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My life away. What so you deem

Most fitting, e’en though good it seem

To you to prison me or slay,

Speak but the word, and I obey.

My life is yours to waste or save,

I render me your bounden slave.

’Tis you alone have power to give

Or joy or penance while I live.

If your strong hand, which hath but late

Betrayed my soul to hardest fate,

Refuseth now its woes to cure,

Or prisons me,—O be you sure

I shall not murmur nor complain,

Of your decree my heart is fain.

For if with yours my heart is whole,

I nought need reck of shame or dole:

But trust you will in due time grant

That grace for which my soul doth pant.”

This said, I dropped upon my knee,

With will to kiss his foot; but he,

His hand in mine, said: “Well content

Am I with thee; such words ne’er went

From out a rebel’s mouth, and thou,

For that fair speech, shalt win thee now

Great honour. Homage unto me

’Tis thine to do, and grant I thee

This boon—my very mouth to kiss;

Such favour ne’er permitted is

To villains, churls, or such as be

Mere striplings; ’tis a warranty

Of Love’s sweet mercy, and alone

Permitted those whose hearts are known