_Gra_. Oh of necessitie, if it be that show. _Hostis_. And _Acteon_, too? that's prettie ifaith. _Enter Caesar, Lent: Tully, Teren: Flavia_. _Caes_. Now, gallant Bridegroomes, and your lovely Brides, That have ingeminate in endlesse league Your troth-plight hearts, in your nuptial vowes Tyed true love knots that nothing can disolve Till death, that meager pursevant of _Jove_ That Cancels all bonds: we are to [_sic_] clowdie, My spirit a typtoe, nothing I could chid so much As winged time, that gins to free a passage To his current glasse and crops our day-light, That mistie night will summon us to rest, Before we feele the burthen of our eylids. The time is tedious, wants varietie; But that I may shew what delightful raptures Combats my soule to see this union, And with what boundles joy I doe imbrace it, We heere commaund all prison gates flye ope, Freeing all prisoners (traitors all except,) That poore mens prayers may increase our daies, And writers circle ye with wreathes of bayes. _Grac_. S'foot, _Accutus_, lets lay hold of this to free our captive. _Acu_. Content; ile prosecute it. _Tul_. Dread soveraigne, heaven witnesse with me With what bended spirit I have attainde This height of happinesse; and how unwillingly, Till heavens decree, _Terentias_ love, and your Faire consents did meet in one to make Me Lord thereof: nor shall it add one scruple Of high thought to my lowly minde. _Tully_ is _Tully_, parentage poore, the best An Orator, but equall with the least. _Lent_. Oh no doubt, _Accutus_, be the attempt My perill, his royall promise is past In that behalfe. My soveraigne, this Gentlemans Request takes hold upon your gratious promise For the releasement of a prisoner. _Cos_. My promise is irrevocable, take it; But what is hee and the qualitie of his fault? _Acut_. A gentleman, may it please your grace; his fault Suspition, and most likly innocent. _Caes_. He hath freedome, and I prethee let him be brought hither. [_Exit[321] Acut_. Perhaps in his presence we shall win some smiles, For I have noted oft in a simple braine, (Only striving to excell it self) Hath corrupted language, that hath turnd To pleasant laughter in juditious eares; Such may this proove, for now me thinkes Each minute, wanting sport, doth seeme as long And teadious, as a feaver: but who doth knowe The true condition of this _Accutus_? _Tully_. My Leige, of him something my knowledge Can discover; his spirit is free as aire, His temper temperate, if ought's uneeven His spleene waies downe [towards] lenitie: but how Stird by reproofe? ah,[322] then hee's bitter and like His name _Acute_, vice to him is a foule eye-sore And could he stifle it in bitterest words he would, And who so offends to him is paralell; He will as soon reproove the Caedar state As the lowe shrub. _Enter Acut. and Philaut_. _Phy_. Nay, good _Accutus_, let me not enter the presence.