My master, as the elder of the two, obtained the old house; yours built this new and elegant mansion.
One son, the handsome Phaon, has grown up under our roof, while yours shelters the lovely Xanthe.

My master has gone to Messina, not only to sell our oil and yours, but to speak to the guardian of a wealthy heiress, of whom his brother had written.

He wants her for Phaon's wife; but I think Phaon was created for Xanthe and Xanthe for him.

There's nothing lacking, except to have Hymen--" "To have Hymen unite them," interrupted Semestre.

"There's no hurry about heiresses; they don't let themselves be plucked like blackberries.
If she has scorned her country suitor, it may well seem desirable to Protarch and all of you that Xanthe should prove more yielding, for then our property would be joined with yours." "It would be just the same as during Dionysius's lifetime." "And you alone would reap the profit." "No, Semestre, it would be an advantage to both us and you; for, since your master had that unlucky fall from the high wall of the vineyard, the ruler's eye is lacking here, and many things don't go as they ought." "People see what they want to see," cried Semestre.