Enter CINNA'S SLAVE, with a letter enclosed,
posting in haste.
LECTORIUS. It should be Cinna's slave, or else I err,
For in his forehead I behold the scar,
Wherewith he marketh still his barbarous swains.
YOUNG MARIUS. O, stay him, good Lectorius, for me-seems
His great post-haste some pleasure should present.
LECTORIUS. Sirrah, art thou of Rome?
SLAVE. Perhaps, sir, no.
LECTORIUS. Without perhaps, say, sirrah, is it so?
SLAVE. This is Lectorius, Marius' friend, I trow;
Yet were I best to learn the certainty,
Lest some dissembling foes should me descry. [Aside.
YOUNG MARIUS. Sirrah, leave off this foolish dalliance,
Lest with my sword I wake you from your trance.
SLAVE. O happy man, O labours well-achiev'd!
How hath this chance my weary limbs revived:
O noble Marius! O princely Marius!
YOUNG MARIUS. What means this peasant by his great rejoice?