Joyce Morrell's Harvest: The Annals of Selwick HallHolt, Emily Sarah
History
Joyce Morrell's Harvest: The Annals of Selwick Hall
Holt, Emily Sarah
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
And to think that I might have been thus now--with nought but a wasted
life to look back on, and nought to look forward to but a rapid and
early death! And to know well, as I do know, that I have but mine own
headstrong foolery to thank for the danger, and am far from having any
wisdom of mine to thank for the rescue. Verily, I should be the
humblest of women, all the days of my life.
Oh, when will young maids learn, without needing to have it brent into
them of hot irons, that they which have dwelt forty or sixty years in
this world be like to know more about its ways than they that have lived
but twenty; or that their own fathers and mothers, which have loved and
cared for them since they lay in the cradle, be not like to wreck their
happiness, even for a while, without they have good cause! Of force, I
know 'tis not every maid hath such a father and mother as we--thank God
for the same!--but I do think, nevertheless, there be few mothers that
be good women at all, which should not be willing to have their
daughters bring their sorrows and joys to them, rather than pour them
into the ear of the first man that will flatter them. I have learned,
from Aunt _Joyce_, that there is oft a deal more in folk than other folk
reckon, and that if we come not on the soft spot in a woman's heart,
'tis very commonly by reason that we dig not deep enough. Howbeit, Aunt
_Joyce_ saith there be women that have no hearts. The good Lord keep
them out of my path, if His will be!
SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE V.
This morrow, we maids were sat a-work in the great chamber, where was
Aunt _Joyce_ a-work likewise, and _Mother_ coming in and out on her
occasions. _Father_ was there, but he was wrapped in a great book that
lay afore him. I cannot well mind how we gat on the matter, but Aunt
_Joyce_ 'gan speak of the blunders that men do commonly make when they
speak of women.
"Why," saith she, "we might be an other sort of animal altogether,
instead of the one half of themselves. Do but look you what I have
heard men to say in my life. A woman's first desire is to be wed;
that's not true but of some women, and they be the least worthy of the
sex. A woman can never keep a secret: that's not true but of some. A
woman can never take a joke: that's as big a falsehood as _Westminster_
Abbey. A woman cannot understand reason and logic: that's as big an one
as all _England_. Any woman can keep a house or manage a babe: heyday,
can she so? I know better. Poor loons, what should they say if we made
as great blunders touching them? And an other thing I will tell you
which hath oft-times diverted me: 'tis the queer ways whereby a man will
look to win favour of a woman. Nine men of every ten will suppose they
shall be liked of a woman for telling her (in substance) that she is as
good as if she had not been one. Now, that should set the man that did
it out of my grace for ever and ever."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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