Women can sing to more than one tune. What good were the Perihermeneias, the Elenchi, divided into several branches, the Prior and Posterior Analytics, logic, or the mathematical sciences to Aristotle? For a woman surmounted all of these in mounting him and conquered the master of logic. She placed a bit and headstall on his head and he was dragged into solecism, barbastoma, and barbarism. The hussy used him as a horse and spurred him on like a female ass. She lifted her crotch far too high when she rode the male. The governor was governed and the roles of the sexes reversed, for she was active and he passive, willing to neigh under her. . . .
In my opinion, he had the status of a horse, and yet he was well acquainted with the power of nature, reason, and justice. Yet why did they not gallop to his aid, bringing succour to their greatest proponent and master? I don't know how this could be. What will the logicians say about the ancient art of sophistry if their celebrated teacher and master was thrown into greater confusion than any madman with a shaven head? He could not have been more confounded. Alas, what will philosophy say, given that the great master was tricked by the figure of amphiboly? Never had such a thing been seen before: the woman was the mounted knight and the man, with a halter under his hoary beard, was the horse that carried the burden. Because of this unnatural act, practitioners of the liberal arts are in constant and perpetual confusion. May they be eaten by evil wolves, if they have not yet taken revenge for this act. This book shows in what way, in what circumstances, and by what means I have reached this sorry pass. There is no one who can offer me a cure for it, for my wife's evil charms are too potent. She is always armed with arguments which torture me terribly. I sigh, weep, and lament, and suffer more than if I had chronic fever. How am I going to write this work? I can hardly begin to compose it without bursting into tears and lamenting.
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