Pseudo-Elizabethan fat rant

And the wenches of this age, the courtesans who seem beloved by these folk, why they are thinner than beggars, all of them! The bones, they show through their skin like walking death's heads in the church paintings. Terrifying, the lot of them! And they do not seem to lack for money; they are well decked out in jewels, and painted bright like any other harlots, and I do not understand why they cannot feed themselves. Are they mad? One and all afflicted with the wasting disease? Would not the men shun them, for fear of catching it? But apparently not, no; nobody has any sense anymore. They are skin and bones and call this 'have a nice bod.' Bod! I would hazard that they are all moonstruck. They cannot even say a whole word! 'Bods' like bodkins, they have. I could take one of them up in one arm, bear her into battle, and fight most fearsome with her elbows. The time of swords is past; they have their wenches instead! Though I gather that the wenches themselves, mad as the lot of them are, would rather use their elbows on their comelier sisters. When a woman is fair and soft, as a woman should be, why she is reviled! They would wish her to starve herself, wither away all her beauty, so that she might be as harpy-boned as they!

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NO, I DO NOT KNOW WHERE THAT CAME FROM.