Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/67

 For my lips bite not sharper than mine hands.

Nay, both bite soft, but no whit softly mine.

Keep thine hands clean; they have time enough to stain.

For thine shall rest and wax not red to-day.

Have all thy will of words; talk out thine heart.

Refrain your lips, O brethren, and my son, Lest words turn snakes and bite you uttering them.

Except she give her blood before the gods, What profit shall a maid be among men?

Let her come crowned and stretch her throat for a knife, Bleat out her spirit and die, and so shall men