Bub. Thanks, and Tu quoque is a word for all.
Scat. A pretty concise room; Sir Lionel, where are your daughters?
Sir Lionel. They are at your service, sir, and forthcoming.
Bub. God's will, Gervase! how shall I behave myself to the gentlewomen?
Staines. Why, advance yourself toward them with a comely step; and in your salute be careful you strike not too high nor too low: and afterward, for your discourse, your Tu quoque will bear you out.
Bub. Nay, and that be all, I care not, for I'll set a good face on't, that's flat: and for my nether parts, let them speak for themselves. Here's a leg; and ever a baker in England show a better, I'll give him mine for nothing.
Staines. O, that's a special thing that I must caution you of.
Bub. What, sweet Gervase?
Staines. Why, for commending yourself: never, whilst you live, commend yourself; and then you shall have the ladies themselves commend you.