Ovid ju. 
   Sir, let me crave you will forego these moods;
   I will be any thing, or study any thing;
   I’ll prove the unfashion’d body of the law
   Pure elegance, and make her rugged’st strains
   Run smoothly as Propertius’ elegies

Ovid se.  Propertius’ elegies? good!

Lup.  Nay, you take him too quickly, Marcus

Ovid se.  Why, he cannot speak, he cannot think out of poetry; he is bewitch’d with it.

Lup.  Come, do not misprise him.  Ovid se.  Misprise! ay, marry, I would have him use some such words now; they have some touch, some taste of the law.  He should make himself a style out of these, and let his Propertius’ elegies go by.

Lup.  Indeed, young Publius, he that will now hit the mark, must shoot through the law; we have no other planet reigns, and in that sphere you may sit and sing with angels.  Why, the law makes a man happy, without respecting any other merit; a simple scholar, or none at all, may be a lawyer.

Tuc.  He tells thee true, my noble neophyte; my little gram maticaster, he does:  it shall never put thee to thy mathematics, metaphysics, philosophy, and I know not what supposed Suficiencies; if thou canst but have the patience to plod enough, talk, and make a noise enough, be impudent enough, and ’tis enough.

Lup.  Three books will furnish you.  Tuc.  And the less art the better:  besides, when it shall be in the power of thy chevril conscience, to do right or wrong at thy pleasure, my pretty Alcibiades.

Lup.  Ay, and to have better men than himself, by many thousand degrees, to observe him, and stand bare.

Tuc.  True, and he to carry himself proud and stately, and have the law on his side for’t, old boy.

Ovid se.  Well, the day grows old, gentlemen, and I must leave you.  Publius, if thou wilt hold my favour, abandon these idle, fruitless studies, that so bewitched thee.  Send Janus home his back face again, and look only forward to the law:  intend that.  I will I allow thee what shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and maintain thy society with the best; and under these conditions I leave thee.  My blessings light upon thee, if thou respect them; if not, mine eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will ache for itself; and so farewell!  What, are my horses come?

Lus.  Yes, sir, they are at the gate Without.

Ovid se.  That’s well.—­Asinius Lupus, a word.  Captain, I shall take my leave of you?

Tuc.  No, my little old boy, dispatch with Cothurnus there:  I’ll attend thee, I—­

Lus.  To borrow some ten drachms:  I know his project.
          
                                               [Aside. 
Ovid se.  Sir, you shall make me beholding to you.  Now, captain
Tucca, what say you?