PHANTASMA.
Nay, faith, Master Furor, let's go together, quoniam convenimus ambo.
FUROR.
Let us march on unto the house of fame;
There, quaffing bowls of Bacchus' blood full nimbly,
Indite a-tiptoe strutting poesy.
[They offer the way one to the other.
PHANTASMA. Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui plenum? Tu major: tibi me est aequum parere, Menalca.
ACTUS II., SCAENA 1.
Enter PHILOMUSUS, THEODORE, his patient, the BURGESS, and his man with his staff.
THEODORE. [Puts on his spectacles.] Monsieur, here are atomi natantes, which do make show your worship to be as lecherous as a bull.
BURGESS.
Truly, Master Doctor, we are all men.
THEODORE. This vater is intention of heat: are you not perturbed with an ache in your vace[78] or in your occipit? I mean your headpiece. Let me feel the pulse of your little finger.
BURGESS. I'll assure you, Master Theodore, the pulse of my head beats exceedingly; and I think I have disturbed myself by studying the penal statutes.
THEODORE. Tit, tit, your worship takes care of your speeches. O, Curae leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent: it is an aphorism in Galen.