’Tis the Fortune of many an Honest Harmless Man, to have this Fable
Moraliz’d to him under his own Roof; but the Better any thing is in it’s
Perfection, the Worse is the Corruption of it; as there is nothing more
_Fœtid_ then a _Rotten Egg_. ’Tis the same thing betwixt a Temperate
and an Impetuous Woman. Tempests and Sea-Breaches are nothing to her.
There’s no Place for Reasoning with her, neither is there any thought of
Curing her Will, by Applying to her Body. But now for the Honour, and
(in some sort) the Comfort of that Fair Sex, they do not suffer alone
under the Scandal of this Figure; for Men have their Violent Passions and
Transports as well as Women, and Passions much more Dangerous too then
the other. The _Taylor_’s _Wife_ was only a _Good Hearty Shrew_, under
the Impotency of an Unruly Waspish Humour; _She would have her Will, ay
marry would she_, and that was all the Harm in’t. But ’tis another manner
of Business when Men come once to be Transported out of the Government
of Themselves, and beyond the Use of their Reason. Their Violences are
Mortal and Outrageous, even to the Ruin of Kingdoms, Common-Wealths,
Families, Persons, _&c._, and like a Torrent, they bear down all before
them, Friends, Relations, the common Principles of Religion and Nature,
or whatever else stands in their Way. Nay, they make it a point of Honour
to be Firm to their Wickedness, and with the _Old Covenant_ in their
Mouths to Live and Dye _Impenitent_. They’ll do all the Mischief in fine
that they can, and when they can do no more, they’ll be Troubled at it
and call _Pricklouse_ with her _Thumbs_ still, when they can do’t no
longer with their Tongues.