Ovid. No, good Tibullus, I'm not now in case. Pray let me alone.

Tib. How! Not in case?
Slight, thou'rt in too much case, by all this law.

Ovid.
Troth, if I live, I will new dress the law
In sprightly Poesy's habiliments.

Tib. The hell thou wilt! What! turn law into verse
Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, read that same;
There's subject for you; and, if I mistake not, A supersedeas
to your melancholy.

Ovid. How! subscribed Julia! O my life, my heaven!

Tib. Is the mood changed ?

Ovid.
Music of wit! note for th' harmonious spheres!
Celestial accents, how you ravish me!

Tib. What is it, Ovid?

Ovid. That I must meet my Julia, the princess Julia.

Tib. Where?

Ovid. Why, at---
Heart, I've forgot; my passion so transports me.