TAI. What, he in the blush-coloured satin? FUNG. Ay, he, sir; though his suit blush, he blushes not, look you, that's the suit, sir: I would have mine such a suit without difference, such stuff, such a wing, such a sleeve, such a skirt, belly and all; therefore, pray you observe it. Have you a pair of tables? FAST. Why, do you see, sir, they say I am fantastical; why, true, I know it, and I pursue my humour still, in contempt of this censorious age. 'Slight, an a man should do nothing but what a sort of stale judgments about him this town will approve in him, he were a sweet ass: I'd beg him, i'faith. I ne'er knew any more find fault with a fashion, than they that knew not how to put themselves into it. For mine own part, so I please mine own appetite, I am careless what the fusty world speaks of me. Puh! FUNG. Do you mark, how it hangs at the knee there? TAI. I warrant you, sir. FUNG. For God's sake do, not all; do you see the collar, sir? TAI. Fear nothing, it shall not differ in a stitch, sir. FUNG. Pray heaven it do not! you'll make these linings serve, and help me to a chapman for the outside, will you? TAI. I'll do my best, sir: you'll put it off presently. FUNG. Ay, go with me to my chamber you shall have it -- but make haste of it, for the love of a customer; for I'll sit in my old suit, or else lie a bed, and read the 'Arcadia' till you have done. [EXIT WITH HIS TAILOR. RE-ENTER CARLO. CAR. O, if ever you were struck with a jest, gallants, now, now, now, I do usher the most strange piece of military profession that ever was discovered in 'Insula Paulina'. FAST. Where? where? PUNT. What is he for a creature? CAR. A pimp, a pimp, that I have observed yonder, the rarest superficies of a humour; he comes every morning to empty his lungs in Paul's here; and offers up some five or six hecatombs of faces and sighs, and away again. Here he comes; nay, walk, walk, be not seen to note him, and we shall have excellent sport. ENTER SHIFT; AND WALKS BY, USING ACTION TO HIS RAPIER. PUNT. 'Slid, he vented a sigh e'en now, I thought he would have blown up the church. CAR. O, you shall have him give a number of those false fires ere he depart. FAST. See, now he is expostulating with his rapier: look, look! CAR. Did you ever in your days observe better passion over a hilt? PUNT. Except it were in the person of a cutlet's boy, or that the fellow were nothing but vapour, I should think it impossible. CAR. See again, he claps his sword o' the head, as who should say, well, go to. FAST. O violence! I wonder the blade can contain itself, being so provoked. CAR. "With that the moody squire thumpt his breast, And rear'd his eyen to heaven for revenge."