day, and now his father has made a slave of him. It’s this
fellow, a born drudge, that is grumbling.

_Sos._

Sum vero verna verbero: num numero mi in mentem fuit, 180
dis advenientem gratias pro meritis agere atque alloqui?
ne illi edepol si merito meo referre studeant gratiam,
aliquem hominem allegent qui mihi advenienti os occillet probe,
quoniam bene quae in me fecerunt ingrata ea habui atque inrita.

(_frightened again_) I need a drubbing, I do, drudge
that I am. I was not too quick, was I, to think of
addressing the gods and giving ’em due thanks on my arrival?
Oh Lord! if they took a notion to pay me back my dues,
they’d commission some one to mash my face for me in fine
shape on my arrival, now that I haven’t appreciated the good
turns they’ve done me and have let ’em go for nothing.
(_makes sure he is safe_)

_Mer._

Facit ille quod volgo haud solent, ut quid se sit dignum sciat.

(_aside_) Rather uncommon that,--his knowing what he
deserves to get.

_Sos._

Quod numquam opinatus fui neque alius quisquam civium