Gower's imagination, foreign to his desires and his projects, was playing juggler's tricks with him, dramatizing upon hypotheses, which mounted in stages and could pretend to be soberly conceivable, assuming that the earl's wild hints overnight were a credible basis.
He transported himself to his first view of the Countess Livia, the fountain of similes born of his prostrate adoration, close upon the invasion and capture of him by the combined liqueurs in the giddy Batlen lights; and joining the Arabian magic in his breast at the time with the more magical reality now proposed as a sequel to it, he entered the land where dreams confess they are outstripped by revelations.
Yet it startled him to hear the earl say: 'You'll get audience at ten; I've arranged; make the most of the situation to her.

I refuse to help.
I foresee it 's the only way of solving this precious puzzle.

You do me and every one of us a service past paying.

Not a man of her set worth....

She--but you'll stop it; no one else can.