So they talk to each other in my head, what of it?

[xiane]

Will:
"Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply."

John:
"Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where's the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where's the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?"