_Tul_. About what, sweet Lady?
_Fla_. To know what yeare it was the showers of raine fell in Aprill.
_Tul_. I can resolve it by rote, Lady, twas that yeare the Cuckoo sung
in May: another token Lady; there raigned in Rome a great Tyrant that
yeare, and many Maides lost their heads for using flesh on Fish-daies.
_Fla_. And some were sacrificed as a burnt offering to the Gods of
Hospitallitie, were they not?
_Tul_. Y'are a wag, _Flavia_, but talk and you must needes have a
parting blowe.
_Flav_. No matter so we stand out and close not.
_Tull_. Or part faire at the close and too't again.
_Flav_. Nay, if we should too't againe, _Terentia_ would growe jealous.
_Tul_. Ladies, I take my leave
And my love.
_Ter_. Take heede ye sigh not, nor looke red at the table, _Tully_.
[_Exit [Tully]_.
_Flav_. Your shoe wrings you, Lady.
_Ter_. Goe to, ye are a wanton, _Flavia_.
_Fla_. How now _Terentia_, in your nine Muses?
Theres none must pleade in your case but an Orator.
_Ter_.
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