I remember an old prophecy written by Messahalah the
Arabian, and thus translated by a reverend Buckinghamshire bard:-
'When housewives all the house forsake,
And leave goodman to brew and bake,
Withouten guile, then be it said,
That house doth stand upon its head;
And when the head is set in grond,
Ne marl, if it be fruitful fond.'
Fruitful, the head fruitful, that bodes horns; the fruit of the head
is horns. Dear niece, stay at home--for by the head of the house is
meant the husband; the prophecy needs no explanation.
ANG. Well, but I can neither make you a cuckold, uncle, by going
abroad, nor secure you from being one by staying at home.
FORE. Yes, yes; while there's one woman left, the prophecy is not
in full force.
ANG. But my inclinations are in force; I have a mind to go abroad,
and if you won't lend me your coach, I'll take a hackney or a chair,
and leave you to erect a scheme, and find who's in conjunction with
your wife. Why don't you keep her at home, if you're jealous of her
when she's abroad? You know my aunt is a little retrograde (as you
call it) in her nature. Uncle, I'm afraid you are not lord of the
ascendant, ha, ha, ha!
FORE. Well, Jill-flirt, you are very pert, and always ridiculing
that celestial science.
ANG. Nay, uncle, don't be angry--if you are, I'll reap up all your
false prophecies, ridiculous dreams, and idle divinations. I'll
swear you are a nuisance to the neighbourhood. What a bustle did
you keep against the last invisible eclipse, laying in provision as
'twere for a siege.
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