_Enter at a distance SYRUS, drunk._
SYRUS. (_to himself_). Faith, little Syrus, you've ta'en special care
Of your sweet self, and play'd your part most rarely.
--Well, go your ways:--but having had my fill
Of ev'ry thing within, I've now march'd forth
To take a turn or two abroad.
DEM. (_behind_). Look there!
A pattern of instruction!
SYRUS. (_seeing him_). But see there:
Yonder's old Demea. (_Going up to him._) What's the matter now?
And why so melancholy?
DEM. Oh thou villain!
SYRUS. What! are you spouting sentences, old wisdom?
DEM. Were you my servant----
SYRUS. You'd be plaguy rich,
And settle your affairs most wonderfully.
DEM. I'd make you an example.
SYRUS. Why? for what?
DEM. Why, Sirrah?--In the midst of the disturbance,
And in the heat of a most heavy crime,
While all is yet confusion, you've got drunk,
As if for joy, you rascal!
SYRUS. Why the plague
Did not I keep within? (_Aside._)