Page:Thus Spake Zarathustra - Thomas Common - 1917.djvu/311

 Solicit much- that bid'th my pride!

And be concise- that bid'th mine other pride!

Ha! Ha!

Me- wantst you? me?

-Entire?...

Ha! Ha!

And torturest me, fool that you are,

Dead-torturest quite my pride?

Give love to me- who warm'th me still?

Who lov'th me still?-

Give ardent fingers

Give heartening charcoal-warmers,

Give me, the most lonesome,

The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice

For very enemies,

For foes, do make one thirst).

Give, yield to me,

Cruel foe,

-Yourself!- -

Away!

There fled he surely,

My final, only comrade,

My greatest foe,

Mine unfamiliar-

My hangman-God!...

-No!

Come you back!

With all of your great tortures!