THE BLUE DWARF. 
I03 
Fighting the leanness of thy lechery  
That hags thee — Faugh ! 
 
MAGDA 
 
Art thou not lewd with me ? 
 
ISSA 
 
Ay !  and the rot of Egypt pays me for’t. 
 
MAGDA 
 
To match thy rotten soul, thou pimping ort !  
Marrowless bone !  Dry fig ! 
 
ISSA 
 
Enough, black bitch ! 
The Seventy shall stone thee for a witch. 
 
MAGDA 
 
More than enough.  I’ll call thy darling itch, 
Thy— 
He fists her in the abdomen. 
 
ISSA 
 
Take the name back to thy bloated belly !  
Speak, and I kick thy carcass to a jelly !