let me do reverence to your deities.
                                   [PHANTASMA pulls him by the sleeve. 
I am your holy swain that, night and day,
Sit for your sakes, rubbing my wrinkled brow,
Studying a month for a epithet. 
Nay, silver Cynthia, do not trouble me;
Straight will I thy Endymion’s story write,
To which thou hastest me on day and night. 
You light-skirt stars, this is your wonted guise,
By gloomy light perk out your doubtful heads;
But when Dan[72] Phoebus shows his flashing snout,
You are sky-puppies;[73] straight your light is out.

PHANTASMA. 
So ho, Furor! 
Nay, prythee, good Furor, in sober sadness—­

FUROR. 
Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo.

PHANTASMA. 
Nay, sweet Furor,—­ipsae te, Tityre, pinus—­

FUROR. 
Ipsi te fontes, ipsa haec arbusta vocarunt. 
Who’s that runs headlong on my quill’s sharp point,
That, wearied of his life and baser breath,
Offers himself to an Iambic verse?

PHANTASMA. 
Si, quoties peccant homines, sua fulmina mittat
Jupiter, exiguo tempore inermis erit.

FUROR. 
What slimy, bold, presumptuous groom[74] is he,
Dares with his rude, audacious, hardy chat
Thus sever me from sky-bred[75] contemplation?

PHANTASMA.
Carmina vel coelo possunt deducere lunam.

FUROR. 
O Phantasma! what, my individual[76] mate?

PHANTASMA.
O, mihi post nullos, Furor, memorande sodales!

FUROR. 
Say, whence comest thou? sent from what deity? 
From great Apollo or sly Mercury?

PHANTASMA. 
I come from the little Mercury Ingenioso:  for,
Ingenio pollet, cui vim natura negavit.

FUROR. 
Ingenioso? 
He is a pretty inventor of slight prose;
But there’s no spirit in his grov’lling speech. 
Hang him, whose verse cannot outbelch the wind,
That cannot beard and brave Dan Aeolus;
That, when the cloud of his invention breaks,
Cannot outcrack the scarecrow thunderbolt. 
Hang him, I say![77]

PHANTASMA. Pendo, pependi; tendo, tetendi; pedo, pepedi.  Will it please you, Master Furor, to walk with me?  I promise to bring you to a drinking-inn in Cheapside, at the sign of the Nag’s Head; for

     Tempore lenta pati fraena docentur equi.

FUROR. 
Pass thee before, I’ll come incontinent.

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.