Philomele was raped by her brother in-law after he told her that
I was the cause, wasn’t I? I said something. What did I do?
Something in my walk? If I had sung a different song? My hair up, my hair down?
[... … …]
And once I envied her happiness with her northern hero. The leader of men. Take the sword out of your hand, you fold into a cloth. Have they ever looked at you, your soldiers, your subjects?
Timberlake Wertenbaker, The Love of the Nightingale, in Timberlake Wertenbaker: Plays 1, London, Faber and Faber, 1996, pp. 335-336.
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