Manent Barnet, Dotterel.
Bar. To what strange fortune, friend, are some men born,
I mean by thee. Surely, when thou wert young,
The fairies dandled thee.
Dot. Why, prythee, Barnet?
Bar. That ladies thus should doat upon thy person.
Dost thou not see how soon the Lady Whimsey
Is caught in love with thee?
Dot. But is she, think'st thou?
Bar. Is she! Come, thou perceiv'st it well enough;
What else should make her court thee, and bestow
Her favours openly? And such a lady!
So full of wit as she is, too! Would she
Betray the secrets of her heart so far,
But that love plays the tyrant in her breast,
And forces her?
Dot. True, and, as thou say'st, Barnet,
She's a brave, witty lady; and I love
A wit with all my heart. What would she say
If she should know me truly, that thus loves,
And thinks I am but a poor younger brother?
Bar. Why, still the greater is thy happiness:
Thou may'st be sure she loves thee truly now,
And not thy fortunes.
Dot. Has she found me out,
For all I sought to hide myself?
Bar. The more
Thy worth appears, the more her judgment's seen.
O, 'tis a gallant lady! Well, she might
Have cast her eye on me or Euphues;
But 'twas not our good fortune!