It seems to me you need the equal mind
To bear your ills. For me, I speak the truth.
There was an Attican was shipwrecked on
The Isle of Andros; with him was this girl.
He chanced to light upon the father of
Our Chrysis—in extremity of ill.
Sim. Fables.
Chr. Let him speak.
Cri. But wherefore interrupt?
Chr. Proceed.
Cri. Her father was my relative,
And in his house he died, declaring he
Was Attican.
Chr. His name—his name?
Cri. Was Phania.
Chr. Ah, I am slain.
Cri. Doubtless, 'twas Phania,
Moreover of the burgh Rhamnusium.
Chr. Oh, Jupiter!
Cri. It is well-known in Andros.
Sim. And grant it may be so. Now tell me, Crito,
What did he say of her? Was she his child?
Cri. No.
Chr. And whose?
Cri. His brother's.
Chr. And my daughter!
Cri. How—what!
Sim. What!
Pam. Lift up your ears, O Pamphilé.
Sim. Do you believe this, Chremes?
Chr. Yes. Phania—
He was my brother.
