activity, by which she had been caught and deceived.  They may say there is more pains required in doing than in suffering; and so they are on their part always at least provided for necessity, whereas on our part it may fall out otherwise.  For this reason it was, that Plato wisely made a law that before marriage, to determine of the fitness of persons, the judges should see the young men who pretended to it stripped stark naked, and the women but to the girdle only.  When they come to try us they do not, perhaps, find us worthy of their choice: 

              “Experta latus, madidoque simillima loro
               Inguina, nec lassa stare coacta manu,
               Deserit imbelles thalamos.”

["After using every endeavour to arouse him to action,
she quits the barren couch.”—­Martial, vii. 58.]

’Tis not enough that a man’s will be good; weakness and insufficiency lawfully break a marriage,

“Et quaerendum aliunde foret nervosius illud,
Quod posset zonam solvere virgineam:” 

     ["And seeks a more vigorous lover to undo her virgin zone.” 
     —­Catullus, lxvii. 27.]

why not? and according to her own standard, an amorous intelligence, more licentious and active,

“Si blando nequeat superesse labori.”

          ["If his strength be unequal to the pleasant task.” 
          —­Virgil, Georg., iii. 127.]

But is it not great impudence to offer our imperfections and imbecilities, where we desire to please and leave a good opinion and esteem of ourselves?  For the little that I am able to do now: 

                                   “Ad unum
                         Mollis opus.”

          ["Fit but for once.”—­Horace, Epod., xii. 15.]

I would not trouble a woman, that I am to reverence and fear: 

                              “Fuge suspicari,
                    Cujus undenum trepidavit aetas
                              Claudere lustrum.”

          ["Fear not him whose eleventh lustrum is closed.” 
          —­Horace, Od., ii. 4, 12, limits it to the eighth.]

Nature should satisfy herself in having rendered this age miserable, without rendering it ridiculous too.  I hate to see it, for one poor inch of pitiful vigour which comes upon it but thrice a week, to strut and set itself out with as much eagerness as if it could do mighty feats; a true flame of flax; and laugh to see it so boil and bubble and then in a moment so congealed and extinguished.  This appetite ought to appertain only to the flower of beautiful youth:  trust not to its seconding that indefatigable, full, constant, magnanimous ardour you think in you, for it will certainly leave you in a pretty corner; but rather transfer it to some tender, bashful, and ignorant boy, who yet trembles at the rod, and blushes: 

              “Indum sanguineo veluti violaverit ostro
               Si quis ebur, vel mista rubent ubi lilia multa
               Alba rosa.”