his slave wthout.)

Boy! light a lamp;

Bring me my pocket-book, that I may see

How my accounts stand, and just cast them up.

(Slave brings a lamp, and holds it while Strepsi- ades sits up and looks over his account-book.) Let's see now. First, here's Prasias, fifty pounds.

Now, what's that for? When did I borrow that?

Ah! when I bought that grey. Oh dear, oh dear!

I shall grow grey enough, if this goes on.

Ph. (talking in his sleep). That's not fair, Philo! keep your own side of the course!

Str. Ay, there he goes! that's what is ruining me;

He's always racing, even in his dreams.

Ph. (still asleep). How many times round do the war-chariots go?

Str. You make your old father's head go round, you do.

But let me see—what stands here next to Prasias?—

Twelve pounds to Amynias,—for a car and wheels.

Ph. There—give that horse a roll, and take him home.

Str. You'll roll me out of house and home, young man!

I've judgment debts against me, and the rest of them

Swear they'll proceed.

Ph. (awaking). Good heavens! my dear father,

What makes you groan and toss so all night long?

Str. There's a sheriff's officer at me—in the bed-clothes.

Ph. Lie quiet, sir, do pray, and let me sleep.