1 832.] The Amphitryon, of Plautus. 327 



What is your name ? 



Sos. Our Thebans call me Sosia. 



Mercury now reaches the maximum of his impudence. He has the 

 audacity to claim the name of Sosia for himself, and positively almost 

 to unsociate Sosia for the poor slave is brought at last to entertain 

 serious doubts of his own personal identity, and is quite struck with the 

 whole affair. 



MERC. To thy sore mishap 

 Art thou arrived, thou master of effrontery ! 

 With made up lies, and patched up knaveries. 



Sos. With patched up clothes I'm come 'tis true, not knaveries. 

 MERC. You lie. "Tis with your feet you come, not clothes. 

 Sos. Ay, verily. 



MERC. Ay, verily, then take 

 This drubbing for your lie. (Striking him.} 



Sos. Indeed, forsooth, 

 I don't desire it, I 



MERC. Indeed, forsooth, 



But you shall have it, though you don't. Indeed 

 'Tis resolved, and 'tis not your choice. (Striking him.) 

 Sos. I cry you mercy! 



MERC. Dost thou dare affirm 



That thou art Sosia, when myself am he ? (Stitt striking him.) 

 Sos. Murder! 



MERC. This is but little in respect 

 Of what you'll have in future. Now, whose are you ? 



Sos. Your's : for your fists have marked me for your own. 



(Merc, continues to strike him.) 

 Help, help, good citizens ! 



MERC. Still bawling, sirrah ? 

 Speak, wherefore came you here ? 



Sos. That you might have 

 Somebody to belabour with your fists. 

 MESC. Whose are you, then ? 



Sos. I say, Amphitryon's Sosia. 

 MERC. You shall be drubbed more heartily for this, 

 You talk so idly. I myself am Sosia, 

 Not you. 



Sos. I would to heaven you were indeed, 

 That I were beating you ! (Aside.) 



MERC. What! muttering? 



Thus they continue their interview for a considerable time, Sosia quietly 

 submitting to the insults and indignities of Mercury, and Mercury 

 triumphing in the confusion and stupidity of the poor slave. At last 

 Mercury says : 



The fellow's mad. 



Sos. 'Tis you that are distempered. 

 Why, what a plague ! Am I not Sosia, 

 Amphitryon's slave ? Did not the ship, that brought me, 

 Arrive here this night from the Persian port ? 

 Did not my master send me ? Do not I 

 Stand here before our house now ? Have I not 

 A lanthorn in my hand ? Do not I speak ? 

 Am I not broad awake ? Did not this man 

 Bethump me with his fists ? In troth he did ; 

 Why then do I doubt ? Why don't I go directly 

 Into our house? 



