Description
Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month, or ere those shoes were old.
With which she follow’d my poor father’s body,
Like Niobe, all tears:
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn’d longer married with my uncle,
My father’s brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married.
O, most wicked speed, to post with such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
