Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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This is a man’s invention and his hand.

Sil.

Sure it is hers.

Ros.

Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style,

A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,

Like Turk to Christian. Women’s gentle brain

Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,

Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect

Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

Sil.

So please you, for I never heard it yet;

Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.

Ros.

She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes.

(Read.)

“Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,

That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d?”

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil.

Call you this railing?

Ros. (Read.)

“Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart?”

Did you ever hear such railing?

“Whiles the eye of man did woo me,

That could do no vengeance to me.”

Meaning me a beast.

“If the scorn of your bright eyne

Have power to raise such love in mine,

Alack, in me what strange effect

Would they work in mild aspect?

Whiles you chid me, I did love;

How then might your prayers move?