Dream of a funeral, blest temptress — behest me! —
A funeral thou’lt hark, swarth murderess — the Devil,
Thine feral grith with me, Poppea, be Hell’s hap;
Waylaid the beldame bawd, the niggard: Laughing tragedy.
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant —
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain —
And, twine ‘hem apart.
Of marrow, do na mell; I am Morelle —
The bosom’d Titivil; travail me; a fбin,
Subdue me with thine lote in oneness — make haste yet,
Displode me in a font — Poppea, do what thou wilt.
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant —
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain —
And, twine ‘hem apart.