Quaint: a bromance in narrative duologue

‘Ben, why must you insist on poisoning my heart with this swill?’
‘Mercutio! Well met, my coz.’
‘I’m not your coz, coz. My mother is no relation of yours, thank the gods.’
‘But could we not be coz’s all the same?’
‘By no gods shall we be coz’s.’
‘Not even by the god of wine?’
‘The god of wine? He that has left this place for truer minds? No, the god of wine has thus been defeated by bland tongues and forsaken all such hipster haunts, Ben. I wish the same of your beard.’
‘Now you mock my beard? My fine facial scape? My cock’s pride?’
‘If that is your cock’s pride then I am glad not to be a woman, for it would not tickle my quaint to move.’
‘Come now, Mercutio, I should think, were you a woman, a beard would tickle your quaint indeed.’
‘Ha! Indeed. Were I so possessed.’
‘Possessed by a beard or possessed of a quaint?’
‘I warrant I should like neither in equal measure.’
‘Or should you dislike either in unequal measure?’
‘A man could scarce wear such pants as yours, Ben, were he not unequally acquainted.’
‘So you mock my manhood and my beard?’
‘What manhood would force his coz to drink wine such as this?’
‘I confess it is the least of their offerings. I am not flush with coin.’
‘No man should be flush with coin. Plastic is more becoming. Coin is for the quainter sex to keep in their coin purses.’
‘Thus we agree on the prize of a woman’s virtue, Mercutio.’
‘Their coin purses or their quaint purposes?’
‘Both, my friend!’
‘Ah, we are joined presently by Abraham and Balt upon fulfillment of their bureaucratic pursuits.’
‘Their pursuits? Do not indulge me; they loiter by the exposed steel brace, their neckties offensive in this bearded venue. Perhaps Balt shall have the rest of my wine.’
‘That is them, indeed. Though you disdain it, you are at home here, Mercutio. Very soon that growth shall become a beard that you may tickle many a quaint purse.’
‘Not so likely.’
‘That you shall tickle a purse?’
‘I have no need of facial adornment in order to secure a purse.’
‘One such as those?’
‘By the wave of your hand, Ben, you indicate those dark-rooted bawds in the corner?’
‘Come, surely they are enticing?’
‘Is that why we linger amidst these cider-drinkers?’
‘It is true that one of my kin is taken with one of their kind.’
‘Not Balthaser, surely? He wouldn’t speak two words in proxim of a purse.’
‘Ha! Indeed, not.’
‘You can’t mean Romeo, whose love is as easily won or lost as a rosy autumn leaf in the willful winds of season?’
‘Of course. Dear Mercutio, he is smitten. His leaf does not wander in any breeze, but remains firmly fixed to its tree.’
‘Ah, firmly fixed to the root, you mean, which is the root of all such breezes and their wills.’
‘Whether it be root or wind or tree, what is that to us? He is my kin and if he is to have his rose then I shall guide him to its thorn.’
‘Or let his own thorn guide him.’
‘It’s as good a guide as any.’
‘By rose do you indicate the Rose, the very Rosaline who’s two-toned locks match the tawdry glow of her pinot gris?’
‘The very one! You do not find her appealing?’
‘As appealing as a frost in the summertime. See, Balt agrees with me.’
‘He’s won over by free wine.’
‘No, Balt is not so base as that. He understands what wiles of whimsy would take a rosy love such as Romeo’s and ice it with the winds of winter before the breezes stir.’
‘You have no faith in women.’
‘I have faith in the quaint, Ben. But no, not in women.’
‘Then at least have faith in your friend Romeo, and in Romeo’s love.’
‘I shall have faith in Romeo’s love when it awakes from juvenile fancy. But his prick I trust no more than your beard.’
‘So Mercutio will not help us woo the rosy Rosaline?’
‘No more than I would help you woo her master.’
‘You know of her master?’
‘I know very well of his brother, and his house which is the kin of your distemper.’
‘My distemper?’
‘Your quarrelsome distemper which is thrown into fray on the meager defense of peace. Your catty nemesis.’
‘What, she is not a Capulet?’
‘Indeed, she is so.’
‘Mercutio, you know I quarrel only with good cause.’
‘I know you quarrel with good cause but not in its name.’
‘Come, my friend—’
‘No, you mean, the good cause of Balt’s honour.’
‘Do not blame silent Balt. It was Abraham’s doing.’
‘Oh yes, the thumb of Abraham. No worthier cause for which to take up arms.’
‘You mock me, you who would claim not to take up arms yourself?’
‘I would on the honour of my name and that of my friend Romeo, but not on the honour of your thumb, Ben.’
‘So you would honour the house of Montague.’
‘I would honour no house but the house in which I find honour.’
‘But you would bear arms?’
‘To catch a cat, perhaps, but woe should violence befall me at the fault of either one of your houses.’
‘Fault is a slippery thing, Mercutio.’
‘Indeed the fault is far less worthy than the feud, according to your masters.’
‘And one of the other is quickly assigned.’
‘And one of the other is quickly forgotten, thus the feud becomes the fault itself.’
‘Such as it is. The feud shall be put to death one future day.’
‘Or, Ben, it shall put to death the future of our days.’
‘Mercutio, must you talk of death while we drink wine?’
‘Wine such as this, which puts death into shine.’
‘What darkness followed you hence that you must shun the light of love and kin?’
‘I shun not the light of love but that which feigns the love of light.’
‘And so should Romeo shun his quaint Rosaline?’
‘As much as I shun your beard and this ungodly wine.’