[Footnote: Compare in Shakespeare's _Part First of King Henry IV_.
v. I, Falstaff's speech about honour.]

The grave is too melancholy an abode, and too unwholesome for people who
are afraid of the colic; as for me, I find, all things considered, that
it is, after all, better to be a cuckold than to be dead. What harm is
there in it? Does it make a man's legs crooked? does it spoil his shape?
The plague take him who first invented being grieved about such a
delusion, linking the honour of the wisest man to anything a fickle
woman may do. Since every person is rightly held responsible for his own
crimes, how can our honour, in this case, be considered criminal? We are
blamed for the actions of other people. If our wives have an intrigue
with any man, without our knowledge, all the mischief must fall upon our
backs; they commit the crime and we are reckoned guilty. It is a
villainous abuse, and indeed Government should remedy such injustice.
Have we not enough of other accidents that happen to us whether we like
them or not? Do not quarrels, lawsuits, hunger, thirst, and sickness
sufficiently disturb the even tenour of our lives? and yet we must
stupidly get it into our heads to grieve about something which has no
foundation. Let us laugh at it, despise such idle fears, and be above
sighs and tears. If my wife has done amiss, let her cry as much as she
likes, but why should I weep when I have done no wrong? After all, I am
not the only one of my fraternity, and that should console me a little.
Many people of rank see their wives cajoled, and do not say a word about
it. Why should I then try to pick a quarrel for an affront, which is but
a mere trifle? They will call me a fool for not avenging myself, but I
should be a much greater fool to rush on my own destruction. (_Putting
his hand upon his stomach_). I feel, however, my bile is stirred up
here; it almost persuades me to do some manly action. Ay, anger gets the