In comparing his notes with the text, our eye was caught by a verse in which there seems so manifest a corruption that we shall venture to throw down the discord-apple of a conjectural emendation.

My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, If not in friendship, live at least in peace.

'Tis flown, 'tis flown, for ever from my breast, And in its room eternal discords dwell, Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell

For if we rudely strike the strings Whence melody should flow, A harsh, unnatural discord rings, Of bitterness and woe.

His willing minde doth strive to make the peace Betwixt our discord thoughts; his free consent Is given to Lentulus; there, Tulley, take on holde, And, when a Sunne of thy intent shines fayre, Onset loves fort with polliticke assaults And conquer; conquest in obtaining that Where victors are repulsed.