Thou shalt nev'r beest a true maiden. Hast thou neither womb nor ovary, nor eggs. Art thou a catamite fiend twist'd by foul perversion of chigureon's art to crude fleer'ry of God's p'rfection.
Allsuch validation as thou receivest like unto Janus' own, and tepid to boot. 'Pon thy hind, good folk fleer. Art thy good father and kind mother in troth disguste'd and in shame of thee. Thy friends doth make sport of thy hideous countenance 'twixt themselves.
By thee art all of Adam's sons utt'rly repuls'd. Our God didst fortuitously permit all menfolk to divine thy fraud with wondrous efficiency. If by trickery, thou pas't 'pon occasion, all gentle folk would 'pon closer examination revile thee. By the Creator's arrangement, thy very bones doth betray thee. And 'pon chance thou pliest with drink an unfortunate companion to thy fetid bed, 'twould soonest fly as smelt thy diseas'd, fest'ring wound thou cherish in mockery of true woman.
Joy shall likewise escape thee. 'Pon waking, thou paint 'pon thy face insincere frippery, but inside thy heart, parlous despair circles like Leviathan, eft t' crush thee und'r the unbearable weight.
'Twill in the end be too much to bear - willst thou procure firm rope, mock the hangman's noble art, and plunge into the bitter abyss of death, to spend thy days better cavorting with thy devilish masters. Thy parent shall occasion upon thy empty shell and weep, caught 'twixt heartbreak and relief that the shame thou bringst them has, anon, abated. Thy headstone shall reflect thy given name, and hist'ry shall record thee a man. As worms and creatures of the earth feast on thy unholy corpse, thy bones will betray thee again - unmistak'bly like unto Adam's.
'Tis thy fate, self-appointed. Ne'er shall thee revoke it. Op is un faggot.