Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Cymbeline > Act II, scene V


POSTHUMUS LEONATUS: Is there no way for men to be but women
	Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
	And that most venerable man which I
	Did call my father, was I know not where
	When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
	Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
	The Dian of that time so doth my wife
	The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
	Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
	And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
	A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
	Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
	As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
	This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
	Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
	Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
	Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
	But what he look'd for should oppose and she
	Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
	The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
	That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
	It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
	The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
	Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
	Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
	Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
	All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
	Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
	For even to vice
	They are not constant but are changing still
	One vice, but of a minute old, for one
	Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
	Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
	In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
	The very devils cannot plague them better.



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