Tay. Shall I be a moon-man?
Foro. I am of opinion, the people of that world
(If they be like the nature of that climate they live in)
Do vary the fashion of their cloaths oftener than any
Quick-silver'd nation in Europe.
Tay. Not unlikely, but what should that be we call
The man in the moon then?
Foro. Why 'tis nothing but an Englishman
That stands there stark naked,
With a pair of sheers in one hand,
And a great bundle of broad cloath in the other
(Which resembles the bush of thorns)
Cutting out of new fashions.
Taylor. I have heard somewhat like this,
But how shall I get thither?
Foro. I'll make a new compass shall direct you.
Tay. Certain?
Foro. Count me else for no man of direction.
Tay. There's 20 duckats in hand, at my return
I'll give you a 100.
Foro. A new voyage to discover new fashions.