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]