_Tull_. Oh Madam,
_Tulley_ is poore, and poore is counted base.
_Ter_. Vertue is ritch and blots a poore disgrace.
_Tul_. _Lentulus_ is great, his frowne's my woe,
And of a friend he will become my foe.
_Ter_. As he is friend, we will intreate his love;
As he is great, his threatenings shall not make me love.
_Tul_. Your fathers graunt makes _Lentulus_ your Lord.
_Teren_. But if thereto his daughter not accord,
That graunt is cancel'd; fathers may commaund
Life before love, for life to true love's paund.
_Tul_. How will _Flaminius_ brooke my povertie?
_Ter_. Well, when _Flaminius_ see's no remedie.
Lord how woman-like are men when they are woe'd!
_Tully_, weigh me not light, nere did immodest blush
Colour these cheeckes, but ardent.
_Tully_. Silence, sweet Lady, heere comes _Flavia_.
_Enter_[253] _Flavia_.
_Fla_. Fie, Fie, how tedius ye are; yonders great looking for _Tulley_,
the old senate has put on his spectacles, and _Lentulus_ and he are
turning the leaves of a dog-hay [?], leaves of a worm-eaten Chronicle,
and they want _Tullies_ judgment.
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