That folowe fonde fantasyes and vertu refuse.
Fan. Nay, that is my parte that thou spekest of nowe.
Fol. So is all the remenaunt, I make God auowe;
For thou fourmest suche fantasyes in theyr mynde, 1300
That euery man almost groweth out of kynde.
Cr. Con. By the masse, I am glad that I came hyder,
To here you two rutters dyspute togyder.
Fan. Nay, but Fansy must be eyther fyrst or last.
Fol. But whan Foly cometh, all is past.
Fan. I wote not whether it cometh of thé or of me,