16  
WHY JESUS WEPT. 
Of armed insistence against my restraint. 
What is worth while, though, to a woman found 
Fragrant and fearful to a host of men 
Even yet ?  they throng me, hunt me !  Why should I 
Do this unutterable wickedness ? 
Because that Moina Marjoribanks grins and boasts 
She will achieve him ?  Angela, not so ! 
For its own sweet, most damnable sake, say yes ! 
Look to those cheeks, redress the red-gold hair, 
Awake the giant wit, the master sin 
That is, for an apple’s sake, Lord of us all : 
These shall despoil her ; these shall ruin him. 
Yes, I shall clutch him to these sagging breasts 
Stained, bruised, — enough ! — and take his life in mine — 
Ugh !  pleasure of Hell !  Sir Percy Percivale, 
Here is a strumpet.  Ha !  have you a sword ? 
Enough.  I am dressed.  I am lovely, have communed 
With my dark heart :  I see my way to it : — 
Oh joy !  joy !  joy ! — Hortense, these candles out ! 
The maid blows out the mirror candles. 
I will go down.  Prepare my scented paper, 
My rosy wax against my coming here — 
When, girl ?  I’ th’ morn, i’ th’ morn !  When else ?  I’d write. 
She goes out, with a set smile on her face, yet a gleam of real laughter beneath it.