Lacy:
If I intrude, I flex the knee: I’m sage-green with jealousy; or shall I scent the lambent air with flowered gratulation?
Herbert:
[Irritably.] I wish you’d talk naturally, like a man, and not like a popinjay.
Lacy:
In verity I belong to the brutish, bearded sex, as you may prove, my lord, when the occasion pleases you. [Bows to Herbert.] But “naturally” offends my sense, ’tis a gross and vulgar birth. Prithee, my lord, do you dress “naturally”? or eat “naturally”? or house “naturally”? And if to be natural in all these is savage-vile, why should a man talk “naturally,” like a lewd barbarian?
Herbert:
I mean why be singular in speech—fanciful, peculiar?
Lacy:
The first man who made a girdle of skins instead of the fig-leaf was so admonished, and with equal consistency. Why wear a slashed doublet, my lord—most “fanciful-peculiar”?