Dot. O yes, by any means, sir.
Euph. What's your reason?
Dot. A crotchet, sir, a crotchet that I have:
Here's one can tell you I have twenty of 'em.
Bar. Euphues, dissuade him not; he is resolv'd
To keep his birth and fortunes both conceal'd;
Yet win her so, or no way. He would know
Whether himself be truly lov'd or no;
And not his fortunes only.
Euph. Well, access
You have already found; pursue it, sir,
But give me leave to wonder at your way.
Another wooer, to obtain his love,
Would put on all his colours; stretch t' appear
At his full height, or a degree beyond it;
Belie his fortunes; borrow what he wanted;
Not make himself less than he truly is.
What reason is there that a man possess'd
Of fortunes large enough, that they may come boldly
A welcome suitor to herself and friends,
And, ten to one, speed in his suit the fair
And usual way, should play the fool, and lose
His precious time in such a hopeless wooing?
Dot. Alas, sir! what is a gentleman's time?
Bar. Euphues, he tells you true; there are some brains
Can never lose their time, whate'er they do:
Yet I can tell you, he has read some books.
Dot. Do not disparage me.
Bar. I warrant thee;
And in those books he says he finds examples
Of greatest beauties that have so been won.
Euph. O, in "Parismus" and the "Knight o' th' Sun!"[5]
Are those your authors?