Hopers go to hell.
As the fool thinks, the bell tinks.
We are all prone to interpret facts and tokens in accordance with our own inclinations and habits of thought. It was not the voice of the bells that first inspired young Whittington with hopes of attaining civic honours; it was because he had conceived such hopes already that he was able to hear so distinctly the words, "Turn again, Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London." "People make the bells say whatever they have a mind" (French).[363] In a Latin sermon on widowhood by Jean Raulin, a monk of Cluny of the fifteenth century, there is a story which Rabelais has told again in his own way. Raulin's version is this:—
A widow consulted her parish priest about her entering into a second marriage. She told him she stood in need of a helpmate and protector, and that her journeyman, for whom she had taken a fancy, was industrious and well acquainted with her late husband's trade. "Very well," said the priest, "you had better marry him." "And yet," rejoined the widow, "I am afraid to do it, for who knows but I may find my servant become my master?" "Well, then," said the priest, "don't have him." "But what shall I do?" said the widow; "the business left me by my poor dear departed husband is more than I can manage by myself." "Marry him, then," said the priest. "Ay, but suppose he turns out a scamp," said the widow; "he may get hold of my property, and run through it all." "Don't have him," said the priest. Thus the dialogue went on, the priest always agreeing in the last opinion expressed by the widow, until at length, seeing that her mind was actually made up to marry the journeyman, he told her to consult the church bells, and they would advise her best what to do. The bells were rung, and the widow heard them distinctly say, "Do take your man; do take your man."[364] Accordingly she went home and married him forthwith; but it was not long before he thrashed her soundly, and made her feel that instead of his mistress she had become his servant. Back she went to the priest, cursing the hour when she had been credulous enough to act upon his advice. "Good woman," said he, "I am afraid you did not rightly understand what the bells said to you." He rang them again, and then the poor woman heard clearly, but too late, these warning words: "Do not take him, do not take him."[365]
A wilfu' man maun hae his way.—Scotch.
He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar.—Scotch.
Cupar is a town in Fife, and that is all that Scotch paræmiologists condescend to tell us about it. I suppose there is some special reason why insisting on going to Cupar above all other towns is a notable proof of pig-headedness.
A wilful man never wanted woe.
A wilfu' man should be unco' wise.—Scotch.
Since he chooses to rely on his own wisdom only.
Forbidden fruit is sweet.
"Sweet is the apple when the keeper is away" (Latin).[366]
"Stolen sweets are always sweeter,