Phil. I would thou wouldst pass over this passing over of authors, and speak thine own judgment.
Cler. Why, then, to be brief, I think a lover looks like an ass.
Phil. I can describe him better than so myself. He looks like a man that had sitten up at cards all night, or a stale drunkard wakened in the midst of his sleep.
Cler. But, Philocles, I would not have thee see this lady; she has a bewitching look.
Phil. How darest thou venture, man? What strange medicine hast thou found? Ovid ne'er taught it thee. I doubt I guess thy remedy for love: go to a bawdy-house or so, is it not?
Cler. Faith, and that's a good way, I can tell you; we younger brothers are beholden to it. Alas! we must not fall in love, and choose whom we like best; we have no jointures for them, as you blessed heirs can have.
Phil. Well, I have found you, sir. And prythee, tell me how gettest thou wenches?
Cler. Why, I can want no panders. I lie in the constable's house.
Phil. And there you may whore by authority.
But, Clerimont, I doubt this paragon
That thou so praisest is some ill-favoured wench
Whom thou wouldst have me laugh'd at for commending.
Cler. Believe it, I spoke in earnest: trust your eyes:
I'll show you her.