Worthy Roman!
Methinks I taste his misery, and could
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars.

Jul. Methinks I love him, that he loves so truly.

Cyth. This is the perfect'st love, lives after death.

Gal. Such is the constant ground of virtue still.

PIau. It puts on an inseparable face.
[re-enter CHLOE.
Chloe. Have you mark'd every thing, Crispinus?

Cris. Every thing, I warrant you.

Chloe. What gentlemen are these? do you know them?

Cris. Ay, they are poets, lady.

Chloe. Poets! they did not talk of me since I went, did they?

Cris. O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens.

Chloe. Now in sincerity they be the finest kind of men that ever
I knew: Poets! Could not one get the emperor to make my husband
a poet, think you?

Cris. No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make poets: and since you like
poets so well, your love and beauties shall make me a poet.