Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/106

 Instead of drinking wine while you are hang'd?

You are not quick at guessing, give it up.

This is the reason; here I hold your hand,

And watch you growing paler, see you writhe,

And this, my Peter, is a joy so dear,

I cannot by all striving tell you how

I love it, nor I think, good man, would you

Quite understand my great delight therein;

You, when you had me underneath you once,

Spat as it were, and said, "Go take him out,"

(That they might do that thing to me whereat.

E'en now this long time off I could well shriek,)

And then you tried forget I ever lived,

And sunk your hating into other things;

While I—St. Dennis! though, I think you'll faint,

Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless

You let it out and weep like a hurt child;

Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet,

For I am Alice, am right like her now;

Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love?—

You filthy beast, stand back and let him go,

Or by God's eyes I'll choke you.

I kneel upon my knees and pray to you

That you would pardon me for this your death;

God knows how much I wish you still alive,

Also how heartily I strove to save

Your life at this time; yea, he knows quite well,

(I swear it, so forgive me!) how I would,

If it were possible, give up my life