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.

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.  I want one indeede Wench, but thou hast two, and the gentle destinies may send thee three; neere blush, for smoke and the fire of a womans love cannot bee hid.  Oh a fine tongue dipt in Helicon! a comedian tongue is the onely perswasive ornament to win a Lady; why his discourse is as pleasant—­

Fla.  As how, I prethee?

Ter.  And keepes as good decorum; his prologue with obedience to the skirt; a rough Sceane of ciuill Warres and a clapping conclusion; perhappes a Jigge;[254] if not, the Tragicomicall tale of Mars and Venus; then must she take the Tale by the end, where he defending Mars, & she Venus, must fall from billing to byting, from byting to blowes, to get the supremacie.

Fla.  A good policie to praise Cicero, For feare I rob you of your Lentulus.

Ter.  Faith, a Souldier is not for thy[255] humor; now I crie a Warrier; he fights stoutly in a field-bed, discharges his work sure, under his Curtaines would I fight.  But come, our Lovers melt while we meditate; thou for thy Scholler, I for my soldier; and if we can not please them so, weele shake off this loose habit and turn Pages to suit their humors.