Bob. Because womens hanches only are most subject to display and flie out.
Cla. Bobadilla, rogue, ten Duckets, I hit the prepuce of thy Codpiece.
Luc. Hold, if you love my life, Sister: I am not Zancho Bobadilla, I am your brother Lucio: what a fright you have put me in!
Cla. Brother? and wherefore thus?
Luc. Why, Master Steward here, Signior Zancho made me change: he does nothing but mis-use me, and call me Coward, and swears I shall wait upon him.
Bob. Well: I do no more than I have authori[t]y for: would I were away though: for she's as much too manish, as he too womanish: I dare not meddle with her, yet I must set a good face on't (if I had it) I have like charge of [you] Madam, I am as well to mollifie you, as to quallifie him: what have you to do with Armors, and Pistols, and Javelins, and swords, and such tools? remember Mistriss; nature hath given you a sheath only, to signifie women are to put up mens weapons, not to draw them: look you now, is this a fit trot for a Gentlewoman? You shall see the Court-Ladies move like Goddesses, as if they trode air; they will swim you their measures, like Whiting-mops, as if their feet were finns, and the hinges of their knees oil'd: doe they love to ride great horses, as you do? no, they love to ride great asses sooner: faith, I know not what to say t' ye both: Custom hath turn'd nature topsie-turvie in you.
Cla. Nay, but Master Steward.
Bob. You cannot trot so fast, but he ambles as slowly.
Cla. Signior Spindle, will you hear me?
Bob. He that shall come to bestride your Virginity, had better be afoot o'er the Dragon.