Like to a dismal brute, dust-smothered, teased. That tugs its chain and bays the blistering sky, Trail thy torn heart who will in the foul styThat so the lewd, flesh-ravening mob be pleased;Let Love's own veil of glorious light be seized And torn from shuddering limbs divinely shy, That so the fire rekindle its dull eye,Its mirth and boorish pity be appeased!
Though proud and silent graveward I go hence, I'd rather plunge to endless darkness down Than sell my heart-throbs for the rabble's roar; I would not give my body like a clownTo tumble on its paltry board for pence, Nor leer for lovers like a shameless whore.
