AS there are fifty different ends (counting all ends in——as well civil
as religious) for which a woman takes a husband, the first sets about
and carefully weighs, then separates and distinguishes in her mind,
which of all that number of ends is hers; then by discourse, enquiry,
argumentation, and inference, she investigates and finds out whether
she has got hold of the right one——and if she has——then, by pulling it
gently this way and that way, she further forms a judgment, whether it
will not break in the drawing.
The imagery under which _Slawkenbergius_ impresses this upon the
reader’s fancy, in the beginning of his third Decad, is so ludicrous,
that the honour I bear the sex, will not suffer me to quote
it——otherwise it is not destitute of humour.
“She first, saith _Slawkenbergius_, stops the asse, and holding his
halter in her left hand (lest he should get away) she thrusts her right
hand into the very bottom of his pannier to search for it—For
what?—you’ll not know the sooner, quoth _Slawkenbergius_, for
interrupting me——
“I have nothing, good Lady, but empty bottles;’ says the asse.
“I’m loaded with tripes;” says the second.
——And thou art little better, quoth she to the third; for nothing is
there in thy panniers but trunk-hose and pantofles—and so to the fourth
and fifth, going on one by one through the whole string, till coming to
the asse which carries it, she turns the pannier upside down, looks at
it—considers it—samples it—measures it—stretches it—wets it—dries
it—then takes her teeth both to the warp and weft of it.
——Of what? for the love of Christ!
I am determined, answered _Slawkenbergius_, that all the powers upon
earth shall never wring that secret from my breast.