The Winged Beetle

58 THE DUELLISTS Just this ! you allow, you forbid, you excite me As you think just enough to enslave me ; you slight me As you think may just pique me ; a temperance revel ! As if such a red little beetle could bite me ! I see, and I laugh in my sleeve at, the game. I have played it myself—the rules are the same. But it cannot be played on an expert, my pretty ! You forget that the Jinn are the children of flame ! Without and beyond and above I abide. Every move I foresee ; I foretell every tide, The eclipse and the comet, the oiled and the gritty, I know it by heart—and the balance beside ! Come close ! let me suck out your lips as in languor ! Stand off ! while I cringe at your towering anger ! I’ll grip you and shake you and weep at your knees— Mere flames of the foil-play, its clatter and clangour ! Your one joy—your pride in your cleverness, maybe ! My one joy—you think you are gulling a gaby, And at last, when you strike to the heart—if you please ! I riposte with the lightning-flash—“ Pens’-tu, mon Bébé ? ” You fool—I will ruin you, turn you adrift, Kick you and spit—you are done ! you may shift For yourself as girls do—on the streets, on the quays, Till no sot will touch you for a crust or a gift.