Poppea

Dream of a funeral, blest temptress – behest me! –
A funeral thou’lt hark, swarth murderess – the Devil,
Thine feral grith with me, Poppea, be Hell’s hap;
Waylaid the beldame bawd, the niggard: Laughing tragedy.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant –
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain –
And, twine ‘hem apart.

Of marrow, do na mell; I am Morelle –
The bosom’d Titivil; travail me; a fáin,
Subdue me with thine lote in oneness – make haste yet,
Displode me in a font – Poppea, do what thou wilt.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant –
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain –
And, twine ‘hem apart.

Posted in Theatre Of Tragedy and tagged , , , , .

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