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“The scribes have cast the blame upon a woman, writing her filthiness is in her skirts and the elders have gathered in judgement under plane trees, and the virgin is trodden as in a wine-press, (how the crowd cries out against the menstruous woman, and the handmaiden, and the crone, and they are hooded with the cloud of anger and pulled into the waiting wagons) And the mothers of the warriors are crowned with laurel and the fathers of the singers are shamed in the square and the signs are marked upon the doorposts and the scaffolding built at the edge of the fairground. Who will teach the stitches and patterns? And who will remember the spells of the clover? And who will know the harmonies of number, the names and accounts of the stars? What thing shall I take to witness for thee? What thing shall I liken unto thee?” — Anonymous