Tul. Then it seemes you graunt him no favour.
Flav. Faith, I dare not venture on him, for feare he should be rotten; give me nature, not arte.
Tere. Here comes Lord Lentulus.
Tul. Swift danger, now ride poaste through this passage.
Enter[289] Lentulus.
Health to your honour.
Len. And happines to you.
Tul. In[290] heaven, deere Lord, but—
Lent. Tush, tush, on earth; come, come, I know your suite, tis graunted sure, what ere it be.
Tul. My sute craves death, for treason to my friend.