Filthy harlots – the Lord’s grape!
With lore ornamented entreating;
Hollow hearted, heart-departed –
Yet thou reapest the blooming rose –
When ’tis the weed which is to be swath’d
I do, in the blooming flower, pleasure
And me in the yesterday’s bind?!
Innocence is reserved for the meek:
Of naught is my grasp ne’er to be!
Hah! – for thee even a hound holdeth the throne.
Unwanted child of mother! – Plague of plagues!
Father of leprous children.
I wield ye to stint this brawl!
Nigh is the ford – yet harken! – do not thwart!
Desirest thou to do it withal,
I shall cause thy body by one head too short!
Sayest ye nay to my boon;
Then wilt thou from bloodshed swoon!
Err me not! – Must ye bethink my foolhardiness!
Be vanished! – Be banished! –
If ye deemest me not wroth.
My hand hieth to unsheathe the sword
Lest thou dost totter –
Whid along! – Wherefore irk my haughtiness?
No man… No man at all!,
Be it lord or beggar
The kine of the sward?
Bereaveth my dignity!
Wherefore holdest thou for
Me such a quality scowl?
Loom my darling sun –
Bear the scarlet colour!