P. Cura. Fool that I am! He was before your time.
You are mere boys, and I am an old man.
Hyp. I should not like to try my strength with you.
P. Cura. Well, well. But I forget; you must be hungry.
Martina! ho! Martina! ’Tis my niece;
A daughter of my sister. What! Martina!
(Enter Martina.)
Hyp. You may be proud of such a niece as that.
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores! (Aside.)
He was a very great man, was Cicero!