Part 27

Swing me hence to do thee service, Be thy succour, prove thy shield; Heaven will hear!—in house thy handmaid, Squire upon the battlefield.

At my breasts I cool thy footsoles; Wine I pour, I dress thy meats; Humbly, when my lord it pleaseth, Lie with him on perfumed sheets:

Pray for him, my blood’s dear fountain, While he sleeps, and watch his yawn In that wakening babelike moment, Sweeter to my thought than dawn!—

Thundered then her lord of thunders; Burst the door, and, flashing sword, Loud disgorged the woman’s title: Condemnation in one word.

XII

Grand by righteous wrath transfigured, Towers the husband who provides In his person judge and witness, Death’s black doorkeeper besides!

XIII

Round his head the ancient terrors, Conjured of the stronger’s law, Circle, to abash the creature Daring twist beneath his paw.

XIV

How though he hath squandered Honour High of Honour let him scold: Gilding of the man’s possession, ’Tis the woman’s coin of gold.

She inheriting from many Bleeding mothers bleeding sense Feels ’twixt her and sharp-fanged nature Honour first did plant the fence.

XVI

Nature, that so shrieks for justice; Honour’s thirst, that blood will slake; These are women’s riddles, roughly Mixed to write them saint or snake.

XVII

Never nature cherished woman: She throughout the sexes’ war Serves as temptress and betrayer, Favouring man, the muscular.

XVIII

Lureful is she, bent for folly; Doating on the child which crows: Yours to teach him grace in fealty, What the bloom is, what the rose.

XIX

Hard the task: your prison-chamber Widens not for lifted latch Till the giant thews and sinews Meet their Godlike overmatch.

Read that riddle, scorning pity’s Tears, of cockatrices shed: When the heart is vowed for freedom, Captaincy it yields to head.

XXI

Meanwhile you, freaked nature’s martyrs, Honour’s army, flower and weed, Gentle ladies, wedded ladies, See for you this fair one bleed.

XXII

Sole stood her offence, she faltered; Prayed her lord the youth to spare; Prayed that in the orange garden She might lie, and ceased her prayer.

XXIII

Then commanding to all women Chastity, her breasts she laid Bare unto the self-avenger. Man in metal was the blade.

THE YOUNG PRINCESS A BALLAD OF OLD LAWS OF LOVE

WHEN the South sang like a nightingale Above a bower in May, The training of Love’s vine of flame Was writ in laws, for lord and dame To say their yea and nay.