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 incestious sheets, It is not, nor it cannot come to good, But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
