I return, finally, to Halperin's discussion of The Symposium in order to clarify the relation between The Winter's Tale's assumption of female procreativity and the problem with which I began this essay: the difference in signifying power between the participation of boys and the participation of men in homosexual and homoerotic acts. Halperin argues that Diotima functions as a mimetic device through which Plato appropriates a putatively "feminine" erotics as the cornerstone of his own teachings, his own articulation of what The Symposium calls "right pederasty." Concerned as she is with the erotics of pedagogy, Diotima aligns herself, in Halperin's account, with the symbolic appropriations of female procreativity that typify male rites of passage in ancient and modern patriarchal cultures. Like the couvade, like ritual scarrings that symbolize menstruation in men, like pederastic rites that initiate boys into manhood and employ procreative imagery, Diotima gives witness to "the determination of men to acquire the powers they ascribe (whether correctly or incorrectly) to women," which Halperin calls "a remarkably persistent and widespread feature of male culture."⁴⁰

Importantly, according to Halperin, these appropriations of female procreativity inevitably depend upon the failure of men to represent women:

Even in the midst of mimicking menstruation, pregnancy, giving birth, and breastfeeding, the male actors must share with their audience the understanding that their procreative performances are symbolic, not real—that nose-bleeding is not menstruating, that oral insemination is not breastfeeding. The point of all those rites, after all, is to turn boys into men, not into women: for the cultural construction of masculinity to succeed it is necessary that the process intended to turn boys into men be genuinely efficacious, no less "generative" than female procreativity itself, but it is also necessary that the men who do the initiating retain their identity as men—something they can only do if their assumption of "feminine" capacities and powers is understood to be an impersonation, a cultural fiction, or (at the very least) a mere analogy. (146)

Thus Halperin accounts for The Symposium's relative lack of concern for Diotima's authenticity, its willingness to let readers suspect that Socrates merely uses her as a voice through which to speak his own erotic doctrines.

The Symposium, then, lets the mask of female impersonation slip for the purposes of bolstering the power of men and bolstering the power of "masculine" and "feminine" as categories of definition. Its efforts to do so are, as Halperin points out, fully appropriate to a treatise on the pederastic initiation of Greek boys. The Winter's Tale, on the other hand, while similarly preoccupied with the transition from boyhood to "more mature dignities"—and with the erotic significance of that transition—performs its version of what Halperin calls "mimetic transvestism" to what is ultimately a much more unsettling effect. Leontes and Polixenes portray themselves, and others portray them, as having outgrown their childish proximity to one another and to the implicit homoeroticism of boyhood. Because the ganymede repeatedly intrudes, however, upon the terrain of heterosexual reconciliation and procreation, the play finally dramatizes the difficulty of distancing men from boys, of marking any absolute passage through time from one erotic mode to another. As I have argued in the early portions of this essay, the implied narrative of masculine development that relegates something like homosexual identity to boyhood (while allotting to mature men a literally insignificant or uninscriptive range of sexual choices) is finally unsustainable in the erotic context of English Renaissance theater. Because all players could share in the sexual stigma of the ganymede, because everyone on the Shakespearean stage was implicated in the boy actor's sexual display, no real rite of passage is finally possible. When The Winter's Tale allows the ganymede to peek out from behind its display of natural and female fecundity, it reveals, finally, not the supreme confidence of Platonic distinctions between male and female, but instead a peculiarly theatrical breakdown of the distinctions between ganymede and king. In so doing, it claims for the theater not only the free play of sexual desire, but also the power of that desire to adhere to subjects.

Notes

¹ Alan Bray, Homosexuality in Renaissance England (London: Gay Men's Press, 1982), 34.

² John Donne, Satire I 1.39-40, The Satires, Epigrams, and Verse Letters, ed. W. Milgate (Oxford: Clarendon, 1967), quoted in Bray, Renaissance England, 53; Epigramme 25, "On Sir Voluptuous Beast," in Ben Jonson, ed. C. H. Herford and Percy Simpson (Oxford: Clarendon, 1937), 8:34, quoted in Bray, Renaissance England,16.

³ Bray, Renaissance England, 70; Memoirs of the life of Colonel Hutchinson, ed. J. Hutchinson, rev. C. H. Firth, (London, 1906), 84, quoted in Bray, Renaissance England, 55.

⁴ [December 1623?] Letter 218 in G. P. V. Akrigg, ed., Letters of King James VI and I (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), 431.

⁵ See Jonathan Goldberg, Sodometries: Renaissance Texts, Modern Sexualities (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press 1992), 17 and throughout. In James I and the Politics of Literature: Jonson, Shakespeare, Donne, and Their Contemporaries, Goldberg discusses at some length the difficult relationship between James's kingship and his relations with his favorites (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 1983), see esp. 143-46.

⁶ See for example Bredbeck's introduction, to Sodomy and Interpretation: Marlowe to Milton (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991), quoted in text. Goldberg argues that "the invocation of historical difference . . . cannot be used as a way of cordoning off the past from the present' (Sodometries, 6). Louise O. Fradenburg and Carla Freccero present a series of articles that complicate the "acts vs. identities" debate, including their own introduction, which asks whether "alterism functions within current historicist practice precisely to stabilize the identity of 'the modern'" ("Premodern Sexualities in Europe," Gay and Lesbian Quarterly 1 [1995]:378). See also Lorraine Daston and Katherine Park, who challenge "the conventional binary periodization of sexuality into 'modern' and `pre-modern'" ("The Hermaphrodite and the Orders of Nature: Sexual Ambiguity in Early Modern France" Gay and Lesbian Quarterly 1 [1995]:419). Alan Sinfield's speculations are particularly helpful in their readjustment of the notion of historical difference:

I have a suspicion that the quest for the moment at which the modern homosexual subject is constituted is misguided. I suspect that what we call gay identity has, for a long time, been always in the process of getting constituted—as the middle classes have been always rising, or, more pertinently, as the modern bourgeois subject has for a long time been in the process of getting constituted. Theorists of post-structuralism . . . sometimes write as if they were showing that Shakespeare and his contemporaries did not envisage full or even coherent subjectivities in anything like the modern way. But actually these scholars tend to discover ambivalent or partial signs of subjectivity; they catch not the absence of the modern subject, but its emergence. .. . Of course, the human subject is never full, and hence may, at any moment, appear unformed. And so with gay subjectivity, which because of its precarious social position is anyway more fragile and inconstant: it is on-going, we are still discovering it" (Cultural Politics—Queer Reading [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994] 14).

⁷ Bredbeck, Sodomy and Interpretation, xi.

⁸ Ben Jonson, Volpone, in Ben Jonson, 5, ed. C. H. Herford and Percy Simpson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1937) 3.7.219-33.

⁹ This observation is too widespread to be cataloged, but the following examples are instructive. Madelon (Sprengnether) Gohlke notes that "Once Othello is convinced of Desdemona's infidelity . . . he regards her not as a woman who has committed a single transgression but as a whore, one whose entire behavior may be explained in terms of lust" ("`I Wooed Thee with My Sword': Shakespeare's Tragic Paradigms," in Representing Shakespeare: New Psychoanalytic Essays, ed. Murray M. Schwartz and Coppella Kahn, 174 [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980]). Similarly, Coppella Kahn points out that "the cuckold may take revenge against either his wife or her lover, or against both. According to the double standard, however, she has become a whore, irrevocably degraded by even one sexual transgression" (Man's Estate: Masculine Identity in Shakespeare [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981], 121). Janet Adelman's reading of, for instance, Hamlet, speaks powerfully of the importance of sexuality in the characterization of a Gertrude or an Ophelia, and the play becomes for her a paradigm for the anxieties about women's sexuality that resonate throughout the Shakespearean canon: "as they enter into sexuality, the virgins—Cressida, Desdemona, Imogen—will be transformed into whores, their whoredom acted out in the imaginations of their nearest and dearest; and the primary antidote to their power will be the excision of their sexual bodies, the terrible revirginations that Othello performs on Desdemona, and Shakespeare on Cordelia" (Suffocating Mothers: Fantasies of Maternal Origin in Shakespeare's Plays, "Hamlet" to ``The Tempest" [New York: Routledge, 1992], 36). Speaking not so much of adultery but simply of marriage, Carol Thomas Neely argues that the loss of virginity signals for Shakespeare's heroines the loss of "their position as idealized beloveds" (Broken Nuptials in Shakespeare's Plays [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985], 63). Critics who focus more primarily upon the inscription of women's bodies also locate sexuality—perhaps necessarily—at the center of the idea of woman. Susan J. Wiseman, writing about 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, notes that "it is . . . Anabella's body rather than Giovanni's which comes to bear the meaning" of the incest they commit together ("'Tis Pity She's a Whore: Representing the Incestuous Body," in Renaissance Bodies: The Human Figure in English Culture, c. 1540-1660, ed. Lucy Grant and Nigel Llewellyn [London: Reaktion Books, 1990] 188). Peter Stallybrass analyzes contradictory cultural assumptions about women's sexuality that are expressed as actual features of women's bodies, be they figured as "grotesque" or "classical" ("Patriarchal Territories: The Body Enclosed," in Rewriting the Renaissance: The Discourses of Sexual Difference in Early Modern Europe, ed. Margaret W. Ferguson, Maureen Quilligan, and Nancy J. Vickers [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986]).

¹⁰ H. B. Charlton and R. D. Waller, eds., Works and Life of Christopher Marlowe, 2d. ed. (London: Methuen, 1933), 1.1.61-66.

¹¹ For a variety of approaches to this scene and the play as a whole, see Alan Bray, "Homosexuality and the Signs of Male Friendship in Elizabethan England," in Queering the Renaissance, ed. Jonathan Goldberg 40-61 (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1994); Bredbeck, Sodomy and Interpretation, 56-86; Goldberg, Sodometries, 105-43; Lisa Jardine, Still Harping on Daughters: Women and Drama in the Age of Shakespeare (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 22-24; Bruce R. Smith, Homosexual Desire in Shakespeare's England: A Cultural Poetics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 209-23. These critics all note the boy's androgyny, but stop short of emphasizing the extent to which his appearance here really is not a cross-dressed performance. The boy is more or less naked. His body, not his costume, is in Dian's shape.

¹²The Poems of Richard Barnfìeld, ed. Montague Summers (London: Fortune Press, 1936), 1-24. See Bray, Renaissance England, 60-61, Bredbeck, Sodomy and Interpretation, 149-60, Goldberg, Sodometries, 68-9, and Smith, Homosexual Desire, 99-115 for more extensive readings of Barfield.

¹³ There is the further suggestion that Ganimede is physically inscribed even by heterosexual desire when Daphnis describes him as a beloved "Vpon whose forehead you may plainely reade / Loues Pleasure, grau'd in yuorie Tables bright" (15.4). Again, it is not the desire of the boy himself that is at stake here, so much as his susceptibility to being inscribed by pleasure.

¹⁴ Among the many critics who discuss the erotic significance of the boy actor see especially Laura Levine, Men in Women's Clothing: Anti-Theatricality and Effeminization, 1579-1642 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); and Stephen Orgel,. Impersonations: The Performance of Gender in Shakespeare's England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). See also Valerie Traub's challenge to the notion that pederasty and effeminacy were primary modes of male homosexual expression in this period (Desire and Anxiety: Circulations of Sexuality in Shakespearean Drama [New York: Routledge, 1992], 94). My own intention is not to conflate pederasty with sodomy, so much as to explore the signifying power of this one form of sodomitical desire. There is, of course, merit to Stephen Orgel's claim that early modern England evinced no "morbid fear of homoeroticism as such" (36). While recognizing the culture's investment in homoerotic patronage and friendship, and in transvestite theater, I want nevertheless to give antisodomitical discourse its due. As Louis Montrose has recently argued, to accept antitheatricalism as an authentic cultural expression rather than a negligible pathology is "to respect the intelligence and sincerity of contemporary opponents, and also to appreciate that the Elizabethan theater may have exercised a considerable but unauthorized and therefore deeply suspect affective power upon those Elizabethan subjects who experienced it" (The Purpose of Playing: Shakespeare and the Cultural Politics of the Elizabethan Theatre [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996], 45). It seems unlikely to me, given the importance of Puritan belief in this period, that the pleasure of theater was unaccompanied by a genuine awareness of its controversial sexuality.

¹⁵ The two books that most powerfully influence my understanding of theater as an instituion in this period are Andrew Gurr, Playgoing in Shakespeare's London (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); and Leeds Barroll, Politics, Plague, and Shakespeare's Theater (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991). Both stress the dangers of overstating the connections between the theaters and the aristocracy, Gurr by critiquing the notion that it was predominantly the wealthy and powerful who frequented the theaters, and Barroll by arguing persuasively that James I did not in fact regard the stage as an extension of his own monarchy, as some new historicists have implied. Nevertheless, their own works imply a complex interaction between patronage and regulation of the theaters, not because the court understood the greatness of art and the city officials were moralistic puritans, but because both governing bodies knew the stage could be defended or attacked for strategic reasons. See Montrose, Purpose of Playing, chapter 5, for a careful study of the relation between court patronage and city regulation in Elizabeth's reign. I am also grateful to A. R. Braunmuller and the members of his Folger Institute seminar, 1996, for many rich discussions of the position of the stage in early modern England, and to Susan Zimmerman's colloquium at the Folger, 1996-97, for very helpful feedback on this essay. This work and the larger project from which it was taken would have been impossible, moreover, without the help of Janet Adelman and Joel Altman.

¹⁶ Traub, Desire and Anxiety, 16.

¹⁷A second and third blast of retrait from plaies and Theaters (London, 1580) 3-4.

¹⁸ Ben Jonson, Poetaster, in Ben Jonson, 4, ed. C. H. Herford and Percy Simpson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1932) 1.2.15-16.

¹⁹ "But so long as he lives unmarried, hee mistakes the Boy, or a Whore for the Woman; by courting the first on the stage, or visiting the second at her devotions" (E. K. Chambers, The Elizabethan Stage [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1923], 257). A Common Player is attributed to Cocke by Chambers, who reproduces the text from two variant editions included among the essays of John Stephens (255).

²⁰The Anatomie of Abuses: contayning a Discoverie, or briefe Summarie, of such Notable Vices and Imperfections, as now raigne in many Christian Countreyes of the Worlde, but (especiallie) in a verie famous Llande called Ailgna, 1583. Ed. F. J. Furnivall (London: New Shakespeare Society, 1877-79) 144-45.

²¹ White argues that "the cause of plagues is sinne . . . and the cause of sinne are playes: therefore the cause of plagues are playes." For White, the devastation caused by the plague joins with the moral destructiveness of theater, making tangible the self-loss associated with theatrical practice (A Sermon preached at Pawles Crosse on Sunday the thirde of November 1577 in the time of the Plague, [London, 1578], 48).

²² Noted in Russell Fraser, The War against Poetry (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970), 26. Fraser outlines early modern objections to the poetic, noting that the attribution of sterility to poetry was related to a growing capitalist emphasis upon productivity. See especially 4-6.

²³ John Northbrooke, A Treatise Wherein Dicing, Dauncing, Vaine playes, or Enterluds . . . are Reproved, London, 1577-75; Henry Crosse, Vertues Commonwealth: Or the Highway to Honour (London, 1603), V4. In Refutation, I.G. charges that "men have deuised many unlawful artificiali Pleasures, whereby they might passe away (as their name Pastimes signifie) the most precious time of their life . . . idlely and fruitlesse, without any profit to the Church, or Common-wealth wherein they lieu, or to their owne soules . . . choking up the good Seed of the Word, which should dwell plentifully in their heartes, and in sted thereof, sowing the Tares reaped from ungodly and obscaene Stageplayes" (1615, introduction and bibliographical notes by Richard H. Perkinson [New York: Scholars' Facsimiles and Reprints, 1941] A3-4).

²⁴A Winter's Tale, ed. J. H. P. Pafford (London: Methuen, 1963) 1.2.187-89. All further references are to this edition.

²⁵ Like the catamite who seems intrinsically homoerotic, boys seem here by their nature to be theatrical beings. Their "varying childness" makes them paradoxically static, full-time occupants of a state of undifferentiatedness that others visit only in memories of childhood, or onstage. The pleasure of changing identities was also associated with homosexual practice in early modern England. Discussing romance in chapter 4 and satire in chapter 5 of Homosexual Desire, Bruce Smith argues persuasively that homosexual behavior in this period, along with its literary representation, could include extensive play with gender identity. See also Smith's discussion of "boy" as a term that inscribes "a distinction in power vis-à-vis a social or moral superior" (195).

²⁶ For a discussion of breeching, see Adelman, Suffocating Mothers, 7. Adelman discusses breeching in relation to the maternal in The Winter's Tale on 228.

²⁷ Although Virgil's eclogues are the Renaissance's source for pastoral convention, early modern writers also knew a version of pastoral that downplayed the political import of Virgil's poetry in favor of a more sentimentalized nostalgia for the rustic life, figured as an Eden or a Golden Age. To the extent that Polixenes' description of childhood can be compared with the pastoral at all (admittedly, among more important differences, most pastoral poetry was not written from the perspective of the sheep), it must be as an echo of this latter nostalgic pastoral rather than as a Virgilian treatment of social problems. The play's later sheep-shearing scenes, however, are much more strongly Virgilian in their use of pastoral landscape and song to discuss what are clearly not Utopian concerns. For extended treatments of both Polixenes' nostalgia and the sheep-shearing scene, see Peter Lindenbaum, Changing Landscapes: Anti-Pastoral Sentiment in the English Renaissance (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1986), 111-27; and Paul Alpers, What Is Pastoral? (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 204-22.

²⁸ Bruce Smith discusses Polixenes' version of the pastoral in the context of the all-male educational institutions in which Elizabethan men spent their childhood and adolescence, noting the likelihood that these institutions fostered homosexual behavior (Homosexual Desire, 98-99).

²⁹ Jonathan Dollimore explores the contradictions of the "natural" in relation to the perverse, meaning by perverse a category of oppositions to the dominant order (disguising itself as natural) that come increasingly to be identified with sexual difference. I see some such relation working itself out in The Winter's Tale, with Puritan assumptions about the natural order of heterosexual fertility and economic productivity standing in opposition to the imagined unnatural behaviors of theatrical practicers and patrons. Like Dollimore's work, The Winter's Tale explores the contradictions inherent in the category of the natural, and it further embarks upon a reappropriation of nature as a function of a homoeroticized artistic endeavor (Sexual Dissidence: Augustine to Wilde, Freud to Foucault (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991]).

³⁰ Stanley Cavell writes compellingly of the necessity for Polixenes to leave Sicilia (Disowning Knowledge in Six Plays of Shakespeare [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987], 212-14. Charles Frey identifies with a particular poignancy Hermione's success at bridging the gap over which the two kings shake hands, noting that just after Leontes has described his initial sexual conquest of her as a sour and crabbed opening of her white hand, Hermione turns and offers that hand to Polixenes: "Why lo you now; I have spoke to th' purpose twice: / The one, for ever earn'd a royal husband; / Th'other, for some while a friend [Giving her hand to Pol]" (1.2.106-8). (Shakespeare's Vast Romance: A Study of "The Winter Tale" [Columbia: University of Missouri Press 1980], 122).

³¹ The classic source for this observation is C. L. Barber ("'Thou That Beget'st Him That Did Thee Beget': Transformation in Pericles and The Winter's Tale," Shakespeare Survey 22 [1969], 59-67). For a reading of Shakespeare's sonnets that locates male-female relationships within an economy of male bonds, see Eve Sedgwick, Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 24-48.

³² Plato, The Symposium, in The Republic and Other Works by Plato, trans. B. Jowett (New York: Anchor Press, 1973) 352. All further references are to this edition.

³³ Sidney, for instance, remarks that philosophers "do authorize abominable filthiness" more than poets do, and he offers the Phaedrus and Symposium as evidence (The Defense of Poesie, (1583), in Literary Criticism: Plato to Dryden, ed. Allan H. Gilbert, 406-61 [Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1940]). See also Gilbert 444 n. 94, which cites Scaliger's condemnation of the Symposium "and other monsters." I am indebted to Heather Weidemann for her suggestion that the Symposium was central to my reading of The Winter's Tale. I am not, however, suggesting that the Symposium is a source for the play or that Shakespeare knew it. The parallels between these two texts seem to me attributable to the persistence of certain strategies for legitimating male writing.

³⁴ David Halperin, "Why Is Diotima a Woman," in One Hundred Years of Homosexuality and Other Essays on Greek Love (New York: Routledge, 1990). I am grateful to Gregory Bredbeck for suggesting the parallels between Halperin's reading of Plato and my own work with this play, and for additional suggestions beyond the scope of individual citation.

³⁵ A long line of critics associate the play's pastoral with the female; see especially Adelman's discussion: "Through its association with the female and its structural position in the play—outside Leontes's control, outside his knowledge—the pastoral can figure this [maternal] body, the unknown place outside the self where good things come from" (Suffocating Mothers, 231). Peter Erickson agrees that The Winter's Tale associates this pastoral with women, while he emphasizes the extent to which such a female power serves patriarchy (Patriarchal Structures in Shakespeare's Drama [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985] 158-62).

³⁶ Leonard Barkan discusses the importance of Ganymede as an image of homosexual desire in the Renaissance in Transuming Passion: Ganymede and the Erotics of Humanism (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 1991).

³⁷ Frey argues that one of the great purposes of The Winter's Tale's second half is to recuperate the notion of "play" that Leontes' jealousy had made suspect in the play's first half. He sees Perdita's and Florizel's use of costumes as an important motion toward the restoration of faith in drama (Shakespeare's Vast Romance, 143-47). I would argue, however, that an early modern audience's faith in drama would require awakening for cultural reasons that go beyond Leontes' personal expressions of mistrust, including the complex of sexual allegations made about theatrical practice in the period.

³⁸ Many critics have noted that the play's resolution depends upon Leontes' ability to rely upon female powers. See, for example, Kahn, Man's Estate, 216-19, and Marianne L. Novy, Love's Argument: Gender Relations in Shakespeare (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 176-77. Neely argues that the romances make possible an intertwining of "sexual/ marital anxieties" with "political conflicts," in part because the frightening power of female sexuality has been displaced onto the father-daughter bond as a result of the mother's real or imagined death. She finds in The Winter's Tale the most powerful transformation of incestuous desire into an acceptance of heterosexual fertility, a transformation brought about through the agency of Hermione, Paulina, and Perdita (chap. 5). Although Adelman claims that the-romances aim collectively to restore "the ideal parental couple lost at the beginning of Hamlet" (Suffocating Mothers, 193), in her reading paternal authority is the play's ultimate concern, and she would agree that paternal authority manages at best a momentary compromise with the sexual mother in The Winter's Tale (220-38). In Erickson's reading, Paulina is "less of an exception to the general rule of female obedience than she appears to be" (Patriarchal Structures, 162), since, like the play's other women, she exerts her efforts on behalf, ultimately, of male power (148-70).

³⁹ In characterizing lesbian desire as an unrepresentable realm potentially outside of male control, I am building on the sense of its remoteness articulated in Donne's "Sapho to Philaenis":

Men leave behinde them that which their sin showes
And are as theeves trac'd, which rob when it snows.
But of our dallyance no more signes there are,
Then fishes leave in streames, or Birds in aire.
And betweene us all sweetnesse may be had;
All, all that Nature yields, or Art can adde.

(39-44)

The poem itself belies the separateness of lesbian sex—which after all serves Donne's purposes, not Sappho's—but nevertheless invests in a fantasy of its Utopian isolation. I am of course using the term "lesbian" here and throughout with a consciousness of its historical anachronism. See Valerie Traub, "The (In)Significance of 'Lesbian' Desire in Early Modern England," in Goldberg, Queering the Renaissance.

⁴⁰ Halperin, "Why Is Diotima a Woman?" 143.

Source: "Ganymedes and Kings: Staging Male Homosexual Desire in The Winter's Tale," in Shakespeare Studies: An Annual Gathering of Research, Criticism, and Reviews, Vol. 26, 1998, pp. 187-217.