Page:The Eleven Comedies (1912) Vol 1.djvu/283

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No indeed, not I.

I call you, Myrrhiné, Myrrhiné; will you not come?

Why should you call me? You do not want me.

Not want you! Why, my weapon stands stiff with desire!

Good-bye.

Oh! Myrrhiné, Myrrhiné, in our child’s name, hear me; at any rate hear the child! Little lad, call your mother.

Mammy, mammy, mammy!

There, listen! Don’t you pity the poor child? It’s six days now you’ve never washed and never fed the child.

Poor darling, your father takes mighty little care of you!

Come down, dearest, come down for the child’s sake.

Ah! what a thing it is to be a mother! Well, well, we must come down, I suppose.

Why, how much younger and prettier she looks! And how she looks at me so lovingly! Her cruelty and scorn only redouble my passion.