Oh! Myrrhine, Myrrhine, in our child's name, hear me; at any
rate hear the child! Little lad, call your mother.
Mamma, mamma, mamma!
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.
CINESIAS (as MYRRHINE approaches)
Why, how much younger and prettier she looks! And how she looks at
me so lovingly! Her cruelty and scorn only redouble my passion.
MYRRHINE (ignoring him; to the child)
You are as sweet as your father is provoking! Let me kiss you,
my treasure, mother's darling!