To seek the love of faire Terentia. 
The cho[i]ce is such as choiser cannot bee
Even with a nimble eye; his vertues through
His smile is like the Meridian Sol
Discern’d a dauncing in the burbling brook;
His frowne out-dares the Austerest face
Of warre or Tyranny to sease upon;
His shape might force the Virgine huntresse
With him for ever live a vestall life;
His minde is virtues over-matcht, yet this
And more shall dye if this and more want force
To win the love of faire Terentia. 
Then, gentle Lady, give a gentle do[o]me;
Never was brest the Land-lord to a heart
More loving, faithful, or more loyall then is
The brest of noble—­

Teren. Tullie!

Tul. Lentulus!

Ter.  And why not Tullie?

Tul.  It stands not aptly.

Tere.  I wants a sillible.

Tul.  It doth.

Tere.  Then noble Cicero.

Tul.  Thats too deere.

Tere.  Gentle is as good:  Then say the best of gentle Cicero.

Tul.  Good Lady, wrong not your honour so
To seate unworthy Tully with your worth. 
Oh looke upon the worth of Lentulus,
Let your faire hand be beame unto the ballance
And with a stedded peyze lift up that beame. 
In 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.