’Tis merely laughable. At forty-five
To marry a pretender; and Plautus too!
He would not have me. Fulvia, do you think
That Plautus wants to marry me? Ha! ha!
Is it my beauty, think you, or my virtue,
Or my good fortune tempts the stoic? Oh,
Domitia, oh, you are dull. I cannot fear
This plot. We shall retire with more than honour.
’Twas strange, I think, that Pallas was not struck;
His name escaped.