Then, my good girls, be more than women, wise:
At least be more than I was; and be sure
You credit anything the light gives life to
Before a man.
"And now, Madam," I addressed her, "we
shall try who shall get the breeches.
William Beloe—Miscellanies. (1795) Translation of a Latin story by Antonius Musa
Brassavolus. (1540)
| seealso = (See also Burton)
| topic =
| page = 887
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Phidias made the statue of Venus at Elis with
one foot upon the shell of a tortoise, to signify
two great duties of a virtuous woman, which are
to keep home and be silent.
W. De Britaine—Human Prudence. (Ed.
) P. 134. Referred to by Burton—
Anatomy of Melancholy. Pt. III. Sec. III.
Mem. 4. Subs. 2.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Donne, Taylor)
You forget too much
That every creature, female as the male,
Stands single in responsible act and thought,
As also in birth and death.
E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. II. L.
472.
A worthless woman! mere cold clay
As all false things are! but so fair,
She takes the breath of men away
Who gaze upon her unaware:
I would not play her larcenous tricks
To have her looks!
E. B. Browning—Bianca among the Nightingales. St. 12.
Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn,
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,
Dear as the raptured thrill of joy.
Burns—Address to Edinburgh.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her 'prentice hand she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Burns—Green Grow the Rashes.
| seealso = (See also Cupid's Whdjligig, Lessing)
| topic =
| page = 887
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,
TheyVe ta'en me in, and a' that,
But clear your decks, and—Here's the sex!
I like the jads for a' that.
Burns—Jolly Beggars.
It is a woman's reason to say I will do such a
thing because I will.
Burroughs—On Hosea. Vol. IV. (1652)
| seealso = (See also Hill, Taylor)
| topic =
| page = 887
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Women wear the breeches.
| author = Burton
| work = Anatomy of Melancholy.
| place = Democritus
to the Reader.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Beloe)
The souls of women are so small,
That some believe they've none at all;
Or if they have, like cripples, still
They've but one faculty, the will.
Butler—Miscellaneous Thoughts.
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her sides.
| author = Byron
| work = Beppo. St. 45.
Soft as the memory of buried love,
Pure as the prayer which childhood wafts above.
| author = Byron
| work = Bride ofAbydos. Canto I. St. 6.
The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe.
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto IV. St. 79.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic =
| page = 887
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Her stature tall—I hate a dumpy woman.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto I. St.. 61.
A lady with her daughters or her nieces
Shine like a guinea and seven-shilling pieces.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto III. St. 60.
I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse
The tyrant's wish, "that mankind only had
One neck, which he with one fell stroke might
pierce;"
My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,
And much more tender on the whole than fierce;
It being (not now, but only while a lad)
That womankind had but one rosy mouth,
To kiss them all at once, from North to South.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto VI. St. 27.
I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women,
And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto VI. St. 53.
But she was a soft landscape of mild earth,
Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet,
Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto VI. St. 53.
What a strange thing is man! and what a
stranger
Is woman! What a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger
Is all the rest about her.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto DC. St. 64.
And whether coldness, pride, or virtue dignify
A woman, so she's good, what does it signify?
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto XIV. St. 57.
She was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all.
Byron—The Dream. St. 2. "River of his
Thought" from Dante—Purgatorio. XIII
88.
| seealso = (See also {{sc|Longfellow)
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false.
Byron—English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>The world was sad; the garden was a wild;
And man, the hermit, sigh'd—till woman smiled. Campbell—Pleasures of Hope. Pt. II. L. 37
