women/misogyny

tis not alone

my inky cloak, cold mother

frailty, thy name

is Woman

think yourself

a baby

‘fashion’ you may

call it

be something scanter

of your maiden presence

man delights not me -

nor women neither

i hope your virtues

will bring him to his wonted way again

the harlot’s cheek

beautied with plastering art

for the power of Beauty will sooner

transform Honesty from what it is to a bawd

get thee

to a nunnery

look you how cheerfully my mother looks

and my father died within’s two hours

that’s a fair thought

to lie between maids’ legs

as woman’s

love

the lady doth

protest too much, methinks