Scene I.

Syrus, alone.

My mind misgives me, my defeat is nigh, This unexpected incident has driven My forces into such a narrow pass, I can not even handsomely retreat Without some feint, to hinder our old man From seeing that this wench is Clitipho's. As for the money, and the trick I dream'd of, Those hopes are flown, and I shall hold it triumph, So I but 'scape a scouring - Cursed fortune, To have so delicate a morsel snatch'd Out of my very jaws! - What shall I do? What new device? for I must change my plan. - Nothing so difficult, but may be won By industry. - Suppose, I try it thus. (Thinking.) - 'Twill never do. - Or thus? - No better still. But thus I think. - No, no. - Yes, excellent! Courage! I have it. - Good! - Good! - best of all! - - 'Faith, I begin to hope to lay fast hold Of that same slipp'ry money after all.