CHAPTER XXX

Of the few legitimate sons of _Adam_ whose breasts never felt what the sting of love was, --(maintaining first, all mysogynists to be bastards)--the greatest heroes of ancient and modern story have carried off amongst them nine parts in ten of the honour; and I wish for their sakes I had the key of my study, out of my draw-well, only for five minutes, to tell you their names--recollect them I cannot--so be content to accept of these, for the present, in their stead.------

There was the great king _Aldrovandus_, and _Bosphorus_, and _Cappadocius_, and _Dardanus_, and _Pontus_, and _Asius_, ----to say nothing of the iron-hearted _Charles_ the XIIth, whom the Countess of K***** herself could make nothing of. ----There was _Babylonicus_, and _Mediterraneus_, and _Polixenes_, and _Persicus_, and _Prusicus_, not one of whom (except _Cappadocius_ and _Pontus_, who were both a little suspected) ever once bowed down his breast to the goddess ----The truth is, they had all of them something else to do--and so had my uncle _Toby_--till Fate--till Fate I say, envying his name the glory of being handed down to posterity with _Aldrovandus’s_ and the rest, --she basely patched up the peace of _Utrecht_.

----Believe me, Sirs, ’twas the worst deed she did that year.

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