At sea, in child-bed died she, but brought forth A maid-child called Marina. _Pericles, Act V., Sc. III._ The child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs To women of all fashion;—lastly, hurried Here to this place, i’ the open air, before I have got strength of limit. _Winter’s Tale, Act III., Sc. II._ Alas! worlds fall—and woman since she fell’d The world (as, since that history, less polite Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held) Has not yet given up the practice quite. Poor thing of usages! coerced, compell’d, Victim when wrong, and martyr oft when right, Condemn’d to child-bed, as men for their sins, Have shaving too entail’d upon their chins,— A daily plague, which, in the aggregate, May average on the whole with parturition. But as to women who can penetrate The real sufferings of their she condition? Man’s very sympathy with their estate Has much of selfishness and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, But form good housekeepers to breed a nation. _Byron—Don Juan, Canto XIV., Verse XXIII._ They are as children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of all one pain, save for a night of groans Endur’d of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. _Richard III., Act IV., Sc. IV._ Would I had died a maid, And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast prov’d so unnatural a father! Hath he deserv’d to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but lov’d him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish’d him, as I did with my blood. * * * * * _Henry VI—3d, Act I., Sc. I._ He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; And from that womb where you imprison’d were, He is enfranchised and come to light. _Titus Andronicus, Act IV., Sc. II._ The child was prisoner to the womb, and is By law and process of great Nature, thence Freed and enfranchis’d. _Winter’s Tale, Act II., Sc. II._ She said, no shepherd sought her side, No hunter’s hand her snood untied, Yet ne’er again to braid her hair The virgin snood did Alice wear; Gone was her maiden glee and sport, Her maiden girdle all too short. Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite, But lock’d her secret in her breast, And died in travail unconfess’d. _Scott—Lady of the Lake, Canto III., Verse V._