It seems something in the woman's genes, something in her creation and way of thinking and behavior, that she can totally and easily take control of a man. Obsess to possess! And she has all the weapons she needs. But the most peculiar weapon is ironically her weakness. By her weakness she attracts the man to be her savior, her protector, her care-giver and pamperer, and then she becomes the man's point of weakness and spreads weakness throughout his body throughout the remaining days of his life, till the point becomes an everything, till she becomes his savior, his protector, his care-giver and pamperer, if she wishes to. It is amazing to observe her magnificent ability to extend and expand in his heart, in his mind, and in his whole being, so that after she totally surrounds him, she is the one to decide what to do with him, to take him or to leave him, to help him thrive or to destroy him. Like animals, to prey on you, to hunt you down and eat you alive, and to haunt you semi-living.
"Poor man!" She would say to herself. You became her poor man. I am the humble vagabond, and you are the fancy queen. I am the wretched creature, and you are the dominant species. I am the honest believer, and you are the false preacher. "Poor man!" You fell so easily for her beauty and gentleness and knowledge and friendliness and strengths and weaknesses. You became the captive of her sweet voice, her angelic smile, her pleasant laugh, her brilliant mind, and her kind heart. You saw in her what you wished you would see in a woman; you saw in her what she wanted you to see and what you wanted to see. But all were illusions. She wants something else; she has been always wanting something else. No love, that is a fantasy, but your servitude, your power, your money, your possession and possessions. All were illusions..
My lady, I am thy humble vagabond, but not any more. I do beseech thee, my queen of hearts, 'twas my heart thou locked with those chains, but ne'er again. Hark and behold! I do prithee, thou art no lady to me. And hither I become my own free soul. And thou shalt become a damned one. "Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them?...For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, th' oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?"
Verily, my lady, thou art fair but no lovely wench, no chaste maiden. What means it be fair if it admits no discourse to beauty, to honesty. I did love thee once, but for all. Methinks I had enough, and gave thou more than what deserved thee. Farewell! I was thy fool once, but once a fool ne'er a fool. Farewell! "I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God has given you one face and you make yourselves another. You jig and amble, and you lisp, you nickname God’s creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on ’t." A humble vagabond no more, and so doth thou no fancy queen. Fare thee well in thy accursed path, and by fate we shalt ne'er e'er meet again.
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