Phil. 'Tis very well.
But how did your worship 'scape? You have seen her?
Cler. True, but I have an antidote, and I can teach it thee.
Phil. When I have need on't, I'll desire it.
Cler. And 'twill be worth thy learning, when thou shalt see the tyranny of that same scurvy boy, and what fools he makes of us. Shall I describe the beast?
Phil. What beast?
Cler. A lover.
Phil. Do.
Cler. Then, to be brief, I will pass over the opinion of your ancient fathers, as likewise those strange loves spoken of in the authentic histories of chivalry, Amadis de Gaul, Parismus, the Knight of the Sun, or the witty knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, where those brave men, whom neither enchantments, giants, windmills, nor flocks of sheep, could vanquish, are made the trophies of triumphing love.
Phil. Prythee, come to the matter.
Cler. Neither will I mention the complaints of Sir Guy for the fair Felice, nor the travels of Parismus for the love of the beauteous Laurana; nor, lastly, the most sad penance of the ingenious knight Don Quixote upon the mountains of Sierra Morena,[418] moved by the unjust disdain of the lady Dulcina del Toboso. As for our modern authors, I will not so much as name them; no, not that excellent treatise of Tully's love, written by the master of art.[419]