ns will us discommend.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ MARIUS _the younger_; CETHEGUS, LECTORIUS,
_with Roman Lords and Soldiers_.

YOUNG MARIUS. The wayward lady of this wicked world,
That leads in luckless triumph wretched men,
My Roman friends, hath forced our desires,
And fram'd our minds to brook too base relief.
What land or Lybian desert is unsought
To find my father Marius and your friend?
Yea, they whom true relent could never touch--
These fierce Numidians, hearing our mishaps,
Weep floods of moan to wail our wretched fates.
Thus we, that erst with terrors did attaint
The Bactrian bounds, and in our Roman wars
Enforc'd the barbarous borderers of the Alps
To tremble with the terrors of our looks,
Now fly, poor men, affrighted without harms:
Seeking amidst the desert rocks and dens
For him, that whilom in our capitol
Even with a beck commanded Asia.
Thou woful son of such a famous man,
Unsheathe thy sword, conduct these warlike men
To Rome, unhappy mistress of our harms:
And there, since tyrants' power hath thee oppress'd,
And robb'd thee of thy father, friends, and all,
So die undaunted, killing of thy foes,
That were the offspring of these wretched woes.

LECTORIUS. Why, how now, Marius, will you mate us thus,
That with content adventure for your love?
Why, noble youth, resolve yourself on this,
That son and father both have friends in Rome,
That seek old Marius' rest and your relief.

YOUNG MARIUS. Lectorius, friends are geason[117] now-a-days,
And grow to fume, before they taste the fire.
Adversities bereaving man's avails,
They fly like feathers dallying in the wind:
They rise like bubbles in a stormy rain,
Swelling in words, and flying faith and deeds.

CETHEGUS. How fortunate art thou, my lovely lord,
That in thy youth may'st reap the fruits of age;
And having lost occasion's holdfast now,
May'st learn hereafter how to entertain her well.
But sudden hopes do swarm about my heart:
Be merry, Romans; see, where from the coast
A weary messenger doth post him fast.

_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, n