Dot. Do not despair;
Some other woman may love thee as well:
Come, thou hast worth, Barnet, as well as I.
Bar. Nay, nay, abuse not your poor friends; but tell me,
What dost thou think of young Artemia now?
Dot. Of her! a foolish girl, a simple thing!
She'd make a pretty wife for me! I confess
I courted her; but she had not the wit
To find out what I was, for all my talk.
Bar. And that was strange she should not; but 'tis fate
That governs marriages.
Dot. Let her repent,
And know what she hath lost, when 'tis too late.
But dost thou think this gallant Lady Whimsey
Will marry me?
Bar. Mak'st thou a doubt of that?
'Tis thy own fault, boy, if thou hast her not.
Dot. That I protest it shall not be; but, tell me,
Shall I express my love to her in verse
Or prose?
Bar. In which you will.
Dot. I am alike at both of them indeed.
Bar. I know thou art.