Dor. And for the women in the boxes, you'd never pity them when 'twas in your power.
Har. They say 'tis pity but all that deal with common women should be served so.
Dor. Nay, I dare swear they won't admit you to play at cards with them, go to plays with 'em, or do the little duties which other shadows of men are wont to do for 'em.
Horn. What do you call shadows of men?
Dor. Half-men.
Horn. What, boys?
Dor. Ay, your old boys, old beaux garçons, who, like superannuated stallions, are suffered to run, feed, and whinny with the mares as long as they live, though they can do nothing else.
Horn. Well, a pox on love and wenching! Women serve but to keep a man from better company. Though I can't enjoy them, I shall you the more. Good fellowship and friendship are lasting, rational, and manly pleasures.
Har. For all that, give me some of those pleasures you call effeminate too; they help to relish one another.
Horn. They disturb one another.