I daunce vp and downe tyll I am dyssy; I can fynde fantasyes where none is; I wyll not haue it so, I wyll haue it this. _Hic ingrediatur FOLY, quatiendo crema[810] et faciendo multum, feriendo tabulas et similia._ _Fol._ Maysters, Cryst saue euerychone! What, Fansy, arte thou here alone? _Fan._ What, fonnysshe Foly! I befole thy face. _Fol._ What, frantyke Fansy in a foles case! What is this, an owle or a glede? By my trouthe, she hathe a grete hede. 1060 _Fan._ Tusshe, thy lyppes hange in thyne eye:[811] It is a Frenche butterflye. _Fol._ By my trouthe, I trowe well; But she is lesse a grete dele Than a butterflye of our lande. _Fan._ What pylde curre ledest thou in thy hande? _Fol._ A pylde curre! _Fan._ Ye so, I tell thé, a pylde curre. _Fol._ Yet I solde his skynne to Mackemurre, In the stede of a budge furre. 1070 _Fan._ What, fleyest thou his skynne euery yere? _Fol._ Yes, in faythe, I thanke God I may here. _Fan._ What, thou wylte coughe me a dawe for forty pens? _Fol._ Mary, syr, Cokermowthe is a good way hens. _Fan._ What? of Cokermowth spake I no worde. _Fol._ By my faythe, syr, the frubyssher hath my sworde. _Fan._ A, I trowe, ye shall coughe me a fole. _Fol._ In faythe, trouthe ye say, we wente togyder to scole. _Fan._ Ye, but I can somwhat more of the letter. _Fol._ I wyll not gyue an halfepeny for to chose the better. 1080 _Fan._ But, broder Foly, I wonder moche of one thynge, That thou so hye fro me doth sprynge, And I so lytell alway styll. _Fol._ By God, I can tell thé, and I wyll. Thou art so feble fantastycall, And so braynsyke therwithall, And thy wyt wanderynge here and there, That thou cannyst not growe out of thy boyes gere; And as for me, I take but one folysshe way, And therfore I growe more on one day 1090 Than thou can in yerys seuen. _Fan._ In faythe, trouth thou sayst nowe, by God of heuen! For so with fantasyes my wyt dothe flete, That wysdome and I shall seldome mete. Nowe, of good felowshyp, let me by thy dogge.[812] _Fol._ Cockys harte, thou lyest, I am no hogge.[813] _Fan._ Here is no man that callyd thé hogge nor swyne. _Fol._ In faythe, man, my brayne is as good as thyne. _Fan._ The deuyls torde for thy brayne! _Fol._ By my syers soule, I fele no rayne. 1100 _Fan._ By the masse, I holde thé madde. _Fol._ Mary, I knewe thé when thou waste a ladde. _Fan._ Cockys bonys, herde ye euer syke another? _Fol._ Ye, a fole the tone, and a fole the tother. _Fan._ Nay, but wotest thou what I do say? _Fol._ Why, sayst thou that I was here yesterday? _Fan._ Cockys armys, this is a warke, I trowe. _Fol._ What, callyst thou me a donnyshe crowe? _Fan._ Nowe, in good faythe, thou art a fonde gest.