Gond. Never, never, but that it troubles my conscience, to wish any good to these women; I could afford them to be valiant, and able, that it might be no disgrace for a Soldier to beat them.
Gentlew. I hope your Lordship will deliver my petition to his grace, and you may tell him withal—
Gond. What? I will deliver any thing against my self, to be rid on thee.
Gentlew. That yesterday about three a clock in the after noon, I met my adversary.
Gond. Give me thy paper, he can abide no long tales.
Gentlew. 'Tis very short my Lord, and I demanding of him—
Gond. I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn.
Gentlew. How?
Gond. I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn, begone: man never doth remember how great his offences are, till he do meet with one of you, that plagues him for them: why should Women [only] above all other creatures that were created for the benefit of man, have the use of speech? or why should any deed of theirs, done by their fleshly appetites, be disgraceful to their owners? nay, why should not an act done by any beast I keep, against my consent, disparage me as much as that of theirs?
Gentlew. Here's some few Angels for your Lordship.