“To send it me. IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?
POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;
[Gives the ring] It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't.
Let there be no honour
Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love Where there's another man. The vows of women
Of no more bondage be to where they are made Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.”