Book 8 — CHAPTER XIII

Which shows, let your reverences and worships say what you will of it (for as for thinking——all who do think—think pretty much alike both upon it and other matters)——Love is certainly, at least alphabetically speaking, one of the most

Agitating

Bewitching

Confounded

Devilish affairs of life—the most

Extravagant

Futilitous

Galligaskinish

Handy-dandyish

Iracundulous (there is no K to it) and

Lyrical of all human passions: at the same time, the most

M isgiving

Ninnyhammering

Obstipating

Pragmatical

Stridulous

R idiculous—though by the bye the R should have gone first—But in short ’tis of such a nature, as my father once told my uncle Toby upon the close of a long dissertation upon the subject——“You can scarce,” said he, “combine two ideas together upon it, brother Toby, without an hypallage”——What’s that? cried my uncle Toby.

The cart before the horse, replied my father——

——And what is he to do there? cried my uncle Toby——

Nothing, quoth my father, but to get in——or let it alone.

Now widow Wadman, as I told you before, would do neither the one or the other.

She stood however ready harnessed and caparisoned at all points, to watch accidents.