ence seale up our secret
thoughts and libertie say,

_Virtus sola summa gloria,
Quae format homines vero honore_.

[ACT THE THIRD.

_Scene_ 1.]

_Enter Flaminius and Tully_.

_Flam_. Goe to, I say, urge no more, tis Taverne talke, for Taverners
Table talke for all the vomit of rumor. What newes, saies one? none so
new as this: _Tully_ shall be married to _Terentia_. What newes says
another? the same, the same. Whose consent have ye? not mine, I deny it.
I must know of it, ile have a hand; goe to, no more.

_Tul_. Gentle Sir,
Lay not a leaden loade of foule reproach
Upon so weake a prop; what's done is past recal.
If ought is done, unfitting to be done,
The worst is done, my life must answer it.

_Flam_. I, you shall answer it in the Senate house, the Emperor shall
knowe it. If she be my childe, I will rule her, ile bridle her, ile
curbe her, ile raine her; if she will not, let her goe, starve, begge,
hang, drawe, sinke, swimme, she gets not a doit, a deneire, ile not owne
her.

_Tul_. Reverend Sir, be more patient.

_Flam_. I am impatient, I am troubled, I am vext, I am scoft, I am
pointed at, ile not endure it, ile not abide it, ile be revenged, I wil,
of her, of you both, proud boy, wanton giglot,[278] aspyring, hautie.
Knowe your equals, shee's not for ye, if ye persist, by my holy maker,
you shall answer it, looke to it, you shall, you shall indeede.
[_Exit_[279] _Flaminus_.

_Tull_. I shall, I must, I will, I will indeede,
Even to the greatest I will answere it;
If great mens eares be ope to inocency,
If greatnesse be not partial with greatenesse,
Even to the greatest I will answere it.
Perhaps, some shallow censurer will say,
The Orator was proud, he would climbe too hie;
But heaven and truth will say the contrarie.
My greatest grief is, I have my friend betraide;
The treasons done, I, and the Traitor's free,
Yet innocent Treason needes not to flee.
His loyaltie bids me abide his frowne,
And he hath power to raise or hurle me downe.

_Enter_[280] _Terentia_.

_Tere_. What ailes my _Tully_? wherefore look'st thou sad?
What discontent hath stopped the crimson current
Which ran so cheerefully within that brow,
And makes it sullen like a standing poole?
Tell me who ist hath wrong[d] my _Cicero_?
[Say,[281] is it _Lentulus_?]

_Tul_. Oh wrong him not.

_Tere_. Who is it then, that wrongs my _Tully_ so?
What, hath _Terentia