‘The proverb says, “There is no wit like the woman’s wit,” especially in matters of mischief, their natures being more prone to evil than good; for, being made of a knobby crooked rib, they contain something in their manners and dispositions of the matter and form of which they were created, as may be instanced in several examples, of which we shall in this sheet of paper give you some of them.
‘At a town called Stocking Pelham, in the county [sic] of England, not long ago there happened a terrible fray betwixt the man of the house on one side, and his wife and his maid on the other side, and though two to one be great odds at football, yet, by the strength of his arm, and a good crab-tree cudgel, they felt by their bruised sides that he had gotten the victory. Now, though the man’s name was William, yet the wife for a great while did want her Will—I mean, how to be revenged upon him—until at last she effected, by policy, what she could not compass by strength; for he, putting his head out of a window that had neither Glass nor Lettice belonging to it, but only a riding shutter, he having no eyes behind him, she nimbly stept to the shutter, and ran it up close to his neck, so that he was locked fast, as in a Pillory; where, whilst the one kept him in, the other with a great washing-beetle, belaboured his body, as your Seamen do stock-fish. The maid-servant, a strong-docht wench, with both her hands laying on, and at every blow saying:—
‘“Remember how you beat my dame:
Now look for to be served the same.”
‘The poor man, to be rid of his tormentors, was glad to pray, crave, and entreat, and promise whatsoever they would have him, vowing never after to use Crab-tree Cudgel again, nor so much as to eat of Mustard, if it were made of Verjuice, out of detestation to Crabs and Crab-trees.
‘Thus, women, you may learn a ready way
To make resisting husbands to obey:
Although to baste your sides their fingers itches,
You may, by policy, obtain the breeches.
‘It is in the memory of man, since in Black-Fryers a Taylor and his Wife fell out about superiority. The Taylor fretted, and his Wife scolded, whereupon this ninth part of a man challenged her out into the street to try the conquest, having provided broom-staves there for that purpose. Being both entered the lists, the woman thought it best policy to begin first, and, catching up a Ram’s Horn, which lay at her foot, she threw it at her husband, which by chance lighted on his forehead at the great end, and stuck there as fast as ever it grew upon the Ram’s head; which, having done, she ran in at the door again. The Taylor, being mad to be served so, went to run after her, but, making more haste than good speed, he ran his horn into the staple of the door, where he was so entangled by his brow antlers, that he could stir no further, which the woman perceiving, she got up one of the broom-staves, and so belaboured poor Pilgarlick, that, in great humility, he asked her forgiveness, and resigned the right of the breeches up to her.
‘’Twas in the sound of Clerkenwell bells, and therefore of long standing, that a Plaisterer had gotten a most damnable Scold to his wife, who used to fetch him from the Ale-house. One night, coming home three-quarters drunk, she acted the part of Zantippe, and made the house to Ring with her scolding. This music was so untunable in her Husband’s Ears, that, getting a cudgel in his hands, he fell to belabouring her until he made her to ask him for forgiveness, and promise never to scold so again. Having thus, as he thought, got an absolute conquest over her tongue, he went quietly to bed, where he slept soundly, whilst she lay awake studying of mischief. In the morning, before he awaked, she examined his pockets for money (the common tricks of a good many women), but found nothing in them, save only some lath nails; these did she take and set upright all about the room, which done, she gets a Pail of Water in her hands, and, calling aloud, commanded him to rise, which he refused to do; whereupon she throws the pail of water upon the bed. This so vexed him that, starting suddenly up, he went to run after her; when his naked feet lighting upon the lath nails, he was forced to slacken his pursuit, being so mortified with them that he could neither stand nor walk. Whereupon his wife, taking the same cudgel he had beaten her withall the night before, told him that what was sauce for a Goose was sauce for a Gander, and so be-rib-roasted him, that with great penitency he now asked her forgiveness, resigning the whole right and title of the Breeches unto her, and that though he was superior to her in strength, yet he was inferior to her in policy.’
‘When as that women do themselves apply
To mischief, they perform it readily.
Nothing will serve them when their fingers itches
Until such time they have attained the breeches.
Be it to scold, to brangle, scratch, or fight,
Their hands are heavy though their tails are light.
‘In that part of Albion which is called Veal Country, there formerly lived a merry saddler who had gotten a scolding carrion to wife that would frequent the ale-house almost every day, from which he was forced to fetch her home at night, where he would bestow some rib-roast upon her to give her a breathing that she might not grow foggy with drinking so much ale. However, the woman did not take it so kindly but that she vowed to be revenged upon him for it; and to put her determination into practice, one day she asked two of her boon companions to get her husband to the ale-house and make him drunk, which they performed according to her desire, leading him home about ten o’clock at night, and placing him in a chair with a good fire before him, where he presently fell fast asleep: now had the woman a fit opportunity to put her design into practice, when pulling out his feet towards the fire, and the fire so near towards them as it almost touched them, she went to bed, when quickly his shoes began to fry, and his feet were mortified with the burning, so that he made a most sad, dolorous noise. She, knowing the fish was caught that she had laid wait for, went down with a good ashen wand in her hand. “You ill-conditioned slave,” quoth she, “must you come home drunk and make such a noise that one cannot rest in quiet for you? I will make you to roar for something,” and thereupon fell on him with as much Fury as a Pyrat doth on a Merchant’s bark. The poor Sadler was forced to endure all, for he could not help himself; but, desiring her to be merciful, he resigned up the breeches to her, she tryumphing in her double conquest, first paying him who used to pay her, and, secondly, bringing him into that condition that for three-quarters of a year afterwards he did not stir out of doors to fetch her from the ale-house:—
‘Women, like pismires, have their sting,
And several ways to pass their ends do bring.
Their tongues are nimble, nor their hands crazy,
Although to work, each limb they have is lazy.