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Patience herself would startle at this letter. Bear this, bear all. She says I am not fair, that I lack manners. She calls me proud, and that she could not love me were man as rare as phoenix. Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, this is a letter of your own device.
No, I protest. Phoebe did write it.
Sure it is hers.
Come, come, you are a fool. I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand. I say she never did invent this letter. This is a man's invention, and his hand
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.
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, a style for challengers. Women's gentle brain could not drop forth such invention. Will you hear the letter?
So please you, for I never heard it yet.
She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes.
Art thou god to shepherd turned, That a maiden's heart hath burned? Can a woman rail thus?
Call you this railing?
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