_Qua._ I cannot tell; 'tis now grown fashion, What's out of railing's out of fashion. A man can scarce put on a tuck'd-up cap, A button'd frizado suit, scarce eat good meat, Anchovies, caviare, but he's satired And term'd fantastical by the muddy spawn Of slimy newts, when, troth, fantasticness-- That which the natural sophisters term 190 _Phantasia incomplexa_--is a function Even of the bright immortal part of man. It is the common pass, the sacred door, Unto the privy chamber of the soul; That barr'd, nought passeth past the baser court Of outward sense; by it th' inamorate Most lively thinks he sees the absent beauties Of his loved mistress; By it we shape a new creation Of things as yet unborn; by it we feed 200 Our ravenous memory, our intention feast: 'Slid he that's not fantastical's a beast. _Lam._ Most fantastical protection of fantasticness. _Lav._ Faith, 'tis good. _Qua._ So't be fantastical 'tis wit's lifeblood. _Lav._ Come, signior, my legs are girt. _Qua._ Fantastically? _Lav._ After a special humour, a new cut. _Qua._ Why, then, 'tis rare, 'tis excellent. Uds fut! And I were to be hanged I would be choked Fantastically. He can scarce be saved 210 That's not fantastical: I stand firm to it. _Lav._ Nay, then, sweet sir, give reason. Come on: when?[443] _Qua._ 'Tis hell to run in common base of men. _Lav._ Has not run thyself out of breath, bully?[444] _Qua._ And I have not jaded thy ears more than I have tired my tongue, I could run discourse, put him out of his full pace. I could pour speech till thou criedst ho! but troth, I dread a glut; and I confess much love To freer gentry, whose pert agile spirits 220 Is too much frost-bit, numb'd with ill-strain'd snibs,[445] Hath tenter-reach'd[446] my speech. By Brutus' blood, He is a turf that will be slave to man; But he's a beast that dreads his mistress' fan. _Lav._ Come, all mirth and solace, capers, healths, and whiffs;[447] To-morrow are my nuptials celebrate. All friends, all friends! _Lam._ I protest---- _Qua._ Nay, leave protests; pluck out your snarling fangs. When thou hast means, be fantastical and sociable. Go to: here's my hand; and you want forty shillings, I am your Mecænas, though not _atavis edite regibus_. 233 _Lam._ Why, content, and I protest---- _Qua._ I'll no protest! _Lam._ Well, and I do not leave these fopperies, do not lend me forty shillings, and there's my hand: I embrace you--love you--nay, adore thee; for by the juice of wormwood, thou hast a bitter brain!