Fus. Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.
Vio. Resort then to our shop, and, in my husband’s presence, kiss me, snatch rings, jewels, or any thing, so you give it back again, brother, in secret.
Fus. By this hand, sister.
Vio. Swear as if you came but new from knighting.
Fus. Nay, I’ll swear after four-hundred a year.
Vio. Swagger worse than a lieutenant among fresh-water soldiers, call me your love, your ingle,[130] your cousin, or so; but sister at no hand.
Fus. No, no, it shall be cousin, or rather coz; that’s the gulling word between the citizens’ wives and their mad-caps that man ’em to the garden; to call you one a’ mine aunts’[131] sister, were as good as call you arrant whore; no, no, let me alone to cousin you rarely.
Vio. H’as heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore put on a good face.
Fus. The best in Milan, I warrant.