th'one[252] scale put the worth of _Lentulus_,
His state, his honors, and his revenewes;
Against that heavy waite put povertie,
The poore and naked name of _Cicero_,
A partner of unregarded Orators;
Then shall you see with what celeritie
One title of his worth will soone pull up
Poore _Tullies_ dignitie.

_Tere_. Just to the height of _Terentias_ heart
Where I will keepe and Character that name,
And to that name my heart shall adde that love
That shall wey downe the worth of _Lentulus_.

_Tul_. Deare Madam.

_Tere_. Speake still, if thou wilt, but not for him;
The more thou speak'st the more augments my love,
If that thou can'st adde more to infinite;
The more thou speakest the more decreaseth his,
If thou canst take away ought from nothing;
Thinke, _Tulley_, if _Lentulus_ can love me,
So much and more _Terentia_ doth love thee.

_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.

_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 m