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 ought offended thee? 
Doost thou recall my former promises? 
Dost thou repent thee of—­

Tul.  Oh wrong me not.

Tere.  What, hath my father done this injurie? 
There, there, my thoughts accord to say tis so. 
I will deny him then, hee’s not my father;
Hee’s not my friend will envie Cicero.

Tul.  Wrong not thy self.

Teren.  What heavie string doost thou devide[282] upon? 
Wrong not him, wrong not me, wrong not thy selfe. 
Where didst thou learne that dolefull mandrake’s note
To kill the hearers? Tully, canst thou not
Indure a little danger for my love,
The fierie spleene of an angrie Father,
Who like a storme will soon consume it self? 
I have indurde a thousand jarring houres
Since first he did mistrust my fancies aime,
And will indure a thousand thousand more
If life or discord either live so long.